Page 23 of Meet Me in the Garden

THE NEXT MONDAY,at lunchtime, I go through the cafeteria line. I choose a sandwich and a slice of melon and a cup of coffee, carry my tray outside to the edge of the parking lot, and sit on a far bench.

Delphine’s here, in Los Angeles. She has a child and she has money. She waved to my sisters. She called their names. She would have talked to them, maybe embraced them, had they given her the chance to. The knowledge of it all dislodges something, like I’ve been holding my breath, waiting to see what we’re doing next. But she’s living her life. I am, too. We’re okay, both of us.

I wonder if she still wears her hair long down her back when she’s home and no one’s looking. If she still stacks bracelets on both wrists, still reads books most people don’t understand. I wonder who her friends are, if their children play together on the floor while they stand in the kitchen, if she ever senses something of me, if she knows I’m close.

Her house could be just blocks from here. Maybe she’s on a lounge chair out back, sunglasses hiding her eyes. Maybe she’s reading in bed with her daughter napping next to her. Maybe she’s fixing Bill a sandwich. Maybe she’s planting something, gloved hands easing the roots from the pot. I’m in a trance, imagining her.

A little white car pulls into the far side of the lot, its engine growing louder and quieter as it weaves through the rows for a spot. It stops. A door opens. Ginny rises from the car like a gift. Like while I’ve been wishing Delphine a near-perfect life, she’s been wishing me one, too.There, she’s saying.Go ahead and take it.

Ginny sees me and waves, locks the door and comes toward me. I haven’t seen her since the first time, in the yard. I gather my plate and mug and stand. She’s carrying a box, balancing it on her hip. Cropped hair tucked behind her ears, dimples flashing, eyes dark and pleased to see me.

“Are you switching to the day shift?” I ask her as we fall into stride, heading for the entrance.

“Just swinging by with a few things I’m giving away. My roommate and I are moving.”

“You’re leaving the plant?”

“Gonna miss it.” We’re already at the doors, waving to Owen, who mans the front desk, pushing farther into the building. “We’re having a little going away party on Saturday night. Lionel’s coming. You should come, too.” To the left, down the hall, is the Finishing Department. Production is to the right, up the stairs. We take a few steps in opposite directions, watching each other.

“All right.” I force a smile through my disappointment. “I will.”

Ginny’s apartment is on the second floor of a squat, two-story building. At first it seems quiet, but as we near the door I make out some indistinct voices and brassy jazz. The door opens at Lionel’s knock and the noise is louder, pouring onto the steps before the girl who opened it hurries us in.

“The neighbors have it out for us,” she says. “We’re trying to keep it down.”

“What are they gonna do?” Lionel asks. “Get you evicted on your last night?”

She’s tall, dressed in a partially unbuttoned men’s shirt and a pair of khaki trousers, not dissimilar to Ginny’s clothes but worn looser, lessneatly. She holds a beer by its neck, takes a swig. “I wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Odette, this is Mare,” Lionel says. The name suits her. She’s strawberry blond, her face long and elegant, absent of makeup, something equine about her.

“Welcome to our home. For approximately ten more hours. Beers are in the fridge. Ginny’s somewhere.”

I follow Lionel past other guests in small groups and pairs. He opens two beers and hands me one, and Jeremy from the Art Department comes from behind, claps him on the back. Aside from the guests, the apartment is largely empty. A stack of boxes along the living room wall, a worn sofa and chair, people piled atop them. I peer through a doorway and see a mattress on the floor with a suitcase and some folded clothes.

Lionel and I squeeze onto one side of the sofa next to a boy and girl I don’t know, and soon Ginny appears from down the hall, perches on the arm of Mare’s chair. The two of them together with their bare faces, their masculine clothing, the confident positioning of their bodies. It’s a miracle just to look at them.

“I didn’t catch where you’re moving to,” I say.

“Montana,” Mare says.

I wait to see if she’s joking. No one laughs. “Montana?”

“We’re going to live and work at the Glacier Park Lodge,” Ginny says. “They’re hiring for the Christmas season.”

“Don’t ask them why,” Lionel says. “They don’t have a good answer.”

“Adventure,” Mare says. “The biggest sky in the world.”

“Wherever you are,” Lionel says, “the sky is the sky.”

“You clearly haven’t been to Montana,” Mare says.

“Lionel’s just sore because I’m leaving.” Ginny reaches her leg out, nudges his knee with her foot.

He shrugs. “What can I say? I get attached to my friends.”

“Friends are the true loves of our lives,” the boy next to me says. “Romance is fleeting.”