Chapter 2

“I thought you had a boyfriend.”

“I do,” I told my little sister Juliet. She was two years younger and was also the twin of our only brother, Patrick. It honestly was kind of a thing to keep track of us all, because there were seven kids in our family: Nicola, Sophie, me, Patrick and Juliet, Brenna, and Grace. That made me (almost) in the middle, especially if you counted the twins as a unit (which we often did). Nicola and Sophie were the “old ones,” the twins were a package deal, Brenna and Grace were the “little girls.” I was on my own between them, kind of an Addie Island.

But it wasn’t as if I was alone—I’d hardly ever been on my own when I was a kid, and even now, most of my immediate family lived close by. My brother had moved to California but the rest of us were around the Detroit area and so were our parents. Only Grace was still physically at home, because although she was turning twenty soon enough, she hadn’t quite figured out her next move.

Juliet was always making moves, at least with men. That was why I was talking to her about this, although she was younger and should have been the one asking me for advice. I could tell that she wasn’t fully paying attention to what I was saying, because she was pretty busy looking at videos on her phone.

“Juliet…”

“Yeah, Addie, I’m listening. Briggs acted like a douche on your birthday and you two got in a fight,” she summarized. “Then you went back to the restaurant to apologize for something that wasn’t your fault and you met another guy.”

That wasn’t everything, but I couldn’t tell any of my sisters the whole story. Someone, probably Juliet, would have rushed to inform our mother about the robbery and gun part of the incident. In Mom’s mind, it would have morphed from a semi-dangerous event that I’d stumbled across into my near-assassination. She had a flair for the dramatic and she embellished. We didn’t call it lying, but she did add her own twists and details onto existing facts—I didn’t even know if she was aware of it, but it always happened so you always had to take everything she said with a grain of salt.

For example, her fall at one of the northern Michigan ski areas was retold as the time that she almost was paralyzed because some crazy racers had knocked her down, causing a terrible crash. She repeated the story so vividly and consistently that I might have believed it if I hadn’t been skiing right behind her when it had happened. I’d watched her catch an edge and topple gently onto her hip, with no crazy racers anywhere on the hill. When there had been some water damage to my apartment the winter before, she’d been sure that the building was about to collapse and had told her neighbor, Mrs. Lassiter, that I had lost everything in a flood. Her foot getting run over by a cart at the grocery store turned into a tale of a narrowly avoided amputation because she happened have on sandals. Sophie had been with her for that one and had relayed the facts but anyway, no one had spotted a discernable mark.

The idea of losing a toe reminded me of snapping turtles, which brought me back to my boyfriend. I really didn’t like to think of him that way, but the image was hard to shake. “Briggs and I didn’t get into a fight,” I corrected my sister. “He got mad at the waitress, and that spilled over. It wasn’t about me but I was caught in the crossfire. Although no one had a gun!”

She looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Holy Mary, I hope he doesn’t get his hands on a weapon. With a temper like that?”

There had been an incident between Briggs and my dad last summer on the Fourth, a minor difference of opinion over the correct way to cook medium-rare steak on the grill. Briggs didn’t have a grill of his own but he had opinions about how Dad should have used the one that had sat in our back yard since I was about ten. He freely shared those opinions but my father had continued to do things his own way, leading to a meltdown (on Briggs’ side).

Anyway, ever since then, my family had strongly believed that my boyfriend had a temper. I didn’t argue; it was true that he was a hothead and I agreed that he shouldn’t have picked a fight with my dad. He definitely shouldn’t have said that only troglodytes liked their steaks well-done because that was just rude and several people in my family took it as a personal affront. No one had enjoyed the party and Briggs and I had discussed it a lot, but he hadn’t apologized to anyone and since then, he hadn’t been invited back over.

“He’s fine now,” I told my sister, and it was true that in the week that had passed since my birthday dinner, he had calmed down and was acting normal again. But me? I was still thinking about that guy who’d needed the throat lozenges.

Juliet eyed me. “He’s cute?”

“Briggs?”

“Addie! I’ve seen Briggs,” she answered and as she did, she stuck out her tongue and frowned, almost like something made her feel nauseated. “I mean this waiter guy who threw him out of the restaurant. The bear.”

“He’s not really like a bear. He’s not hairy,” I said. “But…yes. He’s cute in a big, burly, bear kind of way. Like he could pick you up and…”

She raised her eyebrow again. “Go on! I want to hear where he’s carrying you.”

“No, I just meant that he looks strong,” I explained.

“What’s the restaurant? Is it the one that Liv is always going to?”

Yes, our friend Liv had recommended it to me because she knew the owner somehow, and that was why I’d suggested that Briggs make the reservation there when I’d reminded him that it was going to be my birthday and that we should go out to dinner to celebrate. Then, after checking to make sure that there was room for a party of two at six-thirty (the only time he would eat), I texted the reservation website to him. He set it up himself and that had made me really happy, since it showed how much he cared.

“It’s called Amunì Detroit,” I said, nodding. “Everything on the menu looked good and so did what I saw on the other diners’ plates.” I sighed. “I bet that I would have liked what I’d ordered.”

“Let’s go!” she said. “Let’s go back and you can order it again, on me.”

“It’s expensive, JuJu.” She had a good job with a big company but she was only twenty-four, and she was living on her own. Most of us were not getting help from our parents with expenses, although Grace still did live rent-free at their home and Patrick had always gotten extra money from my mom. “Maybe you should save?” I suggested.

“I save enough,” she said offhandedly. “We’ll go, my treat.”

I looked at her doubtfully. “It’s expensive,” I repeated, because I’d watched as she’d walked into the coffee shop today and I’d seen the new shoes she was wearing. I had on boots due to the slush on the sidewalk, but not Juliet, and I’d never seen her carry that bag before, either.

She ignored my comment, though, and instead told me more about what she’d done over the weekend. Briggs and I had spent most of the time putting together some new furniture for his mom and then one of her dogs hadn’t been feeling well and there had been a lot of clean-up to do around the house. I gagged a little as I remembered. Anyway, my sister’s weekend had been a lot more fun, and I mentioned that.

“You could have come out with us,” she reminded me. “You have a standing invitation.”

“Briggs doesn’t like bars and clubs.”

“I didn’t say that he was invited.”

“He has a lot of good qualities,” I told her. “Like, he carefully disposes of old paint cans. He pays his bills early. He usually picks up after his mom’s dogs when he walks them and he always washes his hands when he uses the bathroom himself. I’m almost sure.”

“Ew, Addie! I don’t want to think about that man in the bathroom.” She checked her phone. “Oh, sugar, I have to get back to work.”

So did I, because Mr. Campbell’s weekly appointment only lasted for fifty minutes. Luckily, the doctor’s office was near where Juliet worked at Whitaker Enterprises, the commercial real estate company here in downtown Detroit, so we were able to meet almost every Tuesday. I ended up seeing her a lot more than I ever saw my other siblings. Nicola was always busy working, always. My other big sister, Sophie, was a hermit. Patrick was in San Francisco, and Brenna and Grace were doing their own things. On top of that, not all of us got along with each other, so it seemed like we only spent time together as a group at holidays. Unfortunately, due to their issues with Briggs, I had been cut out of Christmas. Well, I could have gone alone, but what would that have said about how I valued my relationship with my boyfriend?

“Before I leave, do you have my horoscope?” JuJu asked, and we quickly ran through it before she raced back to her office. “I’ll make the res at Amigo,” she called over her shoulder.

“Amunì,” I called back, and then I had to hurry, too. Mr. Campbell liked to think that I was sitting in the waiting room for the entire time that he talked to the man he called his “analyst,” although the sign on the door just said “psychiatry.” He’d gone to this doctor for as long as I’d been in his employ, which was six years. According to Mina, the housekeeper, he’d been seeing the “analyst” for much longer than that.

As far as I was concerned, it wasn’t working. This was evident when Mr. Campbell came out and saw me sitting in the chair in the waiting room, because I’d made it. I’d run from the elevator and slid into a seat about a second before.

He noticed that something was off. “What is wrong with you, Addie?”

“Nothing,” I answered, and tried not to pant. I hadn’t worked out in a while and my run had actually been a full-out sprint.

“Why are you so red?” he asked, and it didn’t bother him that the receptionist and the other woman who was waiting in the seats were both watching us. “With that carroty hair, every blood vessel you have is visible. Your face is the color of a tomato.”

I didn’t appreciate all the vegetable references. “My hair isn’t carroty,” I informed him, although it was true that out of my redheaded siblings, I did tend the most toward orange. My hair was not orange, but yes, it did tend that way. I finger-combed it, because hair that tended toward orange and was also unruly…well, that subsequently tended toward fright wig. He was correct that I was on the pale side, too, so physical exertion (and brief exposure to the sun, flashes of embarrassment, feelings of pleasure, et cetera) showed up as a flush. Nothing like a tomato, just a flush.

“Let’s go,” he barked. I thought again that I was right; whatever he and his “analyst” were working on in that office certainly didn’t make him a kinder or more joyful person at the end of his fifty-minute sessions. He came out of there just as surly as he’d gone into it.

His bad attitude continued in the car, but it was mostly directed at his driver. Poor Wayne. He didn’t turn fast enough at an intersection, and therefore we were almost rear-ended; at another intersection, he turned much too fast and Mr. Campbell was thrown into the door (because he refused to wear a seatbelt). Wayne should have gone through a yellow, or, why didn’t he stop when the light was clearly red? Was he trying to cause an accident?

It went on like that for the whole way back to Grosse Pointe, where Mr. Campbell had his giant house and I spent my time hanging out with him, keeping track of his medication and appointments, and dealing with the day-to-day stuff that it took to keep an estate like his going. There was a crew of people to oversee and I did that with my friend Mina, the housekeeper. Between the two of us, we ran things, but Mr. Campbell sincerely believed that he was the one in charge. Most of his employees had never even seen his face, but it was true that he personally signed all our checks. He insisted on it and it took forever.

I had started working for him when I was in nursing school, which had been my first career choice. My oldest sister Nicola had already graduated and was kicking butt in the job, and she’d warned me…but I hadn’t listened.

“You’re not tough enough, Addie,” she’d explained, and she wasn’t saying it to be mean. Nicola believed in brutal honesty. “You could work in an office or a clinic, but I can’t see you being in a hospital, and especially not the emergency department.”

That had been what I’d wanted, though, because I truly believed that it was the best way to help others. But my sister had been correct; I just didn’t have what it took to be an ED nurse like she was and I’d seen it too, when I’d done my first clinical rotation. My preceptor had tried to help but it had been obvious to her and to me that I wasn’t going to make it there, and I’d also come to the conclusion that nursing in general just wasn’t for me. Fortunately, when that career had fizzled, I’d already had a backup. I hadn’t known it yet, though, because my employment with Mr. Campbell back then had only been a part-time deal.

“You’ll work for me,” he’d ordered when I’d neared my graduation with no real idea of what I should do next.

“Well, ok,” I’d agreed, and here I still was. It paid enough to cover my bills and with some extra that I’d been saving, and it wasn’t physically hard or mentally too stressful. There was, however, Mr. Campbell himself. Mina the housekeeper called him a prick. She was correct, and he was.

“No, not like that!” he admonished me as I offered my forearm to help him from the car and into the house. I’d done it every time he’d gotten out of the car during the six years that I’d worked for him but somehow, I never got the positioning exactly right. He moved my arm a fraction of an inch up and then another fraction down before placing his own palm on it, and then grasping with his bony fingers. We were always trying to get him to eat, but he mostly complained about food rather than swallowing it so he was much, much too thin.

“Slow down!” he barked, and when I did, he asked if I wanted him to stand in the cold forever. Then when we went inside, he was angry that the house felt too hot, that Mina and I were conspiring to drive up his bills.

“We are not,” I answered. “It feels warmer than usual because it’s so cold out. Hi, Mina,” I greeted her, and she helped him to remove his coat.

“Careful! You’ll pull me over,” he told her, then turned belligerently on me. “You have an answer for everything.”

“No, not everything.” Definitely not everything, but I was sure I was right about the heat. We went into his study while he commenced a lecture about my generation’s smug overconfidence, to which I nodded along. Carefully, I settled him into his armchair and I pulled up the ottoman for his legs. I helped him rest those on the cushion, and as he told me that I was doing it wrong, I removed his shoes and found his slippers.

“I think you need to have a snack,” I said. “You’re in a temper and you’re taking it out on me, which I don’t like.”

You never knew what Mr. Campbell would do or say, and he proved that next. Rather than arguing or flaring up again, he nodded genially. “My former wife used to just lie there and take it,” he commented. “You don’t do that.”

“No, I have a limit and you reached it.”

“When I talk about lying there and taking it, I’m referencing sexual intercourse,” he informed me, and I winced and nodded.

“I understood what you meant.”

“She was like a dead—”

“That’s another limit,” I interrupted. “I’m going to get you that snack.”

Mina had it prepared already, and the rest of the day went smoothly enough. We were re-reading the Dickens canon, start to finish, which was taking a long, long time. That man hadn’t had a word limit, and after a few hours of reading aloud, I firmly believed that he’d needed one.

As I finished up chapter nine thousand, the nighttime help was arriving and my shift was over. “No problems today,” I told the woman who stayed next to his room until I showed up again in the morning. She always said if he did wake up and have his sleep interrupted, then he was even meaner than in the day. And that was saying something.

I checked my phone as I went to my car. Mr. Campbell became enraged if he spotted anyone using anything electronic in his presence, so I hadn’t looked at it in hours. Now I saw a message from my sister Juliet: “Amunì 7pm.” She meant tonight, she clarified when I wrote back, so I had to hurry. I rushed over to my apartment to change out of what someone might have called “middle-aged” clothes—just a sweater and a skirt, a normal work outfit. Mr. Campbell didn’t allow jeans and he mocked pants, so I generally stayed away from them. It was true, though, that the skirt had belonged to my mom before I had gotten it. It was probably made for an older lady and actually, the reason I had it was because she’d thought it was worn-out and hadn’t wanted it anymore.

I hunted through my closet with a funny, excited feeling in my stomach and then as I put my hand on a hanger, I felt a rush of guilt instead. What was I doing? I had a boyfriend! Why was I dressing up to go see another man? It was really inappropriate and unfair to him. I picked up my phone, prepared to tell Juliet to cancel the reservation, but then I saw a text from Briggs instead:

“Peanut is still sick with digestive issues. Come over ASAP to help clean the rugs.”

I hadn’t really gotten into the extent of that dog’s illness when I’d talked about it with my sister, but it had been gruesome. Briggs’ mother had this thick, shag carpet right out of another era, and Peanut had totally lost control of his…it was nauseating.

I put down the phone, then I picked it up, turned it off, and dropped it into my purse. I wasn’t going to clean that carpet again, not after I had suggested that she keep the dog in a kennel on the tile floor of the kitchen or in the garage (which was heated better than my apartment was). I took the dress I’d selected off the hanger and slipped it over my head, and then I went into the bathroom and fixed my hair. I had bad lighting in there, so it did appear a little more orange than it truly was.

“Hi,” my sister greeted me on the sidewalk outside of Amunì. She tugged open my coat to see what I wore underneath it. “Wow, you look great. Is that Sophie’s?”

Yes, it was our older sister’s dress, and I hadn’t given it back after borrowing it last fall for a cousin’s wedding. “Don’t tell her that I still have it until I get it dry cleaned.”

“She wouldn’t notice if you kept it forever,” Juliet said. “Come on.”

Now she tugged my arm to hurry me toward the restaurant but actually, she was the one who’d arrived pretty late. Juliet had a different sense of time; she seemed to follow one clock, while we (meaning most of the rest of the world) went by another. It was a trait she shared with our mother and we’d all learned work-arounds, like telling them to arrive half an hour early so they’d be there right on schedule, but my sister had made the reservation herself tonight.

That meant we were late, and at first the host gave us a little snooty grief about our tardiness. Juliet gave it right back, and I went into soothing mode so that we could get seated.

“This table is so dark I don’t think I can see my hand in front of my face,” my sister commented. She said something else but I didn’t quite catch it.

“What?” I asked. We were right next to an area where a busboy had just deposited a tray full of dishes and glasses.

“I said, he gave us the worst table on purpose,” JuJu answered, her voice raised.

“It’s ok. The food will be good.”

“What?”

We were also seated next to the doors to the kitchen, and it wasn’t quiet in there either. The restaurant was hopping with business tonight. “I said, the food will be good!” I called to her over the flowers.

I was right; it was very good. Conversation remained difficult but we were busy eating anyway, and the dinner was just as delicious as I’d imagined. I had to pace myself a little because Sophie’s dress was pretty tight to begin with, but it was hard not to totally indulge. That was especially true because I was with Juliet, whose talent had always been to eat everything in sight, have room for more, and remain slim but with big breasts. I also had the breasts but not the metabolism, and Mr. Campbell liked to let me know when I may have put on a little. He said he wasn’t looking, but he could just tell.

Juliet ordered dessert but by that point, I had totally put on the brakes. That was ok because I was still savoring a glass of wine and feeling happily full. The woman who’d waited on our table before, Serafina, didn’t seem to be working tonight and I was slightly worried that she’d gotten in trouble over what had happened with Briggs. I hadn’t seen the head waiter either, and that Granger was on my sister’s mind as well. She’d told me to point him out when we first came in, but now as the meal was winding down, he still hadn’t appeared.

That was fine. Better than fine, in fact—because I had a boyfriend, so I didn’t need to be chasing after other men. Not that I was chasing, but I didn’t even need to be looking. I would have been very upset if Briggs had gone to a restaurant to ogle another woman! So I needed to apply the same standards to myself.

The waiter came with the check and my sister immediately whipped out her credit card.

“JuJu, we can split,” I told her, but she shook her head.

“I told you that this was my treat and it is,” she answered. “I’ve got it.” She passed the bill folder back to the waiter and he took it away.

Now that it had gotten later and the other tables in the room had emptied out, the servers’ station with the dish emptying had calmed down a lot and that made conversation at a normal decibel level much easier. “The Whitakers must be paying you better than I thought,” I mentioned. “For your first job, you’re doing really well.”

“I’m doing great,” she agreed. “Are you looking to change things up? I can talk to HR for you.”

“No, not right now, but I am thinking more about the future and job security.”

“You mean because your boss is a two hundred years old?” she asked, and then her eyes moved off me and her jaw fell slightly slack. “Holy Mary, I can see where you got the bear thing. He’s hot.”

“What?”

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice said, and then it paused. “Addie,” he stated.

“Hello,” I agreed. “Yes, it’s me.”

“It was nice of you to come over,” Juliet said to him, and smiled at me encouragingly.

“Actually, your server asked me if I could get a different method of payment from you.”

She stared.“What?”

“You card was declined,” he said, and I watched color bloom on my sister’s face as those unfortunate blood vessels started to open.

“It’s a mistake,” she said. Her voice sounded too loud. “I’ll give you another one.”

“Great,” he answered. “Thank you.” He took the second card and nodded at me before he left.

“JuJu—”

“It was a mistake,” my sister told me. “Calm down, Addie.”

“I’m totally calm,” I said calmly. “I can pay for the dinner, too.” I hadn’t seen the bill before she’d handed it back to our waiter, but I knew from the prices listed on the menu that it was going to be a hefty check. I started to mentally calculate. We hadn’t drunk a full bottle of wine, only glasses, and I hadn’t had dessert. I definitely should have ordered pasta instead of seafood. Juliet had told me to get whatever since this was going to be her present to me, and now I was so sorry that this expensive dinner had pushed her over her limit.

My sister quickly finished the wine left in her glass, then took a big drink of water. “It’s totally fine. It’s just a mistake,” she was telling me again, and then Granger returned to our table. I had a feeling that if one card wasn’t working, the next one wouldn’t either, and I had my own ready.

“I apologize. I wasn’t thinking the first time I came over,” he said, and he put the bill cover back in front of Juliet. “Your dinner is on the house.”

“What? Why?” I asked.

“After you save someone from a holdup, you get your next meal comped.”

“A holdup?” my sister asked. “What?”

“You don’t have to do that,” I told him. “I have a card that will work.”

“My cards…” Juliet started to announce, but then she just got quiet. She took the plastic rectangle and replaced it into the slot in her wallet, and as she did, I saw that there were a lot of other credit cards in there with it.

Granger’s eyes were on me, not her purse. “Thanks for stopping by again.”

My sister quickly stood. “Let’s go, Addie,” she said, and she sounded a lot younger than usual.

“Um, ok.” But I hesitated. “Thank you,” I said to him, and finally followed just as my sister went out the door. She was already motoring down the street when I also stepped through it.

“JuJu!” I called after her, but she kept going.

“I’ll talk to you later. Happy belated birthday!”

At least her credit problems had prevented her from asking any further questions about the “holdup” reference. I stood watching and I waited for her to get into her car and pull away, and she was gone in the blink of an eye.

“Addie?”

I spun my head at the sound of my name and saw Granger at the restaurant’s front door. “Hi,” I said. “Again.”

“If I’d known that you were coming, I would have put you at a better table. You got the worst seats in the house.”

“That’s ok. I thought they were fine and the food was delicious. I didn’t get to eat anything the first time I was here except for part of a roll, so I wanted to try it again. It was so good, and the service was great,” I assured him.

“Except for the host sticking you in a dungeon. I’ll speak to him.”

“Well, don’t get him in any trouble with the owner.”

“I’m the owner,” Granger said.

“What?”

“This is my restaurant,” he explained.

“Oh. Well, congratulations to you, then,” I said. “You have an amazing place.” It made more sense to me, now, how comfortable he’d felt about making the decision to throw out a patron, and then physically removing him. It also made sense that he’d fought with a robber rather than just handing over the till. A head waiter probably wouldn’t have done those things but an owner might have. Not every restaurant owner would have been strong and agile enough to accomplish them, though.

“Do you want to come back in?” he suggested. “You could have another glass of wine or coffee. You didn’t have dessert.”

He’d noticed that? Oh—he’d been looking at the amount that he’d had to comp. I felt embarrassed again. “You really don’t owe me anything,” I said. “I didn’t do much during the robbery except scream when it was already over. Thanks for picking up the tab for our dinner. I guess that was the second time I’ve gotten free stuff here, but I won’t make it a habit.” No, after being thrown out with my boyfriend and then running out on the check with my sister, I certainly wouldn’t come back.

He nodded. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said in his husky way, and I didn’t decline because he was already moving.

“I guess the throat drops didn’t work,” I mentioned. “Or, did they, but you need more?”

“Actually, my vocal cords were injured a while ago. I had surgery and they managed to fix some things, but this is as good as my voice gets.”

I stopped walking. “Holy Mary. I’m so sorry!” I told him. “That was so rude of me to give you lozenges and presume…I’m so sorry.”

“I thought it was nice of you,” he said and sounded surprised by that, which I didn’t understand. “They tasted good.”

“I wish you had said something. I wouldn’t have forced them on you.”

“You didn’t. Why can’t your boss have candy?”

“What?”

“You said he eats those because he can’t have candy,” he explained.

“Oh, right. Yes, he has a sweet tooth but now he’s only allowed sugar-free stuff, like diet orange pop. He has limited food choices due to his health problems.”

“Which are what?”

It took me a while to list everything that was going haywire with Mr. Campbell and I didn’t want to say anything about the very personal issues with his body, so I was vague. Still, by the time I was done going through even the general outlines, we were already at my car. “Thank you for walking with me,” I said. “I really am sorry about your vocal cords and giving you those drops. I shouldn’t have called attention to your injury.” Mr. Campbell got furious when people noticed his (very obvious) health issues, and it was just impolite to do that to someone.

“It happened to me a long time ago,” he said. “I don’t care.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re being gracious. You were gracious about our dinner, too, and thank you again.”

“Your friend didn’t seem to know about your rescue during the robbery,” he noted.

“No, I didn’t mention what happened,” I admitted. “It would get people worked up. My mom, for example, gets very dramatic, and I didn’t want to upset anyone.”

“Not even your boyfriend?”

“Briggs? No, I didn’t tell him either, but not because he gets dramatic.”

“The statements he made about First Amendment violations in the restaurant were very dramatic,” Granger noted.

I nodded slightly, because Briggs had been on a real roll with that nonsense. “I mean that he wouldn’t care—he would care that I got involved in a gunfight,” I corrected myself, “but he wouldn’t have made it a big deal. The part that would bother him is how I came back and brought flowers. He’s pretty sure that he was in the right about the whole situation that night.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Very sure,” I corrected again. “He’s a person with a lot of self-confidence and I know that sometimes it’s misplaced. But he also has a lot of positive qualities, like how he takes care of his mom, and how he saves so much of his income for the future. He’s extremely careful with money.”

“Good for him.”

I nodded, and thought about my sister Juliet. Maybe she wasn’t being as careful. “He’s also diligent about taking his cat to the vet and changing its litter box, even when it attacks him as he does it.” It wasn’t a friendly cat. “He never accelerates when there’s a squirrel in the road. He comes to a complete stop at each blinking red.” I’d thought a lot about Briggs’ good qualities, so I had more to say. “He doesn’t waste water or electricity. Once, I saw him throw crumbs to ducks. He participates in online surveys. That’s mostly to complain, though,” I confessed. “He got a bonus and brought up the idea of going to the beach in Florida together. But later he told me that he’d put the money into his 401K, which is obviously more important. Anyway, we would have driven because he thinks airlines are a scam, and that would have added a lot of time to the trip. I couldn’t have taken so many days off so it was more like a fantasy, I guess.”

“Sounds fun.”

I looked carefully at Granger’s face but it was expressionless. “I’m just saying, Briggs isn’t all bad,” I explained. “I would even say that he’s mostly good.”

“That’s lucky for you, then.”

I nodded. “Thank you again for dinner.” He nodded too, and we said goodbye. I got into my car rather than standing next to it, arguing and shivering. I wasn’t sure why I’d been trying so hard to convince Granger, a person I hardly knew from a hole in the ground, that my boyfriend was a good person, a person whom I loved.

It wasn’t until I was back in my apartment and brushing my teeth that I looked in the mirror and realized that I’d been trying to convince myself.