‘Don’t worry about it.’
He shakes his head and I think he’s blushing. ‘My bad,’ he says.
‘Happens all the time,’ I say. ‘Really. Don’t worry about it.’
He looks down at the floor. ‘So weird at school with her not there, you know? Like, she was always there, studying in Butler Library, in John Jay, at swim practice. She was so public, so out there. And now there’s this vacuum.’
‘That’s exactly how I feel,’ I say. ‘A vacuum.’
He nods.
‘More than a vacuum,’ I say. ‘She was an extension of myself, if that makes sense. She wasn’t like a sister, nor was she part of me – more like an extension. Since the day we were born. And now it’s like walking around with no shadow.’
‘Must be hardest for you,’ he says.
‘I don’t know.’
‘I’m real sorry.’
‘It’s hard to explain,’ I say. ‘She was always there for me to text or to share news with, even the tiniest thing. Like my conscience.’
The waiter comes back with our pho. Hot steaming bowls of broth with flat noodles and spice and handfuls of fresh green herbs topped with thin slices of beef brisket. Scott asks if he can have more brisket.
‘I need the protein,’ he says. ‘Training.’
I dip my spoon in the broth and sip, waiting for the heat burn. But it’s not as spicy as I’d expected. It’s delicious. Warming. I slurp noodles and the noise is outrageous.
Scott smiles. ‘My mom eats like that.’
‘Your mum?’
‘She likes her soup,’ he says.
Spring rolls arrive at the table. Crispy deep-fried spring rolls, and according to the menu they contain grilled tiger shrimp and honey plum grilled pork, along with rice vermicelli, salad, herbs, and a chilli-lime dressing.
‘You have any brothers or sisters?’ I ask.
‘Two brothers,’ he says.
‘Older or younger?’
‘One of each.’
‘You get on well?’
‘On and off,’ he says. ‘Much better now than a few years ago. Katie met both of them. They really liked her. Mom and Dad liked her, too.’
‘Everyone liked KT,’ I say.
He pulls off his V-neck sweater and now he’s sitting here wearing a white T-shirt. I start to feel warm. Women at the other tables glance at him. Those at the back of the room are looking at his back, and the V-shape of his torso. Women to my left and right are looking at his chest through his cotton T-shirt, at the profile of it. Men are looking too. They are looking at their wives and girlfriends, and then they are looking at Scott Sbarra.
Scott wipes sweat from his brow. ‘Chilli, eh?’
‘I like it.’
‘How long are you staying in the city for, Molly?’
‘About a week. I want to help the police some more before I leave for London.’
I need to right wrongs.
Restore balance.
‘I might be flying to London next year. There’s a boat race on the Thames we might qualify for, don’t know yet.’
‘The boat race?’
‘It’s in a city called Henley-on-Thames. You know it?’
‘Not really,’ I say. ‘I’ve heard of it. Not sure it’s a city.’
‘People wear hats and stuff, old-fashioned preppy boat race, some real nineteenth-century shit. But the trip’s fully funded if we qualify, so it would be kinda cool.’
‘Maybe I could see you in London,’ I say. ‘Just for coffee or something.’
‘Could be cool,’ he says. ‘Excuse me.’
He stands up and walks off to the gents’。 The way he walks, the stride, the posture, the movement of white cotton over his shoulders, it makes me want to chase him down. The room watches him walk and he is unaware. At least half the room. Three-quarters.
But it’s wrong. All of it. Who is worse here, me or him? Me for being here, with KT’s man, or him for being here, with his dead girlfriend’s identical twin? It’s disgraceful whichever way you look at it. Evil, almost. Twisted. He should be grieving more than he is. KT was worth more pain than I can see in his face. But I’m the one to say stop. I’m the one who must do the right thing.
He comes back and finishes his pho.
‘You’re probably not in the mood for anything,’ he says. ‘But it’s Halloween in a couple of days. You ever experience a true American Halloween, Molly?’
‘Not really my thing,’ I say.