The First Warm Evening of the Year by Jamie M. Saul Read Free Book Online Page A

you like it or not, you and I have history together.”
    â€œWe have no history.”
    â€œI was hoping you’d be a lot more rational about her.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? Can’t you just follow a conversation?”
    Simon went on eating, and when he stopped he was staring at me, probably because I was staring at him. I could see Laura in his face. The high cheekbones, the soft, full mouth, even the way he lowered and raised his eyes, and that made me think of the times Laura and I had sat in coffee shops like this one. And I didn’t know which was more unsettling, that I was missing Laura or that seeing her in Simon’s face made me feel sorry for him and how pitiful he looked.
    Just for a moment I wanted to help him with whatever he was after, or whatever trouble he was in; but my impulse to get involved with him did not last.
    Simon was staring at that spot behind my head again. “You’re a lot more like Laura than you think.”
    â€œMeaning?”
    â€œShe went back to Shady Grove. For Christ sake.”
    â€œHer husband died—”
    â€œSchool’s out. Get the fuck on with it.” He wiped his mouth. “You really should know what you’re dealing with.” He pushed his empty plate to the corner of the table. “I’ve got to get out of here.” He left me to pay the check.
    When I walked outside, Simon was smoking a cigarette and looking into the window of a clothing store.
    â€œYou didn’t get what you wanted,” he said.
    â€œI didn’t want anything.”
    â€œYou were going around the corner. I assumed it was to get something.”
    I crossed the street and left Simon blowing a mouthful of smoke at his reflection.
    All that I wanted was to get away by myself. Fly down to a beach somewhere, sit in the sun and drink cold beer. I wanted to be a stranger to everyone I met, and not have to know about other people’s lives and their inconsolable sorrows.
    T hat same night, I went out for drinks and supper with my agent, Roberta; my friend Nancy Shapiro, a partner with an ad agency here in town; and Nick and Amy Brennan, whom I’d known for a couple of years. I’d always liked when the five of us got together, but tonight felt different.
    We met at Keens, over on Thirty-sixth Street. Roberta mentioned my trip to Shady Grove, and all they wanted to talk about was how mysterious it was, how fascinating.
    Nick and Amy knew someone-who-knew-someone who’d had a similar experience not too long ago, and found out that he was the father of a child he’d never known about. Was it possible that Laura and I . . . Could there be a diary hidden in the house that explained Laura’s reasons . . . Was she secretly in love with me and could that be the meaning to the music she’d left . . . Maybe one of the violins was a Stradivarius and worth millions, or both of them . . . Maybe Laura had stashed money somewhere in the house. I should have looked around . . .
    Some other time I might have appreciated this, even added my own speculation. Their talk would have amused me. Tonight it sounded frivolous and disrespectful. A violation of Laura’s death. I wanted to talk to people who’d known her when she lived in Paris, who’d known the two of us when we were in college, and not have to listen to my friends joke about a woman they did not know and about whom they knew nothing; and while they went on telling me all the things they thought Laura may have hidden away in her house, the things she may have intended when she asked me to help her, I thought about some of things I could have told them about Laura Welles.
    It was no accident that Simon once spent a night on my couch all those years ago, and it wasn’t because he was late for Laura’s wedding, nor was it a matter of my largesse. It was more a matter of his being misled about the details. I never liked what