“I figured. You’re in the Journal today,” Carl said. Kane had this sudden, irrational image of one of the photos of him and Ellen appearing in the staid, boring pages of the Wall Street Journal. But no. Of course it was the fires. This latest had happened the day after their idyllic picnic in the hills, in one of Fielding’s recycling facilities in California.
Another random, destructive, pointless act. All it did was put people out of work and give the insurance companies—and Kane—heart attacks.
Carl said, “You should have called me.”
Kane put down his bag and pushed his hand through his hair. “It sucks too much to talk about.”
“I know. That’s why you should talk about it, you idiot.”
Kane snorted. “I knew you’d say something like that.”
“Yeah, well. I know this is eating you up.”
Kane didn’t say anything. Carl had been his best friend since before Robert had died. Without him, Kane didn’t think he could have finished college. But there were times when he didn’t want Carl’s sympathy. He needed to take control of the mess the fires were making of his business. He needed to show everyone that they were going to be fine. If he shared his fears with anyone, even his best friend, it made them more real. Like that first press conference after his father’s death, when each question from the press had beaten into him the reality that Robert had really gone; that Kane was on his own.
“So anyway,” Carl said, apparently deciding not to push it. “My turn to get up there for a weekend, isn’t it?”
Kane shrugged his shoulders to try and remove the weight on them. “Yeah. That’d be great. Can you come for Thanksgiving?”
“Not this time. Sal’s rented a house on the Island; she’s somehow found about a dozen people with no family over the holiday and invited them all.”
Sal was Carl’s mother, a judge who liked Kane just fine but was always just a little intimidating. She and Carl had been alone his whole life. He reckoned one of the reasons Carl liked him was because of his big, noisy family and the house in Newton that had held three generations of them. Kane didn’t know anything about Carl’s father, and since Carl had never volunteered the information, Kane had known not to ask.
“So maybe after that?” Carl went on.
“Sure. Maybe things won’t be so crazy by then.” He hoped to God.
“So.” Carl paused. “Okay, obviously you’re gonna make me drag it out of you. Who is she?”
Kane groaned. “Dammit. Don’t tell me the pictures have made it to New York.”
“No. But I’m not above Googling someone when they go AWOL on me. What? Why don’t you want me to know?”
“It’s not that.” The truth was that if he spelled out their relationship to Carl, he would have to acknowledge how much he was coming to rely on her.
“Holy cow,” said Carl, when Kane’s silence went on too long. “She’s really important to you.”
Kane winced. “Maybe.” It was hard to admit even that much. “Anyway,” he said, hoping he sounded less intense. “She’s leaving in a few months. So it’s just for—” Damn, he couldn’t even say that. How could it be fun, when all he wanted when he woke each day was to talk to her?
He’d told himself not to think about her visa. He was seeing her tonight, if this damn airplane would just come to the gate already. She’d finally trusted him enough to invite him to dinner at her apartment, and that was as far into the future as he let himself imagine. “Oh, they’ve called the gate,” he lied to Carl.
“No, they haven’t,” said Carl, on a laugh. “Okay, I’m definitely coming over after Thanksgiving. Try not to mess it up with her before then, ’kay?”
“Okay, jackass. Later.”
