I’m already halfway to my car when Will catches me, asking if I’ll follow him home for a drink. I’ve never been to Will’s place, so I feel confused when he drives out of the village and south along the coast road, not stopping until we arrive at Elk, fifteen minutes later. The town isn’t much more than a speck on a map. In its early logging history it was a boomtown, but now fewer than five hundred people live here in a clutch of houses around the Elk General Store and Queenie’s Diner, where Hap and Eden used to bring me for breakfast on weekends sometimes.

Will parks to one side of the store. Whitewashed steps lead up to a narrow door with an apartment number.

“I didn’t know anyone lived up there,” I say on the darkened street, letting Cricket out of the car.

“I haven’t been here long,” he says. “Should warn you that I haven’t cleaned up in a while.”

I follow him up the stairs with Cricket just behind me, watching the space between Will’s shoulder blades. The moment feels a little too intimate, or maybe just intimate enough, depending on how the coin lands. For the moment, it goes on flipping inside me, spinning like a top without arriving at an answer. He opens the door and clicks on the light. It’s a studio apartment, simple and spare. No bachelor squalor in sight. Then again, he isn’t a bachelor.

“When did you move out?” I ask, looking around. There’s one sofa, a coffee table, a small dining table with one open chair, the other loaded down with files.

“A few months ago. Beth thought it was better for the kids.”

“I’m so sorry, Will.”

He shrugs resignedly.

Watching his face, I realize that I haven’t been much of a friend since I arrived. He obviously isn’t okay, but I’ve never made an effort to ask him what’s been happening in his marriage. I’ve barely felt capable of dealing with my own crises, let alone inviting his in. But that hasn’t been fair, or generous. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I’m not sure I have the energy, frankly….” His forehead crumples for a moment before he shakes off the thought or feeling and turns to the icebox, taking out a lean bottle of vodka. After the night we’ve had, it’s probably not the best idea to start drinking straight liquor. I also know I’ve been leaning on alcohol a little too much lately, but for some reason I can’t quite bring myself to say either of these things out loud as he comes over with our drinks, two stiff pours over ice.

“What came of your trip to Gualala?” Will asks.