“Mr. Lopez,” Wagner called.
Oh shit, Auggie thought.
When he got closer, he could smell something like rubbing alcohol on Wagner. The professor’s eyes were whitish with cataracts, but his gaze was unpleasantly sharp as he focused on Auggie. “I understand that you and Mr. Stratford have a previous relationship.”
“No—I mean, we’re just friends.”
“Yes, well, just so we’re clear, I will be grading all of your work.”
“Yes, Dr. Wagner.”
“We don’t play favorites.”
“I understand, Dr. Wagner.”
“I could ask you to drop the class.”
And then Auggie understood. “No, please, Dr. Wagner. I can tell this is going to be a really great semester. Your literary theme is so interesting, and it’s a perfect fit for what I want to study.”
“This is a favor, you know. I have a TA so I don’t have to do the grading.”
“I know, Dr. Wagner. Thank you so much.”
“It’s really not fair to the other students.”
“I promise I’ll work really hard, and I know you’ll be tough but fair. All your online evaluations say that you are.”
“Yes, well.” Wagner stuffed himself into his jacket. “I suppose I am. Dismissed, Mr. Lopez.”
Auggie raced out of the room, but the halls of Tether-Marfitt were already emptying. No Theo. Auggie took the stairs down two at a time, thinking he might catch up with Theo because Theo was still limping, but he didn’t see him on the ground floor, and he didn’t see him outside. He checked his phone and saw that Theo still hadn’t replied.
Ok, Auggie thought. We can do it this way.
He went to Liversedge Hall next and took the elevator to the third floor. He passed the main office for the English Department and kept going to the end of the hall. The last door had a plaque next to it that said GRADUATE STUDENT OFFICE. Under the door, the lights were off, but Auggie knocked anyway.
No response.
Ok, Auggie thought. We can do it this way too. He started the route in his head: the library, the student union, Tether-Marfitt again to check the classroom from last year. And if none of those panned out, Auggie would head west to the street with the little brick house. Theo Stratford didn’t stand a chance.
12
Theo went to Downing Children’s Healthcare Center after Wagner’s horrible class. The bus ride gave him time to process the uncomfortable sheen of sexual arousal that had overlain Wagner’s lecture. At Downing, he packed up those thoughts and signed in, and then he spent a couple of hours with Lana. His daughter had been seriously hurt in the same car accident that had killed his husband, and although Lana was getting better, the doctors had warned Theo that the most serious disabilities were likely permanent. He held her, her little helmet bumping against his shoulder. He read to her. He checked her for bruises and for signs of bedsores. He didn’t cry anymore on the ride home, the way he had for much of the first year. He leaned against the window, watching the city ebb around him. The bus’s vibrations passed through his head; they ran all the way through him. Mostly, he felt hollow. By the time he got home, he had almost convinced himself that he had forgotten about Auggie and the shock of seeing him in Wagner’s class.
Inside the small brick house, he flipped on the window unit, kicked off his shoes, and carried them upstairs. Two bedrooms were snugged up under the eaves: a larger one, which he had shared with Ian, and the smaller one that had been Lana’s. He’d started the process of moving their stuff into the basement over a year ago, shortly after the accident. He’d mostly finished with Ian’s stuff—he’d left a few trinkets on the dresser, a few of Ian’s shirts that he liked to wear—but Lana’s room was still a work in progress. He tossed the shoes in the closet and changed into shorts and an AC/DC tee.
His phone buzzed, and he saw Cart’s name on the screen.
“Are you still mad at me?” Theo said.
A slight pause. “Fuck, that’s how we’re going to start?”
“Yep. Answer the question.”
“No, I’m not mad at you. Christ, Theo, I wasn’t ever mad at you.”
“So, the new routine is that I blow you, and you don’t answer my texts for three days.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“This is not the day to test my fucking patience.”
“I’ve been busy. Jesus, Theo. Jesus Christ. Is that so hard to believe, that I’ve been busy? Do you know how they’ve had us running around ever since these demonstrations started?”
“Ok,” Theo said and disconnected.
The phone buzzed again. Theo let it go to voicemail. It buzzed again, this time a text message: I’m coming over to help with the garage. I’ll make it up to you.
Sticking your knob down my throat isn’t a way to make it up to me, Theo texted back. Then he sent a second message: Don’t come over. I’ll clean out the garage myself.
This is fucking bullshit, Cart wrote back.
Theo closed the flip phone. Then he opened it again and powered it off. He stood there, thinking about the line of pills he’d taped to the back of the electrical box of the outlet in his bedroom.
Instead, he went downstairs, got the peanut-butter knife out of the fridge, and was mortaring together two pieces of bread with a good layer of peanut butter when the knock came at the door. His first thought was that it was Cart, driving over here to apologize and, of course, fuck around. Theo was holding the peanut-butter knife in one hand and the sandwich in the other as he marched to the front door. He had the vague thought that he might have to stab Cart to teach the motherfucker a lesson.
With a little juggling, he managed to get the door open, and then he said, “No. Not today.”
Auggie was standing there in a pink polo and blue chinos, sockless in loafers, his crew cut perfect as always. He stood with his arms folded, his shoulders hunched, and he said, “Hi, Theo.”
“I don’t want to be rude,” Theo said, “and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but please go away.”
Then he shut the door.
Theo went back to the kitchen, opened a can of White Rascal, and poured it into a pint glass he kept in the freezer. The whisper of cold air made him close his eyes, and he rested his head against the freezer. Then he went back to the front door.
Auggie was sitting on the steps.
“Auggie, come on.”
Auggie looked over his shoulder at Theo and shrugged. “I know I messed up. When you’re ready to talk to me, I’ll be here.”
“This is blackmail. This is emotional blackmail.”
“Would you feel better if I waited at the end of the block?”
Theo swallowed a scream. When he trusted his voice, he said, “Just get in here.”
Auggie’s footsteps followed him to the kitchen. Theo took a bite of his sandwich and then a gulp of beer.
“That looks good,” Auggie said. “Got one for me?” Then he put up both hands, a tentative smile crossing his face. “Kidding.”