A WEEK AFTER my hike to Lake Aloha with Claire, she and I are in a spinning class at the gym, sweating and laughing and motivating each other. It’s the early-morning class, not the midafternoon class. This has become our routine, kicking off each day with a good workout. In the last week, we’ve spent every minute together that we can. She’s pretty much moved in with me. We both agreed it would be temporary until she finds her own place, but I think, in our hearts, we both know this is permanent. She’s made no effort to move and I certainly haven’t pressured her to. I like having her around.

She has been looking for a job, though, taking her truck each day to drive around town to fill out applications and do interviews. She’s been encouraging me to do the same, since she’s under the impression that my insurance money will run out. I’m thinking about doing it, getting a real job of some kind. I haven’t had much time alone to take a day and drive to Reno or Sacramento to try to sell some of the diamonds. And it might be nice to think of that money, my stash, as supplemental income.

When I turned my back on Marco, I wanted a normal life, didn’t I?

What’s more normal than working a regular job?

For now, though, I’m just trying to relish the moment. I’ve been alone for a long time. I want to enjoy being with someone.

These are the things I’m thinking about as we’re finishing up the class, wiping down our bikes and taking long drinks of water. When Claire and I come walking out of the gym, I see Hannah waiting in the parking lot. She’s wearing regular clothes: jeans, blouse, cardigan. She is wearing sneakers, but she clearly hasn’t been working out, which tells me she’s here for only one reason: to see me. And the fact that we’re in the morning class, not the afternoon class where I used to see her, tells me that she’s gone out of her way to find me. She’s probably afraid I wouldn’t answer her phone call.

When she sees us coming out of the building, she offers a bashful smile and lifts her arms up as if to surrender.

“Truce?” she says.

I smile and say hello. Obviously I was just being paranoid when I blew up at her about the article.

“I want to talk to you about something,” she says. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” She gestures toward the café next door to the gym. “Off the record,” she adds. “Not for publication. I just want to talk—as friends.”

Claire eyes her suspiciously. My heart swells a little—she looks cute when she’s jealous.