Since the morning Kim had sprung Santiago on him and then called him a liar, he’d entered an odd state, swinging between dread and a calm so deep that it bordered on elation. He couldn’t decide which mood was warranted, and which the emotional figment of a mind made unknown to itself from a life of dedicated self-distraction. If dissociation were a paying talent he’d own half the city. Whatever was happening to him, he wanted to give it time. It was important that he not get ahead of himself, as he had with Rosemary, and not let Kim push him into places he wasn’t ready to go. He hadn’t replied to her last email. Yesterday someone called up from the lobby but he hadn’t answered in case it was her. Now she’d left a message saying she’d come by this afternoon to see if he was in. Within minutes of picking it up he had packed a lunch and was heading for the country. An hour later he was in the woods of a conservation area, watching his footing as he descended into a gorge beneath a pounding waterfall.
