“I can’t,” I said. But he looked so miserable that I told him I’d have one drink, one, then I had to meet Aaron for dinner in San Rafael. Oscar said oh sure, he got it. Celebrate, fornicate, don’t worry about him for a minute.

“‘That is no country for old men. The young in one another’s arms, birds in the trees—”

“Stop.” He was always quoting Yeats for some twisted reason of his own.

We went to one of the live music bars, too early still for any event crowd. The bartender knew Oscar, as did the waitress. We settled into a corner booth and the waitress brought him a red-eye beer, which I guess was his usual. I ordered an IPA. “How’s Irene?” I asked, figuring that love had everything to do with it.

“That’s all over.” He got some of the red-eye into him and looked around the empty room at something that wasn’t there.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened. And kept happening. After a while, you get the message.”

“Was there somebody else?” I asked. “Did she have, a, uh . . .”

“Of course there was somebody else.” He swatted away a piece of hair that was interfering with his glass. “I knew that. I knew it from the start. We could have worked it out.”

I didn’t dare ask how. I said I was sorry. I didn’t know what else to tell him. I was unaccustomed to consoling grown men about their sketchy love affairs.

“She was an honest person. I valued that in her.”

“You shouldn’t talk about her like she’s dead.”

“To me she is.”

I took out my phone and texted Aaron: need help on mission of mercy re: oscar.

It was a couple of minutes before he got back to me. Oscar complained he thought there was something wrong with his heart, no joke, not a metaphor. He had these episodes of light-headedness. I said he hadn’t been eating or sleeping right or taking care of himself, but he should see a doctor just in case. He said what was the point. I said then what was the point of complaining about it. He said I was one of those heartless, practical people, wasn’t I? My phone blipped. you’re kidding, Aaron had texted back.

lost love. death talk. please.

let me guess. you’re at a bar.

I texted the emoji for crying, and one for a glass of beer, and he texted back asking which bar.

I put my phone up. “Aaron’s going to join us,” I said brightly.

Oscar signaled the waitress for another beer. “Lucky him.” But I think he was glad there would be some addition to my inadequate company.

It would take Aaron some time to get here. “I’ve been helping out on the next issue of Compass Points,” I offered.