Page 97 of Coram House

I don’t really want a cognac at four thirty, but I take it anyway. Bills sets another down by Xander, who is in the process of taking off his spacesuit. “God, it feels good to warm up,” he says. His boots sit, melting snow onto the sisal carpet.It will be ruined, I want to say. But it’s not my carpet.

I unzip my jacket, but all I want to do is leave. They all seem so relaxed. It could be because they know each other, but I have the feeling they’re the sort of people who feel at home in any room they walk into.The joy I felt out on the lake is draining away at the prospect of sitting here making small talk.

I’ll stay fifteen minutes, long enough to be polite.

As I look for somewhere to put the whisky down so I can take off my wet boots, Bill launches into some story about their undergrad days. Xander gives a loud, hearty laugh—different from his usual laugh. Bill grabs a beer from the bar’s fridge and looks around for a bottle opener.

“Yo, Willy, catch.”

Xander lobs something across the room that looks like a ceramic duck. Bill catches it easily in one hand. The beer opens with a hiss.

But I barely hear it. It feels like all the blood has drained out of my head. “What did you call him?” I ask.

Xander turns to look at me and the smile falls off his face. “Are you okay?”

The room blurs at the edges. “Your friend—Bill.”

Xander stares at me blankly, but then it clicks. “Willy? It’s a joke. Bill is short for William, but in college there was another Bill so sometimes we used to call him Willy.”

The glass slips from my fingers and smashes on the stone floor. Shards reflect the dancing firelight in flickers of orange.

“Party foul,” says Bill, looking down at the puddle of cognac.

Bill. Willy.

Is it possible? Was it really there in front of me all this time?

Xander jumps to his feet. “No worries, it’s just a glass.”

In my mind, I’m already in my car, driving away. Because if I’m right—if Bill and Willy are the same person—this changes everything.

“I have to go.”

The two women exchange a look and scoot back into the deep cushions, as if my insanity might be catching. Ignoring Xander’s call to wait, I pull open the front door. The hood of my car is covered in a dusting of snow.

“Alex!”

I turn. Xander has followed me outside with no shoes or jacket. “What the hell is going on?”

He’s annoyed, verging on angry.

“You’re acting all weird.” He drops his voice. “Is this—was it because I kissed you?”

This isn’t about you, I want to shout. But of course it is. This house. This life. Those friends. How could he not, somewhere deep down, believe he was the sun.

“Look, it’s important,” I say, opening the car door and sliding into the driver’s seat.

He steps forward quickly, grabs the door before I can close it. “I’m sorry for—whatever. Just don’t go yet.”

I look at him. My urge is to apologize, to promise to call him later, to thank him again—for dinner, wine, sailing. I feel the obligation of holding someone’s attention, the value it gives me, the desire to keep it even if I’m not sure I want it.

“Thank you for today,” I say. “But I don’t want to be here.”

It’s maybe the first fully honest thing I’ve said to him. He steps back, surprise on his face, and I slam the car door. Pebbles spit beneath my wheels as I pull onto the drive. When I glance in the rearview mirror Xander is still standing on the steps, watching me drive away. Then I round the curve and he’s gone.

26

My wheels senda wave of slush over the curb as I turn too sharply onto the main road. Still, I accelerate until the fast-food restaurants are a neon smear out the window.Bill. Will. Willy.

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