“What are you doing here?” Poppy asked.
“I came to see you.”
“Do you know what time it is?”
His eyes had adjusted enough by now to see the details in her face. Clearly, she was angry. “No.” Then he looked at his watch.
“It’s three a.m.,” she said.
He pushed himself back up the wall until he was standing comfortably. “It wasn’t that late when I arrived.”
“Well, it is now. You should go home.”
“I don’t want to go home.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to talk. Just for a couple of minutes.”
Poppy rolled her eyes, which were buried underneath heavy pink eye shadow and black mascara. “I don’t think I’m interested in anything you have to tell me.”
“No. Wait,” he said, before she could get her key in the lock. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. I’ve had a lot on my mind. My ma almost died recently.”
“Was this before or after you snuck out on me?”
“I’m sorry about that, too.”
Poppy crossed her arms over her chest, studied Ethan for a moment. “Fine. You can come in. We can talk. But we’re gonna keep it short because I don’t want to be up all night.”
NOW
BETWEEN THE HUNGER and the exhaustion, Martin wasn’t sure how much longer he could last in the cave. But he kept these concerns to himself. Cynthia was certainly suffering the same discomforts he was and talking about them wouldn’t make anybody feel better.
When they reached their first fork, they chose a direction. Martin crammed a tongue depressor into a crevice to serve as a trail marker, and Cynthia climbed into the tunnel they had chosen.
THEN
“I KNOW I shouldn’t have run out on you,” Ethan said, once they were inside Poppy’s apartment. “But I got scared.”
“Why?”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve . . .”
She sat down on the couch to take off her shoes. “Since you’ve what?”
“You know.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, I was scared of waking up the next morning and seeing you look at me like—what a nice guy, too bad he’s no good in bed.”
“I would never—”
“I planned on visiting sooner, but when Ma almost died . . .”
Poppy leaned back on the couch to give Ethan her full attention. He could see her nipples pressing against her tank top. He sat down beside her. “Never mind. It’s not important.”
“No, I want to know.” The anger had dissipated from her voice.
“Can’t we just leave it with my apology?” He stared into her eyes and waited for her to respond.
A second passed. He could almost hear her heartbeat speed up.
Another second.
Her breathing was ragged. Her eyes quivered. Her lips moved like she was looking for words that she couldn’t find.
Is she ever going to speak?
Then he realized that he didn’t want her to. Anything she said could open up many more hours of conversation. And the way she was breathing . . .
Had she missed him?
Another second.
She squeaked out a syllable, but he pounced, locking his lips to hers before she could finish a single word. He jerked her tank top over her head and kissed her nipples.
He could hardly believe how easy it’d been. Only minutes ago, he had been outside her door with her staring angrily at him. Maybe she was just an easy girl.
She climbed on top of him and kissed his neck. Suddenly, all his thoughts fled. They became a tangled knot of violent passion. They had sex on the sofa and then on the floor. When he awoke the next morning to the buzz from her alarm, he made sure to kiss her and tell her goodbye before leaving.
NOW
THE TUNNEL GOT increasingly damp and narrow the deeper Cynthia and Martin climbed. They crouched low to dodge jagged rocks. Cynthia’s headlamp marched farther into the darkness with every step, yet never revealing enough to promise an escape.
After walking in silence for God-knows-how-long, Martin licked his dry lips and stopped moving.
“What’s the matter?” Cynthia asked.
“I’m tired. I need to rest.”
Cynthia nodded an okay and sat down on the damp floor. Martin did the same. The stale, empty smell of the cave mingled with the stench of their sweat, making a pungent odor they couldn’t get away from.
After several minutes of silence, Cynthia blurted out, “What’d he mean?” She blinked, and her eyelids felt like sandpaper.
“Who?”
“Ethan. When he said it wasn’t the way you had ‘talked about doing it.’”
“How should I know what he meant?” Martin shook his head with frustration. “It was just nonsense. That’s all. We’ve been down here a while now. I guess the cave has taken a toll on his psyche.”
THEN
ETHAN ARRIVED AT Martin’s for the barbecue at exactly seven o’clock. Except for someone smoking on the deck, he was the only guest there. Diane took his coat without putting down her wine, and Martin offered to show him around the house.
“I think it’s going to be a blow out,” Martin said, as he led his friend from the living room to the kitchen. “We’re going to live it up tonight.”
“Looks like somebody already is.”
“Diane? Yeah, I know. She’s been drinking ever since she got home. She doesn’t do it often, but if she does, it usually means she has something on her mind.”
“What do you think it is?”
“Don’t know yet.” Martin stopped and threw his arms out dramatically. “This, as you’ve probably guessed, is the kitchen.” All stainless steel and white tile.
“Lovely.”
Then Martin walked Ethan through the remaining rooms. He concluded the tour in the master bedroom, noting that the windows opened onto a “majestic view of my neighbor’s house.”
Ethan smiled but said nothing.
“Come on. Let’s go back downstairs, and I’ll fix you a drink.”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
They turned to leave, and what Ethan hadn’t seen when he came in, he did now. Among the half a dozen photographs on the dresser was one of a family—fading and yellow. Just a couple and their child.
The man in the photograph looked—except for his long hair and mustache—a lot like Martin.
Ethan picked up the photograph to examine it. “Who’s this?”
“Mom and Dad and me, when I was real young.”
“This is
