“It stopped being just your debt when Arthur called me,” she said. “But you have to tell me the truth about what you have left.”
A car turned onto the avenue, its headlights sweeping across the gravel lot and catching the chrome of my station wagon before disappearing toward the ridge.
“My lease is in the drawer by the kitchen table,” I said. “The late notice is folded inside it.”
“Then we will go to your place and get it,” Desiree said.
The drive back to my basement apartment was quiet, the headlights of her sedan following close behind my tailpipe through the narrow streets of the valley. When I unlocked the door, the smell of damp wool and old carpet greeted us, the small space heater in the corner clicking as it struggled to warm the room.
Desiree walked into the kitchen, her eyes taking in the empty counter and the cardboard box of Julian’s books that still sat by the door.
“He took the walnut sideboard too,” I said, pointing to the blank wall where the wood had left a clean line against the dusty baseboard.
