Page 68 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

He didn’t know what building she took her business classes in, but he knew how to use a phone to ask, so he waited, as the light winter wind shimmied through the oaks, swaying the Mardi Gras beads that lived among the branches in perpetuity. It wasn’t cold, but the light, electric bite in the air sent chills through him.

Charles rubbed his arms. He should’ve worn a jacket. Young men and women shuffled past him, less chatty and more purposeful at this time of night. The women tucked their faces down and moved without eye contact. The young men kept an eye out for them, though who was to say one of them wasn’t a predator themselves? Like that sicko killing women out by Evangeline. Oh, he tried to convince her to come home, but trying to tell Evangeline anything was like speaking French to a dog that learned its orders in Spanish. She didn’t know he’d hired someone to watch after her, but the guy was a student himself and still had classes to attend.

He pulled out his pack of smokes, started to shake one out, then slipped it back in his pocket. With a grunt, he leaned into the tree and instead of breathing in toxins, he let the thick, night air roll through his lungs.

“Huck?”

A voice that had stopped his heart, over and over, but this time only startled him. He’d expected to see her first, to have the upper hand.

“Hey, Cat.”

She looked around. “What are you doing here?”

“What would you say if I told you I’m a changed man? Going back to school to find myself and all that?”

Catherine’s laugh echoed through the trees. “I’d say you’re up to your usual bullshit.”

Charles laughed in return. “You’d be right. Let me drive you home.”

She eyed him, wary. “Why are you here?”

“To see you.”

“Oh, come on. We’re going to do this, here? Again?”

“It’s over,” Charles said. “We both know that. It’s been over. But I have questions.”

Catherine rolled her eyes. She pressed her textbook to her chest, and he reached over and took it from her, slipping it under his own arm. “You have questions. Who says I have answers?”

“Your husband might overlook his suspicions, but I won’t.”

“Which is it, already? Are we over? Are we not? Because if I’m not yours, you’re not entitled to anything!”

“Neither is Colin, apparently. You disappeared for six months, Catherine, and you just expect everyone to accept you were with Rory and Carolina?”

“You don’t have to believe me. Ask Rory.”

Charles tapped his head. “See, that’s the part I haven’t quite figured out, why Rory would lie.”

“Rory doesn’t lie. We both know that. Remember, he’s the reason we broke up the first time.”

“Don’t blame Rory for your weakness.”

Catherine reached for her textbook, but he dodged her. “I don’t have to take this, Charles.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Great, we agree. Give me my book.”

“Where were you Catherine?”

“My book.”

“Or, perhaps the better question is, who were you with?”

Catherine stopped reaching for her textbook. She choked out a laugh, shaking her head. “You think I have another lover on the side?”

Charles set her book on the bench behind him. A challenge. “You tell me.”

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