Nick had wheeled a car out of the garage and was cleaning it.
It was silvery in a way that looked more like steel and shaped in a way that made Mae think of the cars her father’s friends bought instead of or just before leaving their wives, but it was old and missing a door. Clearly this was Nick’s one true love, the Aston Martin Vanquish. Nick was washing it, shirt off and a bucket of water beside him. Jamie was sitting cross-legged in the grass with a paperback folded open on his lap, looking less ashen and disheveled than earlier, and Alan was fiddling with an ancient rusty barbecue.
“Are you going to tell him or will I?” Jamie asked Nick.
“Tell me what?” Alan’s voice was wary.
Jamie smiled as if he was oblivious to the tension in the air. “Yesterday there was an English quiz,” he said proudly. “And Nick got a B minus.”
“Yeah?” said Alan, stilling and then smiling a beautiful, slow-blossoming smile. Jamie beamed. Nick looked indifferent, but it was less convincing than usual. “Well done.”
Mae hung back, not really wanting to interrupt and spoil the moment, but of course Seb had no idea and walked right into the garden. Jamie noticed him, and the glow of his pleasure faded a little, then brightened when he noticed the guitar in Seb’s hand.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Jamie,” Seb said in return, and gave Alan a brief, slightly embarrassed nod. “Hi—we came over to drop off the guitar. I’m Seb McFarlane. I’m Mae’s, ah …”
“Gentleman caller,” Mae filled in.
“Hi,” said Alan, straightening up. The sun was so hot that even Alan had abandoned his usual button-up shirts and was wearing a T-shirt, which made it obvious his shoulders and arms were strong and muscled in a way that did not exactly suggest a mild-mannered bookshop employee. “What’s with the guitar?”
He smiled at Mae and Seb both, in his usual friendly way, but he didn’t give Mae a special look or smile like he usually did. Mae wondered if that meant things were going to be awkward between them.
“Well, I took guitar lessons once,” Jamie explained, “but then after, um, you know, two lessons, I sort of lost interest and wandered off.” He frowned slightly. “I don’t think I have the soul of a musician. But I have this guitar! And Nick said you played the guitar. So I thought I could bring it over here and you would play it. Having a musical accompaniment to barbecue is important to me.”
Once Jamie had finished his spiel on how he was clearly not giving Alan a present, he blinked hopefully at him. Alan’s mouth curved into a smile.
“I guess I can play you a few songs,” he said, and limped up to Seb, taking the guitar. “You two want to stay around for barbecue and its important musical accompaniment?”
“Well,” Mae said, and stopped.
Nick had not even looked at her, had not looked up from washing the car. She was painfully aware of him, though. Every move he made was echoed by a twinge in her mark, as if it was a second heart beating only for him.
She should probably go.
“Sure,” Seb said, and sat down on the grass by Jamie. “Thanks.”
That was that, then. Mae went and sat with Seb and Jamie. She wanted to use them as her talismans, as if being near them meant she was guarded from all magic.
Alan went to fetch Jamie a glass of water. He’d apparently been keeping Jamie hydrated for a while.
“My reading voice needs care,” Jamie said. “It has nothing to do with my clever consumption of eleven thousand drinks last night.”
“I want water too,” said Nick. “I’m hot.”
“Here’s some water,” Alan told him, coming from the kitchen carrying Jamie’s glass. He took a sponge out of Nick’s bucket and squeezing it so the water flooded into Nick’s hair and down his back.
The water slid from the nape of his neck, where the black locks lay like inky scrawls against the white skin, and down the curved arch of his spine, droplets chasing one another down the smooth expanse of his back. Nick made a small sound of satisfaction, then resumed washing the car, sponge moving in steady strokes, ring catching the light so brightly it hurt Mae’s eyes.
It hurt the same way when Nick glanced over his bare shoulder at her, and then away.
Alan just laughed at Nick and went back to fiddling with the barbecue.
Mae collapsed back on the hot grass, tired of herself and the situations she kept throwing herself into. Seb got out his sketchbook, and Jamie started to read again as Alan began cooking lunch.
Jamie’s voice, talking about dancing and reading and love in a more decorous time, became a gentle rhythm to the warm air and the deep blue sky. Mae had almost fallen asleep when he cut off, sounding surprised.
“Is that a picture of me?”
“Yeah,” Seb said, guarded.
“It’s really good,” Jamie told him, easy as if he’d never hated him. Jamie was ridiculously generous with his feelings, all offenses pardoned with no trace of resentment left, all loves absolute.
Now he thought he loved Gerald. Mae had no idea how to deal with that.
“Yeah?” Seb said the same word in a very different tone, this one startled and pleased.
“Next do Nick,” Jamie suggested. “He’s barely wearing any clothes. That’s artistic.”
“Don’t volunteer my body without running it by me first,” Nick drawled.
