you know. You can’t get rid of them. Even with acid. And sandpaper, it doesn’t really erase them.”
“So what you said before, with Estelle,” Michael began.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was just trying to be mysterious. I mean, gymnastics does a number on your hands, don’t get me wrong, but it doesn’t set you up for a life of crime.”
“Hmm,” he said. “Too bad. It sounded believable to me.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I said. “What else?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“What else should I be looking for, checking on?” I asked. “You seem to know about this kind of thing.”
“Murder, you mean? I know about murder?”
“Well, whatever. What else do you think I should be doing?” I asked.
“Maybe you need to get a lawyer,” he said. “And maybe you should talk to some of the other people in that writing group, and see if you can find out anything from any of them.”
“Like what? What I am I supposed to ask? Hey, Joanie, do you happen to know who killed Neville and may have decided to frame me for it? Was it you, by any chance? Hey—maybe I should call Kenneth and ask him, too. What do you think?”
“I think you can be a little more creative than that, Cassie. God, do I have to do everything for you?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll pay for lunch, though. If my credit card isn’t rejected.”
We walked back to campus, strolling through the crowded streets of the East Village, stopping once for frozen yogurt and twice for Michael to try on hats at street vendors. Both of us slowed down to peruse tables stacked with used books, easels displaying art and photography, and once to throw a dollar bill into the open guitar case of a talented young man performing an athletic version of “Classical Gas.”
“Did you see that?” Michael asked. “What a face that kid has.”
“Talent is what that kid has,” I said.
“And looks,” he added.
“I guess,” I said. “Not my type.”
“So just what is your type, anyway?” he asked. “I’ve known you for almost a year and I haven’t been able to figure it out. Do you not like men? Are you a dyke or something?”
“No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m just really, really focused on my career right now. I don’t have time for a social life. And besides, you’re my type. I’m just waiting for you to get over this fascination you have with men, and realize that I’m the woman for you.”
“Oh my God, that is so not what you just said,” he said.
“And that is so not proper English,” I replied.
We were crossing the park, closing in on the residence towers, when I saw the cruiser.
“I think I may have company,” I said, nodding towards the officer leaning against the car. “I don’t think he’s spotted me yet.”
I took Michael’s arm and gently steered him around the corner.
“Maybe he didn’t see me. Let’s go in here.” We went into a coffee shop and I pulled out my cell phone. “I’d better get on that lawyer thing right away,” I said.
Michael went to the counter to order. I flipped quickly through my contacts and pressed a speed dial. He motioned to me, asking what I wanted to drink, just as the line was engaged.
I held up a finger and said, “Father? I think I’m in trouble.”
Three
When he returned to the table with his latte, I had already completed my call.
“Who was that? Oh, do you want to share some of this?” he asked, pushing the enormous cup to the center of the tiny round table.
The small café was jammed with students, tourists, and wanna-be writers, all scribbling in their moleskin notebooks, everyone dressed head-to-toe in black and scowling at everyone else for making noise. Music that leaked from earbuds clashed with soothing classical violins humming from speakers suspended from each corner by thick cobwebs and seemingly little else, and even that was blasted out by the grind of the espresso machine every three minutes.
Michael leaned forward and boomed, into a sudden lull, “So, you have a father?”
“Why, yes, I do,” I said. “Don’t you? Or were you hatched out of the side of your mother’s head?”
“Sorry,” he said, toning down his voice. “That’s not what I meant. I just never heard you mention family before, so I assumed you didn’t have any…you know, living relatives.”
“Well, I do. In fact, my father lives in New Jersey and I see him a couple times a month. We even talk on the phone a few times a week. How about you? Where's your family?” I asked.
“Oh, my mom lives in Massachusetts, and my dad passed away a few years ago,” he said.
“I’m sorry. Do you see your mom often?”
“As often as I can,” he said, shrugging. “She’s busy with her business, and, I don’t know, I suppose I’m not a priority for her.”
I sipped the hot coffee and contemplated the undercurrents of his explanation. “So, she’s not comfortable with your ‘lifestyle,’ I take it?”
“Something like that,” he said. “How did you know?”
“I think that might be pretty common, and I’m sorry,” I said. I paused. “I haven’t seen my mother since I was eight years old, so I can kind of relate.”
“Really?” he replied. “Do you know where she is?”
“Sort of,” I said. “She went back to Europe. I’m not sure where, exactly. Just that she left my father—and me—and never looked back.”
“Did she run off with another man or something?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” I said.
I hesitated, and there was an uncomfortable silence for a moment.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s none of my business. You don’t have to explain anything to me. Family stuff is hard.”
“Yeah,” I said. I forced myself to look him in the eye. As much as I wanted to have a fresh start in the city with no connection to my past, I couldn’t deny that it would be good to have a friend who knew the “real” me. Should I take the plunge and tell Michael the truth about my family?
“I…”
Michael’s phone dinged and he pulled it out of his pocket.
“Oh, sorry, I need to take this call,” he said. “Hello?” he turned slightly away and I found myself looking at the back of his shoulder.
So much for intimacy, I thought. I finished the lukewarm coffee and checked my own phone for messages. As usual, there were none. When he disconnected the call, Michael turned back to me.
“Where were we?” he asked.
“Never mind that,” I said. “Tell me who was on the phone to make you look so goofy.”
“Oh, I wrote my number on the chest of a guy at the gym this morning and before he showered, he decided to call me,” he said. “We’re going to meet for drinks later.”
“You dog,” I said. “Should we clear out?” I pulled on my sweater. “I don’t suppose you’d be up for making a field trip to Princeton with me later on?”
“Nah, I’ve got class this afternoon,