This Glittering World by T. Greenwood Page A

closed behind him. It smelled good in here. Like homemade bread. He went to Shadi’s table and took off his coat, unwrapped his scarf.
    Today she was wearing jeans and boots and a turtleneck sweater. Her hair was up in a bun, held in place with a pencil. She smiled and stood up, leaning into him for a hug. She smelled good, that fresh-cut grass smell.
    “Sit,” she said.
    Ben sat down and picked up a menu. He tried to focus on the lunch items, but the words blurred together, swimming across the page. He put the menu down and looked at her. Her eyes were warm pools; she was waiting for him.
    “Ricky was at Jack’s that night, but he left early,” Ben offered.
    She nodded.
    “There was a girl, some stupid girl who kept bothering him,” he said. He didn’t want to repeat what it was that she was doing. The cowgirl and Indian shit. It made him feel guilty, ashamed. But if he didn’t say it, it was like he was protecting the girl instead of protecting Shadi.
    She tilted her head and looked at him for an explanation.
    “She was trying to get her boyfriend to take a picture of the two of them. She was dressed up like a cowgirl. For Halloween.”
    Shadi’s eyes grew dark.
    “Her boyfriend and Ricky left Jack’s around the same time. They’d been playing pool together.”
    The waitress came over to take their order. Her arms were tattooed, and she had a large silver lip ring that looked a little infected. She seemed put out by their requests. Dressing on the side for Shadi. Jack instead of Swiss for Ben. She scratched their orders on her pad and huffed as she walked away with their menus.
    Shadi shrugged and smiled.
    Ben peered out the window. The lunch crowd and students and tourists filled the streets. It was a cold but gorgeous sunny day, with almost no evidence of the weekend’s snowstorm remaining. A train rumbled and then screamed past them on the tracks a block away. Ben studied the faces of the people on the sidewalks, worried about seeing someone he knew. Sara usually ate lunch at work, part of the diet. He could picture her watching her Lean Cuisine spinning around inside the microwave in the break room. He used to meet her for lunch. He used to bring her rolled tacos or slices of pizza from Alpine Pizza. They’d eat in the break room together or, if it was nice, out at the picnic table on the office park’s lawn. Even eating had turned into a sort of drudgery for her lately.
    “Have you talked to the police anymore?” Ben asked.
    She shook her head. “They say that he got drunk and passed out. Fell down, hit his head. He died of exposure.”
    “But he wasn’t drunk. Didn’t that show up in the autopsy?”
    “There was no autopsy,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s against our beliefs. Well, my grandmother’s beliefs anyway.”
    “They must have done a blood alcohol test at the hospital,” Ben said.
    Shadi looked out the window. A woman was tethering a collie to a bike rack. “They did. His blood alcohol was point-oh-eight.”
    “That doesn’t make sense. You said he doesn’t drink, and even if he did, point-oh-eight is hardly drunk enough to pass out. And what about his injuries? What about the trauma to his head? That was no fall.” Ben felt anger spreading from his gut to his arms. He felt his hands clenching into fists.
    “You don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. “The rules aren’t the same.”
    “What do you mean rules?”
    “They found alcohol, they found their answer. That’s enough for them. Case closed.” Shadi shut her eyes and turned toward the window. The sun was so bright it almost hurt. “God, I’m starving. Where’s our food?”
    After lunch, Ben drove Shadi back to campus. She had an art history class at three o’clock, and Ben needed to pick up the essays he’d left in his office. He parked near campus and they walked together. Ben was already formulating his excuses in case anyone saw him. She’s a student of mine. A grad student TA. A