at the bottom of the street, my husband, daughter, and me.â
âAh, the new neighbors. Youâre doing a terrific job with the renovations.â
âThanks.â
There was a pause, and she patted her dog, looking down. Before she could try to get away, he went into his act, affecting an expression of concentration. âHey, you look really familiar. Did you go to Goodwin by any chance?â
Her mouth fell open. âHow on earth did you know that?â
âYour name is Audrey Martin, right?â
âWow. Youâve got a good memory. What was your name again?â
He told her.
She narrowed her eyes. âIâm sorry, I donât remember you. Did we have the same homeroom?â
âNo. I was a year beneath you, a lowly underclassman with a serious crush. But thatâs not very original. All the guys had crushes on you.â
She blushed, he was pleased to notice. âHardly,â she said.
âWell, itâs true.â
âHow long have you lived here?â she asked.
âI donât. This is my dadâs house. Iâm visiting, sort of.â
âSort of?â
âWell, Iâm waiting.â
She laughed. âWaiting for what? The rapture?â
âFor my divorce to become final.â He hadnât planned to volunteer that information, but her question had thrown him off-balance. âThereâs a ninety-day waiting period,â he informed her. âIâve gotâletâs see, what is this, October twentieth?â
âYep.â
âA little more than two months to go.â
âIs that all it takes?â
âNinety days to freedom, yes.â
âLucky you,â she said with a mysterious smile.
Benjamin had no idea how to answer that. âWhat happened after Goodwin?â he asked, trying to keep the conversation going. âGive me the CliffsNotes version.â
âI was a drama major at Wesleyan,â she said. âThen grad school at Yale, English literature.â
âI never finished college,â he said. âI didnât like it all that much.â
âYou must think Iâm a terrible snob,â she said, âgiving you my résumé like that.â
âNot at all,â he said, happy to throw her off-balance. âYou were never snobby, it was one of the things we all liked about you. Not like Skippy Brooks and Ginny Hunter and that gang.â
âSkippy was actually really nice.â
They talked about former classmates, teachers and class reunions. (She hadnât gone to any.) He settled into his easy salesmanâs style, feeling the awkwardness fadeâshe had thrown him with that âLucky youâ response. What was she trying to tell him? That her marriage was in trouble? That she wanted out? He rattled off all the gossip he could recall from the last issue of the Goodwin Alumni News . âDo you remember Mr. Dorfman?â he heard himself saying. Their old gym teacher had won the state lottery. âThree million dollars, but he kept his job at the school. He works for a dollar a year now.â
âYou really keep up,â she said, patting her dog. She told him that Gretchen Peters had moved to Paris and married a famous artist, but otherwise she hadnât kept in touch with anyone.
They reached a lull. He took a deep breath, not wanting to force the conversation further. Heâd made contact. Heâd gotten her attention. That was enough for now.
In the silence that followed, she pulled a leash out of her pocket. âHere, let me,â said Benjamin. He bent down to unsnap his old leash from the dogâs collar. His head was level with her waist, just inches away, so close he could smell the fresh-laundry scent of her jeans. The clasp was stuck. As he fiddled with it, he felt her fingers graze the nape of his neck. He lowered his head, and she ran her fingers through his hair. Her touch surprised him, shocked him, but at the
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