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‘Yes. He is.’
My ears prick up at Kris’s sudden use of the present tense. ‘What happened to him?’
‘Got a job on a game reserve in Africa somewhere. That was always his passion. Animals. Conservation. All of that kind of thing.’ He turns his beer bottle slowly between the palms of his hands and says, ‘Apparently he’s back.’
‘He’s—’ I stop and pull myself back from appearing too excited.
‘Yeah. Just got in a few days ago.’
‘Here? Chicago?’
‘Yup. I bumped into a mutual friend yesterday, who said he’d seen him around. He was just about to check into an Airbnb apparently. I might see if I can hook up with him; he’s always a balm, y’know.’ He sighs and tips the dregs of his beer into the beach. ‘Anyway. I think it’s getting about time …’
‘Yes,’ I agree immediately. ‘Yes, it probably is.’
The sky is dark blue now, the black rectangles of the skyscrapers across the lake glow gold through their lit-up windows.
I quickly finish the rest of the cheap warm champagne and take the empty bottle to a bin. My brain spins in circles as I mount the Gold Wing and put the helmet back on. It’s a fifteen-minute drive back to my hotel. As we pull up outside the hotel I unbuckle my wristwatch and slip it into the pannier of his bike.
Then I pass Kris back the helmet and I wave him goodbye. He thinks he’ll never see me again. But he’s wrong.
