them as I walked by. They didn't nod back. When I went to college there was a guy in my class who was thirty-eight years old. He'd gone to the military and skipped getting his BA. I remembered how he stuck out on campus because he looked so goddamn old. That was my age now. Hard to fathom. I was the same age as that seemingly old geezer.
I continued to think such inane thoughts because they helped me ignore where I was going. I wore an untucked white dress shirt, blue jeans, blue blazer, Ferragamo loafers without socks. Mr. Casual Chic.
When I approached the building, I could actually feel my body shaking. I scolded myself. I was a grown man. I had been married. I was a father and a widower. I had last seen this woman more than half my life ago.
When do we grow out of this?
I checked the directory, even though Lucy had told me that her office was on the third floor, door B. There it was. Professor Lucille Gold. Three-B. I managed to press the right button in the elevator. I turned left when I got out on the third floor, even though the sign with the 'A-E' had an arrow pointing right.
I found her door. There was a sign-up sheet with her office hours. Most of the time slots were taken. There was also a class schedule and something about when assignments were due. I almost breathed into my hand and smelled it, but I was already working a peppermint Altoid.
I knocked, two sharp raps with the knuckles. Confident, I thought. Manly.
God, I'm pathetic.
'Come in.'
Her voice made my stomach drop. I opened the door and stepped into the room. She stood near the window. The sun was still out, and a shadow cut across her. She was still damn beautiful. I took the hit and stayed where I was. For a moment we just stood there, fifteen feet apart, neither moving.
'How’s the lighting?' she said.
'Excuse me?'
'I was trying to figure out where to be. You know, when you knocked. Do I answer the door? Nah, too much of an early close-up. Do I stay at my desk with a pencil in my hand? Should I look up at you over my half-moon reading glasses? Anyway, I had a friend of mine help me test out all the angles. He thought I looked best with this one-across the room, the shade half drawn.'
I smiled. 'You look terrific.'
'So do you. How many outfits did you try on?'
'Only this one,' I said. 'But I've been told in the past its my A-game look. You?' 'I tried on three blouses.' 'I like this one,' I said. 'You always looked good in green.' 'I had blond hair back then.' 'Yeah, but you still have the green eyes,' I said. 'Can I come in?' She nodded. 'Close the door.' 'Should we, I don't know, hug or something?' 'Not yet.' Lucy sat at her desk chair. I sat in the chair in front of the desk. 'This is so messed up,' she said. 'I know.' 'I have a million things I want to ask you.' 'Me too.' 'I saw online about your wife,' she said. 'I'm sorry.' I nodded. 'How's your father?' 'Not well.' 'I'm sorry to hear that.' 'All that free love and drugs-eventually they take a toll. Ira also… he never got over what happened, you know?'
I guessed that I did.
'How about your parents?' Lucy asked.
'My father died a few months ago.'
'I'm sorry to hear that. I remember him so well from that summer.'
'It was the last time he was happy,' I said.
'Because of your sister?'
'Because of a lot of things. Your father gave him the chance to be a doctor again. He loved that-practicing medicine. He never got to do it again.'
'I'm sorry.'
'My father really didn't want to be part of the lawsuit-he adored Ira-but he needed to blame someone and my mom pushed him. All the other families were on board.'
'You don't need to explain.'
I stopped. She was right.
'And your mother?' she asked.
'Their marriage didn't survive.'
The answer did not seem to surprise her.
'Do you mind if I put on my professional hat?' she asked.
'Not at all.'
'Losing a child is a ridiculous strain on a marriage,' Lucy said.
'Most people think that only the strongest marriages survive that sort of blow. That's not true. I've studied it. I've seen marriages one might de scribe as 'crappy' endure and even improve. I've seen ones that seemed destined to last forever crack apart like cheap plaster. Do you two have a good relationship?'
'My mother and I?'
'Yes.'
'I haven't seen her in eighteen years.'
We sat there.
'You've lost a lot of people, Paul.'
'You're not going to psychoanalyze me, are you?'
'No, nothing like that.' She sat back and looked up and away. It was a look that sent me right back. We would sit out in the camp's old baseball field, where the grass was overgrown, and I would hold her and she would look up and away like that.
'When I was in college,' Lucy began, 'I had this friend. She was a twin. Fraternal, not identical. I guess that doesn't make much of a difference, but with the identical, there seems to be a stronger bond. Any way, when we were sophomores her sister died in a car crash. My friend had the strangest reaction. She was devastated, of course, but part of her was almost relieved. She thought, well, that's it. God got me. That was my turn. I'm okay for now. I gave at the office. You lose a twin sister like that, you're sorta safe the rest of your life. One heartbreaking tragedy per person. You know what I mean?'
'I do.'
'But life isn't like that. Some get a lifetime pass. Others, like you, get more than your share. Much more. And the worst part is, it doesn't make you immune to even more.'
'Life ain't fair,' I said.
'Amen.' Then she smiled at me. 'This is so weird, isn't it?'
Yes.
'I know we were together for, what, six weeks?'
'Something like that.'
'And it was just a summer fling, when you think about it. You've probably had dozens of girls since then.' 'Dozens?' I repeated. 'What, more like hundreds?' 'At the very least,' I said. Silence. I felt something well up in my chest. 'But you were special, Lucy. You were…' I stopped. 'Yeah, I know,' she said. 'So were you. That's why this is awkward.
I want to know everything about you. But I'm not sure now is the time.'
It was as if a surgeon was at work, a time-warping plastic surgeon maybe. He had snipped off the last twenty years, pulled my eighteen year-old self up to meet my thirty-eight-year-old one, done it almost seamlessly.
'So what made you call me?' I asked.
'The strange thing?'
'Yeah.'
'You said you had one too.'
I nodded.
'Would you mind going first?' she asked. 'You know, like when we messed around?'
'Ouch.'
'Sorry.' She stopped, crossed her arms over her chest as if cold. 'I'm babbling like a ditz. Cant help it.' 'You haven't changed, Luce.' 'Yeah, Cope. I've changed. You wouldn't believe how much I've changed.'
Our eyes met, really met, for the first time since I entered the room. I'm not big on reading people's eyes. I have seen too many good liars to believe much of what I see. But she was telling me something there, a tale, and the tale had a lot of pain in it.
I didn't want any lies between the two of us.
'Do you know what I do now?' I asked.
'You're the county prosecutor. I saw that online too.'
'Right. That gives me access to information. One of my investigators did a quick background check on you.' 'I see. So you know about my drinking and driving.' I said nothing. 'I drank too much, Cope. Still do. But I don't drive anymore.' 'Not my business.' 'No, it's not. But I'm glad you told me.' She leaned back, folded her hands, placed them in her lap. 'So tell me what happened, Cope.' 'A few days ago, a couple of Manhattan homicide detectives showed me an unidentified male victim,' I said. 'I think the man – a man they said was in his mid to late thirties-was Gil Perez.'
Her jaw dropped. 'Our Gil?'
'Yes.'
'How the hell is that possible?'
'I don't know.'
'He's been alive all this time?'
'Apparently.'
