I nod, sip my tea, and wonder what it is I’m doing here. I hadn’t been keen on leaving Leah, had half considered calling Sam to come and watch her while I was gone, before thinking that of course I couldn’t, that there was somehow no way of bringing a third party into the situation at this late stage. Instead, I had left Leah in the bath with the TV on but as far away from the water as possible, turned her sound machine on to its middle setting, and told her I would be back as soon as I could. I had almost abandoned the plan of meeting Jelka’s sister, telling myself several times even as I dressed that morning and even as I put on my shoes to leave that I ought to call and cancel, that I was in fact just about to do so, that that was the very next thing I would do.
“Thank you for the tea,” I say now, mainly for the sake of saying something, and Juna nods at me, takes a forkful of apple cake, and pulls a face.
“This is horrible,” she says, and continues to eat it, which amuses me enough to make me sit up a little. “I’m very happy you agreed to meet me,” she adds, curiously formal again, gummed with apple cake. “I know how things can be.”
“It’s OK,” I say, and she nods, looks at me frankly for a moment.
“I’m sorry I called so early,” she says. “When I called you, I mean, I called early. I didn’t plan to, but I wasn’t sleeping well and I took a chance that you weren’t either. I thought it would be good to speak,” she says, though she has already said this several times, on the phone and then again when I first arrived at the café and found her waiting there. “My sister and your wife—” she says. “Do you say wife, actually? I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure.”
I’m bewildered by this, nod, and she adjusts her sleeves again. “OK,” she says. “My sister and your wife were on the dive together, as you know.”
“I know, we met,” I say. “Your sister and me. Just once, at the party before they went away. I don’t think you were there.”
I’m not sure if this is an interruption, though she doesn’t behave as if it is. She nods her head, cracks the knuckle of her index finger beneath her thumb in a gesture that seems somehow conversational.
“I’ve been putting off getting in touch with you for a long time,” she says, “and I wasn’t even sure how to reach you at first or what it was I was supposed to say. I’ve been doing a lot of saying the wrong thing, recently, and I’m trying not to do that so much—”
“Did you call me all those other times?” I ask, and this is definitely an interruption—sharp tines of her fork coming down on the table. “Someone’s been calling me at weird hours,” I say. “They never answer when I pick up the phone, though I don’t always pick up the phone anymore.”
“No,” she says, not unkindly. “I called you once, and you answered me.”
I look at her, focus in close on her collarbones, on the bright coral beads at her neck. She has the look of someone correctly joined together, well-oiled, unlikely to collapse. When I interrupt, she doesn’t raise an eyebrow, only crosses one leg over the other and nods into the moment. She is someone who eats the disappointing cake she has ordered for herself, someone who allows me to throw the conversation off its hinge.
“I had some calls,” I say. “I’ve been having them forever, like before Leah came back, even—and I thought they were from the Centre but now I just don’t know. Did you see their website’s disappeared?”
I don’t know why I’m talking like this. It’s been a while since I spoke to anyone who wasn’t Leah, a while since I did anything but sit by the bath watching television, and soft-boil eggs, and stir salt into glasses of tap water. Across the table, Juna is still nodding, tilts her head one way and then the other in a manner that may be understanding or may simply be an effort to work out a kink.
“Yes, I saw that, too,” she says, “I’d been expecting it. I’ve been trying to talk to some people, you see, looking into some things. I think I know what the phone calls you’ve been getting might have been about, but really, I think it’s best if you let me go from the beginning.”
Her skin, I notice, is foundation-smeared to an optical illusion of smoothness that, on closer inspection, only thinly covers its pits and scars. I understand the formality of her gestures a little more in relation to this, the way she pulls her sleeves away from her wrists to prevent unintentionally staining the fabric with makeup, the way she tilts her chin upward every fifteen seconds as though remembering to keep her skin away from her collar. I am still considering her skin when she speaks again, and the meaning of her words takes a moment to sink in.