The Cloud

60

Just like I remember, she walks with the allure of a model but utterly without pretense. Like an apologetic model, wearing a baggy jacket, hands stuffed in the pockets.

She sees my car parked in front of the school. I roll down the passenger-side window. She hesitates, then walks over.

“I just dropped off Timothy.” She clears her throat. “It’s nice to see you.”

“I know a place where we can get a doughnut.”

She blinks. Faith must be wondering whether I am referring to the joint where she used to meet Alan Parsons.

“Not that place. The one I’ve got in mind is seedier. It got a C from the health inspector. Which keeps away the crowds, so it’s usually empty. It’s a nice place for small talk.”

She leans forward and takes the door handle. She looks somewhere distant. “I’m not her.” She looks at me. “I’m not anyone. Not anyone else.”

I swallow. Some kind of acceptance, an effort to swallow my past, parts of it.

My fortune be damned.

Faith climbs into my car.