She put the card back into her shirt pocket and, a second later, pulled it out again. “You think I should call or wait a couple of days? Sometimes I scare people off. I’m too intense. That’s my problem.”

Desmond nodded. Everyone claimed they were too “intense,” an amorphous term that usually indicated an obsessive-compulsive disorder they were trying to pass off as a surfeit of intelligence.

“I’m getting sick of this whole thing, Desmond, chasing after people. I’m too old for it. See if you can find me a nice wife up there in Boston.”

Whose nice wife? he wanted to ask.

Russell strode up to the front of the store, and dropped down onto the sofa beside Melanie. He slipped the cigarette out of her hand and took a deep drag off it in a defiant way that seemed to be directed at Desmond. Russell was an occasional smoker. Desmond had felt obliged to discourage him from indulging although, in truth, he was turned on by the slutty way Russell held a cigarette between his middle and ring fingers and rolled the smoke around in his open mouth. “You didn’t tell me you were coming down here,” he said. “I don’t guess you’ve changed your mind about leaving?”

“Surprise visit,” Melanie said. “He wanted to see if you were shacked up with someone else already. Don’t worry, Desmond, I’ll keep my eyes on him for you. One of the guys working next door spends half his day in here, ogling him. Some nerve, huh?” She shoved herself off the sofa and gave Desmond a pat on the cheek. “I’m used to keeping him out of trouble.”

She slipped outside, letting in a blast of ovenlike air. The store was quiet, except for the clicking and dripping of the air conditioner over the door, and the buzz of construction work from the neighboring building. Desmond felt suddenly nervous in Russell’s presence, as if they’d already been apart for weeks and had begun the process of becoming strangers. Perhaps Russell was feeling the same way, for he stubbed out the cigarette and looked around the store shyly, as if he was trying to find busywork to distract him. “Did she tell you about this woman who came in here two days ago?” he asked.

“She mentioned someone.”

“I hope you tried to discourage her. Whenever she starts talking like this, I can see the crisis brewing. ‘I could tell she was interested by the way she was trying to avoid looking at me.’” Russell’s imitation of Melanie was perfect, forced machismo, thrust-back shoulders and all.

“Maybe you shouldn’t get so involved,” Desmond suggested. “You’re always out on a limb with her and she doesn’t change. I worry she’s too dependent upon you.”

Russell stared at him for a moment. “Why are you so afraid of dependence, Desmond?”

“I didn’t know I was.”