“For food. She hasn’t eaten in two days.”
Nat glanced back at the bedside crate; perhaps it was just the empty wrapper of the granola bar that he’d seen. But no. And also on the crate, the little box from Assad and Son. Was that where he’d left it? He didn’t think so, and he’d certainly not left it open, as it was now, the gold number 8 and chain nestled in the tissue paper: never worn, as would be clear to anyone who looked inside. He thought of putting the chain on now; his fingers almost touched it.
“Do you want me to leave?” Izzie said.
He would have if Izzie had said anything like She seems so nice. But Izzie didn’t. “No,” Nat said.
They waited in the outer room, Izzie at the desk, Nat on the couch. “You went to English?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Did she give the papers back?”
Nat nodded.
“What did you get?”
“I don’t know.” He handed her the paper. She flipped to the back. “A,” she said. “I guess you were right about that chief horror line.”
“You used it too?”
“Of course.”
“Why of course?”
“Don’t you remember? We discussed it on the beach.”
“But I might have been wrong.”
Izzie shook her head. “I trust you.”
“You do?”
“Completely. I didn’t even know what the word meant until you came along.”
“You haven’t known me very long.”
“So? Just look at you.”
“What do you mean?”
“That chipped tooth, for starters.”
“That’s why you trust me?”
“And a million other things.”
“What’s number two?”
Izzie thought. She flushed, very slightly. “I’m not telling.”
They looked at each other, Izzie at the desk, Nat on the couch, but within touching distance in the cramped dormitory room. Nat could feel some force pulling them together, knew that at almost any signal from him, a word or gesture, they could be in the bedroom the next minute. He said no word, made no gesture. They both looked away.
Snow started falling again. It changed to rain. “I hate that,” Izzie said. And back to snow.
Nat checked his watch. “I’m going to look for them.”
“I’m coming.”
They searched the student union, the freshman dining hall, the snack bars, the Rat. They tried Grace and Izzie’s room, the Lanark lounge, the gym. Then they went off campus to the nearby coffee shops and delis where students gathered. It got colder and colder. They stopped at the bottom of the Hill, in front of a boarded-up building with a faded sign: The Glass Onion.
“Where else?” Nat said.
“The cave?” said Izzie.
“Why would she take her down there?”
“Who knows?” Izzie said. “But I’ll look.”
Izzie went down to the basement of Plessey to enter the tunnels through the janitor’s closet. Nat returned to his room. He checked his voice mail, his E-mail: nothing. Grace walked in, alone.
“Where’s Patti?”
Grace glanced at her watch. “Still at the airport.”
“Airport?”
“I took her there.”
“What airport?”
“She asked me to. She wanted to go home.”
“What airport?”
There was something strange in his tone, strange and new. Grace heard it too. “Albany,” she said, backing up a step. “It’s the closest one with connections to Denver.”
Nat was on his feet. The airport was thirty miles away. He flung open his closet, snatched all the money remaining in his shoe-$32-all the money he had until his next paycheck from the Alumni Office job.
“It’s what she wants,” Grace said as he left the room. And: “Departure’s in twenty minutes. You’ll never make it.” Down the stairs, out the main gate, into a taxi. It was only after he was on his way that he realized Grace was still wearing his Clear Creek letter jacket.
At the airport, Nat checked the first screen he saw. No mention of Denver, but a flight to Chicago, delayed by weather, was now boarding, boarding, boarding at gate eleven. He ran toward the gate area, stopping sharply at security. He’d forgotten about security.
“I need to see someone at gate eleven.”
“Gotta have a gate pass.”
“Where do I get it?”
“Back at ticketing.”
“But there’s no time.”
Shrug.
He raced back to ticketing, got a gate pass, went through security.
“Place your pocket change in the tray and try again.”
He went through again, this time successfully, and ran as fast as he could to gate eleven. Patti, now wearing jeans instead of her blue dress, was handing her boarding pass to the attendant at the ramp.
“Patti.” Too loud: the handful of people still in line all turned to him.
Patti stepped out of the line, not very steadily. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“Of course I came.”
“How?”
“Doesn’t matter. In a taxi.”
“It’s so expensive. Or did she-did Grace pay for you too?”
“Of course not.”
Patti flinched. He saw how pale she was.
“What is it, Patti?”
“I’m going home, that’s all.”
The last passenger started down the ramp. The attendant waited by the door.
Nat lowered his voice. “But we haven’t talked about anything yet.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“What do you mean? We have to make some decisions.”
“There’s nothing to decide.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not pregnant anymore.”
Nat’s first thought was that she’d lost the baby, had a miscarriage caused by stress, travel, not eating. Then came the second thought.
“The people were very nice,” Patti said. “Didn’t even ask for money, but Grace made a donation.”
“Grace?”
“She’s very nice too. I’ll pay her back for the ticket when I can. That’s how we left it.”
“Oh, God. Don’t go, Patti.”
