Today's Reading
With that same smirk, his mouth crooked, he leaned across the middle seat so that our heads nearly touched. "Don't kill me," he whispered, his breath brushing my lips, "but remind me of your name?"
The headlights cut shadows across his face and his eyes were so green, like an exotic body of water.
"Ren," I said.
"Nice to meet you again, Ren." He drifted back to his side of the car.
* * *
We were quiet the rest of the drive, another twenty minutes until Chinatown appeared in the windows, restaurant workers flipping chairs onto stacked tables in garish lighting, red and yellow paper lanterns strung high above the streets. Archer said my name again and it was like cutting back into lucidity.
"I don't know where you live," he said.
"Right. Sorry." To Paul, I said, "The corner of Seventh and Avenue B is fine."
Archer laughed and I realized I had screamed it. In the rearview mirror, I could see Paul shaking his head, amused.
"Sorry," I said, trying to smile, but I was grateful the car was dark and Archer couldn't see I was blushing.
"So," he said then, "she ditched you."
"Who?"
"You know," he said, his gaze falling slowly on me again. "My sister."
"Oh," I said, "I think her phone died," and I pictured Etta, bursting into a pizza place back in Brooklyn like some midnight vigilante, asking the owner if she could borrow his charger, him obliging, gifting Etta a whole pie just because, and Etta nibbling on a slice or two while her phone revived itself.
"That's optimistic," he said.
"No, really. Do you want to see our messages?" I asked, and I found myself digging through my bag for my phone.
"No," he laughed. "It's okay. I trust you."
I caught Paul's eye in the rearview and he swiftly looked away. "I'm sure you're going to miss her," Archer said.
"Uh, I think I'll be okay for one night?" I said, but I could tell he thought I was joking, the way his mouth curved into a smirk.
"Except it's more than one night," he said.
A pause. "Sorry, I think I'm confused. What are you talking about?"
"Etta didn't tell you?" He wasn't smiling anymore.
"Tell me what."
Archer ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "Etta's leaving soon, for Barcelona."
"Oh?" I heard my voice, floating, wispy, like a scrap of paper. "For vacation?"
"No, no." He laughed again. "She's taking classes there. Digital art or something."
"I didn't realize she was into digital art," I said. Why hadn't Etta mentioned any of this?
He clicked his fingers against the windowsill. "I really thought you knew."
"Yeah, well, I'm sure she's just crazed. She'll tell me soon. You know how she can be." I swallowed hard. "Forgetful."
"Of course," he said.
"So these classes? They're like a summer program?" Archer hesitated.
"I think it's a bit longer than that."
"How much longer?"
"A year."
I shifted in my seat, resting my head against the cool glass window, waiting for rationality to join us like another passenger, squeeze into the empty middle seat. But it didn't. Etta was leaving. No foreshadowing. No subtle hints. Just "Goodbye, so long, farewell, fuck you." And still, I hadn't broached the most obvious question.
"When does she leave?"
"In a week?" he said. "Two weeks? I forget."
I could feel Archer studying me, parsing my thoughts with a fine-tooth comb. "Wow, that's soon."
"Yeah, I think she's just been feeling sort of...lost, you know? New York is her home, but I don't think she's necessarily happy. I'm sure you know."
"Yes," I said, though I didn't because she had never mentioned it, the impending move or these alleged "feelings" of hers.
This excerpt is from the Ebook edition.
Monday, November 25th, we begin the book Blood Like Mine by Stuart Neville.
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