“I knew it was your favorite place. I guess we should have discussed it ahead of time, to avoid running into each other.”

“Bar custody?” I said. “Jesus, that’s sad.”

“Well, it’s too small a town. We should have talked it over.”

“There’s six million people here,” I said.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“I hate that I hurt you,” he said. I could tell he meant it.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m over it.”

“What’s going on with you?” Michael said.

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I thought you’d be more upset with me. At least a little more.”

“A lot’s happened,” I said.

“You met somebody.”

“That’s actually none of your business, at this point.”

“Seriously? Already? Not that idiot you were with at the bar?”

“Michael, stop it.”

“It is him. That guy? Fuck.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not what you think, okay? Danielle, my old friend, remember her?”

“The stripper? What about her?”

“She died. Compared to that, I kind of don’t give a fuck about you and your little girlfriend, or who you’re fucking, or whatever.”

“Oh my god, Charlotte, I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She was murdered,” I said. “I’ve had to talk to the cops. I’ve visited her mother. I went to the memorial service. At a fucking church. That’s what I’ve been up to while you’ve been fucking around with your ex-girlfriend.”

I turned around and walked back the way we came. He trotted behind me to catch up.

“Michael, I’m going home,” I said.

“Okay.”

“I don’t want you to come with me.”

“Charlotte, if I’d known you were dealing with all this—”

“Then what? You wouldn’t have told me about what’s-her-name?”

“No, I—”

“You would have kept lying to me a little longer?”

“Charlotte, I care about you. I love you. I want to be your friend, I can be here for you, will you stop?”

I was walking so fast I might as well have been running. He was sweating through his T-shirt. He reached out to grab my shoulder. I stopped and closed my eyes, trying not to cry. He stepped close and hugged me. I felt crushed, not from the pressure of his embrace, but some other force. It was like my chest imploded and my arms hung loose from an empty frame. We stood together, breathing, on the street in front of the muddy ditch.

“Charlotte, I’m sorry,” he whispered into my hair.

“I know,” I said.

“Let me walk you home.”

“No. It’s too late,” I said. “Or too soon, or something.”

He nodded. “Will you be okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Don’t worry about me.”

I left him standing on the sidewalk. I passed the new townhomes with their Home Depot lanterns and then the dingy apartment complexes on my block. I went up the steps and inside. I thought about the mornings Michael used to stay over. We’d sit on the couch facing each other, drinking coffee, and he would put his bare feet on top of my feet and we’d talk about what we had to go do that day. It was nice. He was pleasant to be around. Still, half the time I wished he’d leave so I could be alone. He didn’t understand certain truths about life—its sadness. Its difficulty. He’d had a happy childhood. He didn’t know the way I’d grown up. I never told him about it. No one knew, except my mom, and Danielle. Only dead people.