Tony had fallen asleep before John got the car out of the parking lot. He snored all the way to Ivy House, where the van stood at the curb and the house was completely dark. John was trying to figure out what that meant when Angie’s cell phone began to ring and Tony woke up, snorting in confusion.

John dug the cell out of Angie’s purse and handed it over to Tony, who scowled, but flipped it open. “What?”

He listened and then handed the phone to John while he got out of the car. While Tony lurched off toward the house, John counted to three, took a deep breath, and put the phone to his ear.

“Hey.”

“You are slow sometimes, Harvey.”

“But you love me anyway.”

There was a small silence. “Should we talk about Meg?”

“Not first thing. Not even second thing.” He heard her catch her breath, and his throat got dry, thinking about that.

“I thought you were mad at me, about the Miss Zula stuff.”

“Third thing,” he said. “Or maybe fourth.”

“So are you going to sit there all night, or are you coming over here?”

John looked at the dark house. “Huh? Over where?”

“I’m sitting on your bed,” she said. “You don’t lock your doors.”

“It’s Ogilvie. I doubt you could find a locked door if you tried a hundred of them. So you parked here and walked over there, because of what Meg said?”

“Yup. Relieved?”

“A little, I guess.” A lot. But he didn’t want to admit that, not even to himself.

“So will you get over here?”

“I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“I hope not,” Angie said, and hung up.

The phone rang again almost immediately.

“Angie—”

“John?” The voice was familiar, but it wasn’t Angie. “John Grant? Is that you?”

“Hi, Mrs. Mangiamele. Yeah, it’s me.”

“What’s with the Mrs. Mangiamele? We’re strangers now all of a sudden? You call me Fran like you used to. So are you and Angie back together? ’Cause that would be good, John. For both of youse.”

He found himself grinning into the phone. “It would be good,” he said. “But give me a couple more days, okay?”

“So you’re not getting married Saturday? Never mind, tell me this. Angie anywhere nearby?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Good,” said Fran Mangiamele. “’Cause there’s something I always wanted to tell you back when you two were dating, but there was never a good time and then things went sour. Which was a shame.”

“Fran—”

“When Angie was a little girl,” Fran Mangiamele plowed ahead, “she had what they call anxiety issues. She had trouble talking to other kids when she started school, that kind of thing. Did you know about this?”

“No,” John said, “she never told me.” He thought of Angie as he knew her, approaching strangers to talk to them on the street. “Hard to believe.”