“How’s New York?” John asked, fishing for something to talk about as he straightened his clothes.

“Great! College, city—learning—friends. I was in a play about a horse. It’s great.” He bobbed his head in a rapid nod. “Marla’s in school, too.”

“In Ohio,” Marla jumped in. “I’m premed.”

“That’s great.” John grinned.

“Yeah, it’s been a lot of hard work but it’s worth it,” she said cheerfully, and John began to relax, falling back into the familiar pattern of their friendships. Marla was still Marla; Carlton was still inscrutable.

“Is Lamar around?” Carlton asked, looking from face to face. Marla shook her head.

“I called him when … a few months ago,” she said. “He’s on track to graduate early.”

“But he’s not coming?” Carlton persisted. Marla smiled slightly.

“He said, ‘I’m never, ever, ever setting foot in that town again, not ever, never for as long as I live, and you shouldn’t, either.’ But he said we’re all welcome to visit him.”

“In New Jersey?” Carlton made a skeptical face, then turned his attention to Jessica. “Jessica, what’s up with you these days, anyway? I heard you’ve got the dorm room to yourself now.”

John stiffened, suddenly aware of what Carlton was really asking; the lights seemed blinding, the noise louder. Jessica glanced at John, but he didn’t acknowledge her.

“Yeah,” she said, turning back to the others. “I don’t know what happened, but I came home one day right after … about six months ago, and, she was packing what she could carry. She left me and John to clean up the rest. If we hadn’t happened to walk in, I don’t think she was even going to tell me she was leaving.”

“Did she say where she was going?” Marla asked, her brow furrowing. Jessica shook her head.

“She hugged me and said she’d miss me, but all she’d say was she had to leave. She wouldn’t tell me where.”

“Well, we can always ask her,” Carlton said. John looked at him, startled.

“You’ve seen her?”

Carlton shook his head. “Not yet, my plane just got in today, but she’ll be here tonight. Jessica says she looks good.”

“Right,” John said. They all looked at him as if they could see what he was thinking: She looks good, but she doesn’t look like Charlie.

“John, come help me in the kitchen!” Clay called, and John broke away from the group relieved, but also fully aware he couldn’t possibly provide any help in the kitchen.

“What’s up?” he asked. Clay leaned back against the sink and looked him up and down. “Need me to open the ketchup bottle?” John asked, growing nervous. “High shelf?”

Clay sighed. “I just want to make sure you’re all right out there.”

“What do you mean?”