She entered the house. It was cool. She shivered beneath her T-shirt. Peering into the room off the kitchen, she saw that Andrew had lugged the secretary desk in there for her, along with a kitchen chair. Joad walked into the bright little space. She sat down at the desk and took in the boxes of seeds, her recipe notebooks stacked along the walls. She anticipated the pleasure of organizing this room. Joad stroked the smooth top of the desk with her hardened brown hands, feeling the grain with her fingertips. She imagined herself growing old at this desk. She imagined leaving it to her child. Leaning down, she rested her cheek on the cool wood, inhaled the rich, heady scent of beeswax, and heard herself whisper,

“You’re mine.”

VAPORS

Justine was pushing Francis in his stroller along the New York City sidewalk. She looked down at his sand-colored curls ruffled by the breeze as he leaned back, one ankle crossed over his knee, his bottle in his mouth, gazing out at the world in a state of trusting relaxation as he sucked contemplatively at his rice milk. She crossed Prince Street, trying to remember where that café was. She and Francis had an hour to kill before his music class, and she craved a cappuccino. She was about to get to the curb, had lifted the front wheels of the stroller, when she heard her name. She turned toward the voice and there he was, standing there, like Death. His beauty was staggering, and she felt herself, though very slightly, stagger.

“Hi, Joseph,” she said. What else was she supposed to say.

“I thought it was you.”

“Well, it is.”

“Then I thought it couldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Who is this?”

“This is Francis.”

“Saint Francis.”

“No, just Francis.”

Joseph chortled. He was wearing a pair of black jeans. Maybe the same black jeans he’d owned years ago, the ones she was so familiar with. Likewise the black turtleneck, even in this heat. His uniform. The round eyes rimmed with dark circles stared out of his alabaster face. Vampire football hero had always been his look.

“Do you live around here?” he asked.

“I’m here for work,” she said.

“I heard you moved away.”

“I did,” she said. “Are you … still in your same apartment?”

“Yes.”

The apartment on Avenue C startled her with its nearness then. She could smell the enormous cat, Sweeney, and the unwashed linoleum floors. She had a memory of lying on those grubby tiles with Joseph, the first time. He told her she was beautiful on the inside.