But John had told him what happened that night after it was all over. John didn’t have the painting, and it was all Roy’s fault that he didn’t. With his screwup, Roy had killed Marcelline and cost John not only the picture, but all the money he was going to get for it. And, of course, the money he’d planned on giving Roy, the payment for going along with the plan.

Not having the painting was the reason John hated him so much.

“No,” Roy said, keeping it simple. He didn’t mean to argue. He should stop shaking his head, he knew. But he couldn’t help it.

“Roy, he took a quarter of a million dollars and the painting that night.”

He wanted to say no again, but his tongue felt glued to the bottom of his mouth. The back and forth of his head slowed like the last notes of a windup music box.

Marcelline couldn’t seem to close her mouth. Amazement. Pity. “You’ve never been there? To his house? You haven’t seen the video. You don’t know. All this time. Oh my God.”

They talked for almost two hours. They ate tuna salad sandwiches. The waitress glowered for a bit, but seemed to lose interest with Roy blending into the scene like everyone who had ever sat in this diner and ate a sandwich with someone. The two of them sat across from each other, having a conversation like normal people. It wasn’t a normal conversation, he knew that. But still.

They sat and ate and she talked, then he talked. Like normal people. She nodded. He did, too. She showed him the video, but he had to take her word for it that it was the same painting. You could barely see it. But he believed her. She wouldn’t lie. It was okay.

She laughed when he warned her off the coffee because he figured they swapped out for fresh grounds maybe once every two weeks, and he thought his heart would break from how happy he was that she wasn’t dead. And that she wouldn’t drink bad coffee because he’d warned her.

She went quiet after she’d paid the check, staring into the hot tea that she’d gotten instead.

“What are you going to do?” Roy said.

“I don’t know exactly.” She moved the little folder with the receipt and the tip in it so that it lined up just even with the edge of the table. “If he knows I’m alive, it changes everything. You understand that, right?”

Roy said yes automatically, even though he wasn’t sure he did.

Marcelline clasped her hands and slid her arms onto the table to the elbows, leaning in so that he would tilt toward her, too.

“Roy, if he knows I’m alive, the person it changes everything for is you.”

“Oh.”