Page 28 of Alone With You in the Ether

“Why a mathematician, then?”

“I took an algebra course my first year of college because I thought I might need it for my major.”

“What was your major?”

“Undecided,” he replied, “but I did well in that class, so I just kept going. I left for two years, came back, had to pick a major. All of my credits were in math, so I just kept going.” Another sip. “I started working with some grad students and got asked to stay on in the doctoral program. I haven’t left, as you can see,” he said with a smile floating somewhere between wry and grim, and then he added, “so I guess I’ll just stay until the university tells me to leave.”

The sentence rung with familiarity. Regan wasn’t sure how to identify what specifically had struck her as relatable, but she felt certain that whatever mental space Aldo had just occupied, she had been there before herself.

“Well,” she said. “That’s something.” She eyed her glass, remarking, “I suppose I learned a little of your history today.”

“So did I, sort of, though it still doesn’t really answer my question.”

“What, the one you had about the heist?”

“Not a heist,” he said, and she permitted a fleeting smile. “It was… a fixation, I think. At least partially.”

“Partially?”

“Maybe I’ll figure out the rest another time,” he said. “During one of the other three conversations.”

“Maybe,” she said.

They both paused, sipping from their respective thoughts.

“I like it,” he said.

“What?”

He loosened the wine from his lips. “Your brain.”

Three conversations, Regan marveled, and she already understood that was the highest compliment in Rinaldo Damiani’s arsenal. Clearly he was onto something with his rule of sixes.

“Thanks,” she said, and toasted him, permitting her glass to chime in synchronicity with his.

He glanced at her name on his screenand answered on the second ring.

“Wave patterns,” she whispered.

He squinted at the clock. “It’s four, Regan.”

“I know. I couldn’t sleep.”

He dragged himself upright, leaning his pillow against the wall that lacked a headboard, and shifted to sit up. He reached over for the unlit joint on the nightstand, considered it, and then changed his mind, directing his attention back to Regan.

“What about wave patterns?”

“When you drop something into water,” she said, “and it ripples out. Those are circles.”

Ripples of consequence.

“Our eyes perceive them to be perfect circles,” he said. “There’s no telling whether or not they are.”

“Still, it sort of counts, doesn’t it?”

He figured he’d let her have that one, or at least part of it. “It’s not the most compelling contradiction but it counts, yes.”

“Crop circles,” she said. “Fairy rings.”

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