belongings. Anyways, I found some stuff I think you should have."
"What kind of stuff?" Still wary, but curious now.
"Well," said Thomas, suddenly awkward, "Just, well, personal stuff that I'm sure Henry would want you to have."
There was a long silence, and Thomas looked out over the dismal parking lot at the windows of a small high rise that were catching the rays of the setting sun.
"All right. I'll be there in ten minutes."
"Great. I'll be waiting outside." Thomas hung up, feeling at once relieved and troubled. Shaking his head, he dialed his mother's number, too tired to care about the international rates. The phone rang, and then, as usual, her voicemail picked up.
"Hi, Mom," he said, rubbing the base of his palm against his eye, "Just calling to let you know that I'm in Buffalo at Henry's place. Nothing much has turned up, though I've met an ex-girlfriend of his and some other friends. I don't know if anything will come of it, but I'm doing my best to make sense of things." He paused and looked up at the dark sky. The answering machine continued recording. He imagined his mother listening to his words in the near future, listening to this moment of silence. "Things aren't going well between Michelle and me. I don't know what to do. I don't know how things are going to turn out. Give me a call when you get the chance, okay?"
He paused once more and then hung up. A sense of futility and weariness descend upon him. He turned and entered the building and made his way back up to Henry's apartment. He'd spent the past hour or so sorting through Henry's possessions, and had decided to take his computer, videos and other personal affects back with him to New York. The rest would be boxed by Alliance Moving Company tomorrow morning.
Standing in the living room, he gazed at the photographs of Julia and wondered if he should have simply mailed them. Or thrown them away. Or perhaps , he thought, flicking through them, kept them . With a sigh, he slid them all into a manila office folder and sealed it. No, best to simply give them back.
*
She pulled up in a dirty gray Volvo that looked like it was being held together by little more than wire and luck. The front grill was missing, as was the passenger side mirror. A large dent was battered into the car's hood and a long crack spidered its way down the windshield. She got out and slammed the door hard behind her. It creaked back open, so she slammed it again. This time it held. She rounded the car to step up to where Thomas stood.
"So. You got the photographs?" She stood before him, hands slipped into her the back pockets of her jeans, chin raised.
"Yes. Actually." Thomas extended the envelope, and she took it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to look at them, but--"
"Don't worry," she said, opening the envelope to flick through the photographs, walking her fingers through them as she looked at the top of each one. "I was curious to see if you'd give them to me."
"Oh," said Thomas, his face flushing. "Of course. So you knew that Henry had them--well, of course." He felt a fool.
"Yeah." She closed the envelope and let it hang by her side. In the dusk, her face was all shadows and raised, pale surfaces. She examined him with sardonic amusement. "I knew you'd seen them when you mentioned them back at Eric's."
"Oh," said Thomas again, "Well, yes. I was planning on giving them back. That had always been my intention."
She grinned lazily up at him. "How very adult of you." Turning, she stepped off the curb and walked back around to her car. "Have a safe drive home," she said, and got back in.
Thomas watched her start her car, bemused and annoyed, and raised a hand in parting when she drove off. A wind sprang up and blew across the parking lot, sending leaves sweeping and curling about him and making him shiver. Hunching his shoulders and lowering his chin, he took a deep breath and looked to his car. Time to go back to New York.
Chapter 6
It was raining. A dismal
"What kind of stuff?" Still wary, but curious now.
"Well," said Thomas, suddenly awkward, "Just, well, personal stuff that I'm sure Henry would want you to have."
There was a long silence, and Thomas looked out over the dismal parking lot at the windows of a small high rise that were catching the rays of the setting sun.
"All right. I'll be there in ten minutes."
"Great. I'll be waiting outside." Thomas hung up, feeling at once relieved and troubled. Shaking his head, he dialed his mother's number, too tired to care about the international rates. The phone rang, and then, as usual, her voicemail picked up.
"Hi, Mom," he said, rubbing the base of his palm against his eye, "Just calling to let you know that I'm in Buffalo at Henry's place. Nothing much has turned up, though I've met an ex-girlfriend of his and some other friends. I don't know if anything will come of it, but I'm doing my best to make sense of things." He paused and looked up at the dark sky. The answering machine continued recording. He imagined his mother listening to his words in the near future, listening to this moment of silence. "Things aren't going well between Michelle and me. I don't know what to do. I don't know how things are going to turn out. Give me a call when you get the chance, okay?"
He paused once more and then hung up. A sense of futility and weariness descend upon him. He turned and entered the building and made his way back up to Henry's apartment. He'd spent the past hour or so sorting through Henry's possessions, and had decided to take his computer, videos and other personal affects back with him to New York. The rest would be boxed by Alliance Moving Company tomorrow morning.
Standing in the living room, he gazed at the photographs of Julia and wondered if he should have simply mailed them. Or thrown them away. Or perhaps , he thought, flicking through them, kept them . With a sigh, he slid them all into a manila office folder and sealed it. No, best to simply give them back.
*
She pulled up in a dirty gray Volvo that looked like it was being held together by little more than wire and luck. The front grill was missing, as was the passenger side mirror. A large dent was battered into the car's hood and a long crack spidered its way down the windshield. She got out and slammed the door hard behind her. It creaked back open, so she slammed it again. This time it held. She rounded the car to step up to where Thomas stood.
"So. You got the photographs?" She stood before him, hands slipped into her the back pockets of her jeans, chin raised.
"Yes. Actually." Thomas extended the envelope, and she took it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to look at them, but--"
"Don't worry," she said, opening the envelope to flick through the photographs, walking her fingers through them as she looked at the top of each one. "I was curious to see if you'd give them to me."
"Oh," said Thomas, his face flushing. "Of course. So you knew that Henry had them--well, of course." He felt a fool.
"Yeah." She closed the envelope and let it hang by her side. In the dusk, her face was all shadows and raised, pale surfaces. She examined him with sardonic amusement. "I knew you'd seen them when you mentioned them back at Eric's."
"Oh," said Thomas again, "Well, yes. I was planning on giving them back. That had always been my intention."
She grinned lazily up at him. "How very adult of you." Turning, she stepped off the curb and walked back around to her car. "Have a safe drive home," she said, and got back in.
Thomas watched her start her car, bemused and annoyed, and raised a hand in parting when she drove off. A wind sprang up and blew across the parking lot, sending leaves sweeping and curling about him and making him shiver. Hunching his shoulders and lowering his chin, he took a deep breath and looked to his car. Time to go back to New York.
Chapter 6
It was raining. A dismal
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