Josh doesn’t say anything about my jumping, like it didn’t count. It’s a long way to drive in tense silence. After a while I fall asleep. We’re cold and formal with each other during haphtarah practice. I don’t mention anything about the day, and he doesn’t bring it up. We might as well be unrelated, Josh just a grimly professional hired tutor. When he gets up to use the bathroom, he leaves his cell phone on the desk. The instant he is out the door and down the hallway I grab the phone and start scrolling through his call history. Outgoing, outgoing, outgoing, outgoing, to someone named Trish. Lots of them—days of them—with only a few incomings from her. Lots of incomings from Lesley, especially over the past week. A few outgoing. I pause and listen for Josh. I don’t hear anything. I go to his text inbox, but it’s empty, and so is his outbox, everything scrubbed clean. There’s one text in his drafts file, a fragment of a message to Trish—“Unfair? How bout u? Y can’t u”—and then it stops.
