Page 31 of Center of Gravity

“Well, a lot. Apparently Dad was supposed to meet her at some conference in 1983 and didn’t show up. But then he must have seen her again, because in 1990 there’s a letter talking about what a good time she had with him in Atlanta. She talks about a roller coaster.”

“Dad went on a roller coaster?”

“I know.”

Then Summer gasped.

“Oh my god, I remember that trip, don’t you? It was for some research project. He brought us back some Braves pennants. I was so disappointed, like what a terrible souvenir.” She laughed. “God, this is weird, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“You think Mom knew?”

“Who knows?” I couldn’t recall ever seeing any sign of marital strife between them.

“I haven’t really studied everything and I don’t have time to right now, but just glancing over everything it looks like she was a professor too, maybe? But I’m not sure where.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter now, though, does it?”

“No, I guess not.”

After I got off the phone with Summer, I rested my chin on my hand, my foot idly running back and forth over Winslow’s tummy as he snoozed under the table. Flipping through the photographs once more, I searched for the mystery woman—or man, the longer I considered it—like they might have an ‘A’ stamped on their forehead. Winslow let out a contented groan.

Shit, Winslow.I’d forgotten about him when I’d said I’d return to work the next day. I didn’t want to take him with me yet—I hadn’t even talked to the HOA about getting him approved in my apartment complex, and barring the neighbors who’d kept him before, and who appeared to be on vacation, there was only Alex.

* * *

I insistedon dropping Winslow off.

Alex insisted on picking him up.

“I live with my parents. It’s kind of embarrassing,” he said when I gave up texting and finally called. My fingers were tired of trying to argue in tiny type.

“Plenty of people your age do. Hell, plenty of people my age do. How is that embarrassing?”

“I have posters on my wall and my room’s a mess.”

I closed my eyes and took a breath. “I’m not coming to have a slumber party with you, I’m dropping off a dog.”

“Too bad for you, then, I’m very entertaining at slumber parties.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Oh no, I’m definitely possible.”

I exhaled loud enough to transmit my exasperation through the line, though I was smiling on my end. Once again, I felt tongue tied. Not out of nervousness, but because of my vehement attraction to him and my equally vehement desire not to give in to it. I was starting to get the idea that Alex wasn’t only onto it, but exploiting this fact. The whole business between us was beginning to seem like a game of who would crack first. I had bad news for him, though. I’d had lots of practice at self-denial.

It was settledthat he’d come get Winslow. I had Winslow’s carrier ready by the door because I’d learned the hard way that small packages had no trouble making large messes of a car they didn’t want to be in.

Alex had on an old Nirvana T-shirt and the paint-spattered jeans he usually wore that had enough holes in them to make the roads in New York City jealous.

“Have you been painting?”

He had a dark smear of what looked like ink or charcoal on the underside of his jaw.