Grey Zone by Clea Simon

someone with commitment issues. From someone tangled up in the idea of love.’
    It’s empty nest syndrome, Dulcie told herself as she walked across the Yard a few minutes later. She wants me to find myself, to make my mark as a scholar and a teacher. But she’s lonely, and she’s worried about me. After all, look at how her own marriage turned out.
    Our life will be different, she thought as she walked toward the street. But even as she formed the thought, some dark part of her mind countered with a question. Will it? After all, both she and Chris were headed toward academic careers, and those were notoriously difficult to plan. What if he won a position at UCLA – and she could only get on the tenure track at Brown or Tulane? The idea of a cross-country romance made her cringe. Would she have to give up her dreams? Would Chris? Was there any sense in staying together now, when in only a few years—
    The gust hit her like a slap, fragments of ice and small stones raking across her face like, yes, like claws. And just as suddenly, it was gone. That was March for you: leonine for as long as it could be. Unless . . . Dulcie laughed to herself. Lucy’s cat might be speaking directly to her mother, but Mr Grey had his methods, as well. That March wind – that was Mr Grey in action, cutting her off when her emotions threatened to drag her down.
    â€˜I’m sorry, Mr Grey,’ she said out loud. ‘You’re right.’ She looked up at a sky that suddenly shone a clear blue. ‘I’m just hungry and, well, everything has been freaking me out recently. If I only had the sense of a cat, I’d learn to live in the moment. Not worry so much about love.’
    Across the Yard, a cloaked figure froze and turned to stare. It must have been the stillness, the sudden stop, that caught Dulcie’s eye, but as she turned, the figure also pivoted, away from her, so that its face was hidden by the deep hood. Well, so she’d been caught talking to herself. Harvard Square was filled with weirdos. Some of them were geniuses, and some of them communed with ghosts.
    Dulcie felt her better spirits buoy her up as she made her way down Mass. Ave. It didn’t mean anything that Chris hadn’t called her back. He’d probably crashed for a few hours of sleep and turned off his own phone. He’d call her when he woke up, and if he didn’t ring soon, she’d get his favorite – peanut butter and jelly on a raisin bagel – and surprise him at his place. Yes, she had told Suze she’d go to the police, but in the light of day, she was no longer even sure what she’d seen. The cops probably had hundreds of people calling, people who had real information about the missing girl. Besides, how sweet would it be if, just for once, she and Chris were both more or less awake at the same time? The possibility of a romantic interlude began to take shape in her mind, and she felt herself blushing – and speeding up just a bit on her way to the bagel store. Mr Grey, she was sure, would approve.
    Chris must be on her mind, she thought as she queued up to cross the street. For a moment, she almost thought she was seeing him on the other side of the street. Tall and gangly, with straight brown hair that fell over his face in bangs, her beau had a look that wasn’t uncommon among the students and bohemians of Cambridge. But that scarf, orange with a black zigzag, seemed familiar, too. It looked like one of Lucy’s offerings: the one she had knitted for him during their first visit out West. It would match his aura, Lucy had said: warm and somehow electric.
    â€˜Chris?’ It was her sweetie, she was sure. And while she couldn’t understand why he hadn’t returned her call, she was filled with joy. As short as she was, however, joy alone would not catch his eye. ‘Yo! Chris!’ Dulcie jumped up and waved, earning a nasty look from a large man in