He laughed at this, though I hadn’t meant it as a joke, and squeezed me with his dangling arms. They were paper-white and skinny, knobs sticking out of his elbows. Every time we talked on the phone, it sounded like he was pacing across his office or his living room, and his face showed it, full of worry that couldn’t walk itself away. His face was gaunt: sharp cheeks, big skull, wet eyes. I kept him close for a long time, running my palms along his shoulder blades, then down his bumpy spine. I’d made every part of him.

He pulled away gently, like I was a fragile toy he was putting down. I heard Stella’s door slam shut. She’d come around the side of the truck. I followed his eyes, following her body getting closer.

“Abe?” She shook his hand. “It’s good to meet you.”

He seemed restless. “We should get everything unloaded.”

Our things didn’t amount to much: a few boxes and some garbage bags. I’d thought bags would be easier to stuff into tight spaces. I’d left a lot of things in Lovelock because I never wanted to see them again, but I’d made Stella help me pack the kitty statues and all of Abe’s little projects. I’d labeled that box CATS, writing the word in careful letters, once on each side.

“We should be careful with this one.” I pointed. “It’s fragile.”

Abe lifted it easily. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you up.”

“I guess I’ll drive the truck back to the rental,” Stella said. “We can’t just leave it in the street.”

“You know the drop-off lot?” Abe asked. He couldn’t hear the irritation in her voice, or else he wasn’t responding to it.

“No,” she said. “But I have an address.”

What did she want? She wanted an offer, or at least attention.

“Okay, then,” he said, turning back to me. He gestured up a set of concrete stairs. I followed like a bum, garbage bags slung over my shoulders, up to a courtyard full of plants I couldn’t name: pink flowers, towering fronds, sturdy fingers of green. Stalks of bamboo lined the stucco like wallpaper. “The garden is communal,” Abe told me. “You should use it whenever you want.”

The wooden benches were straight, their paint unchipped. They didn’t sag the way benches sag after enough people have sat on them. I couldn’t imagine sitting there alone.

Abe gestured to an open doorway off the courtyard: his place. We walked into a two-story living room that was almost completely empty. There was a plastic lawn chair propped in front of a flatscreen TV, and boxes stacked along the walls. I saw a kitchen made of steel and marble and a loft above it. There was a spiral staircase.

“Is that your room?” I asked. “Up there?”