“I like that about you,” Teo says.
“What’s that?”
“Your forgiving nature.”
“Does it say that in your background info? Because that would be wrong.”
“You sure? I’m usually a good judge of character.”
I stuff some seafood in my mouth, then chase it down with beer. “So what do you think of Franny, then? You keep asking me about her, but you never say what you think.”
“I think she’s interesting.”
“She talks about you a lot. I think she might have a crush.”
“Oh?”
“ ‘When I was speaking with Teo the other day,’ or ‘Teo was asking me in our last interview.’ Things like that. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, I hate when I do that.”
“What?”
“Rat other people out. Not that she’s said anything, I wouldn’t betray a confidence, but . . . God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No, I do. I just . . . When I’ve figured something out about someone, I usually end up telling other people. It’s this weird form of showing off. I hate it. But I can’t seem to stop myself from doing it.”
“I think you’re making a bigger deal of it than it is.”
“If you say so.”
I watch him for a moment across the table. He’s a careful eater, even with this messy food. Sometimes Tom would eat so quickly, his face would get covered with sauce like when the kids were little. But I should stop this, comparing these two. They have nothing in common but me, and maybe not even that.
“I am curious, though,” I say. “What do you think of Franny?”
He winks at me. “I guess you’ll have to watch the film to find out.”
“Well, that’s completely unfair.”
“It is rather, isn’t it?”
“So forget Franny, then; what’s your story?”
“My story?”
“Yeah, the story of Teo Jackson. Illegitimate love child of Michael?”
He nearly spits out his beer. “What? The singer?”
“Sure.”
“Um, no.”
“Not a fan?”
“Elvis Costello’s more my style.”
“I never got him. But I do love his wife’s stuff. Diana Krall.”
Teo thinks about it for a moment. “The jazz singer?”
“Yep, she’s great. My friend Kaitlyn met her once.”
“When?”
“She used to go to Vancouver a lot for business. Anyway, she was in some store, not Target but something like it, and there was Diana Krall with her twins at the cash register. And Kaitlyn was this huge fan. She’s the one who introduced me to her music.”
“What did she do?”
“Stood there like an idiot until Diana came up and asked her if there was something wrong. She actually thought Kaitlyn was having a stroke or something because she was standing there with her mouth hanging open and she couldn’t talk. I guess she’s not used to having people react to her that way.”
“That’s refreshing.”
“Right? Kaitlyn said she was super-nice and normal. They talked for a bit in the store and then Kaitlyn embarrassed herself by asking Diana Krall to go for coffee and . . .”
Teo has an odd look on his face.
“Have I been speaking very fast?” I ask.
“Kind of.”
“I do that sometimes, get kind of manic in my speech. But I’m not actually manic—I just sound that way occasionally.”
“When you’re upset?”
“I guess that’s why. I miss Kaitlyn.” I push my plastic bag of food away.
“Tell me about her,” Teo says.
“Just for us, right?”
“I’m not taking notes here.”
“She’s . . . Oh, I don’t know. I could tell you all these things about her, what she looks like, or how she throws her head back when she laughs, or her weakness for cheese Pringles, or a million things, but that wouldn’t explain her. You wouldn’t know her. She’s someone who got a famous person to talk to her because she was in awe.”
“She sounds great.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
“What?”
“That you still haven’t told me anything about you. I’ve got your number, buddy.”
“I guess there’ll have to be a next time, then. If you want to learn more about me.”
I don’t say anything, just finish my beer and wait for him to finish his. There’s a line of people waiting for tables like there often is, so we don’t linger. We clean ourselves up as best we can with wet wipes and get ready to go. I know from experience that my hands will still smell like seafood in the morning, no matter how thoroughly I wash them.
Teo helps me with my coat, and I catch a look from a couple in line. They’re watching us. I hear one of them say distinctly, “It’s her.”
I duck my head. “Can we get out of here?”
“You bet,” Teo says, taking me by the elbow and pulling me through the line and out into the frosty night. We stop half a block away on North Lincoln. The traffic’s light, the sky a cloudy black. I can feel the cool breeze coming off the lake and taste a tang of it in the air.
“Sorry about that,” Teo says.
“For what?”
“Those people in the restaurant. That’s my fault. Because of the picture.”
“You didn’t know it would be like that. Everywhere.”
“But I kind of did. You know that feeling you get when you’re doing something and it’s turning out great . . . I had it that entire day. I’d taken these amazing shots of the building before, and during, and when I saw you standing there, I could see right away what an incredible photograph it would be. And I stopped and I took it. I took it, and I sold it, and even though you agreed, I stole something from you. So I’m sorry. I’ve been wanting to say that for a while.”
I reach a cold hand up and stroke his soft beard. “I forgive you.”
He looks pleased. “You do?”
“You said I was a forgiving person. Maybe you
