The drive into the city reminded him of the familiar progression from the sleepy suburbs of Massachusetts into the center of Boston, with roomy front yards giving way to rows of narrow townhouses, then gradually to brick apartments stacked tight on top of each other. Roads wound around office buildings and restaurants, and red lights somehow lasted so much longer than green than they ever did in the country. Even draped in a heavy northern darkness, the city had an undeniable charm, like something an artist might shrink down and preserve in a snow globe. Landon’s first impression was a warm one. For the first time, he let himself feel a tingle of excitement. Maybe this would turn out to be a magical place, where magical things happened. Maybe Rose was on to something.
Landon had tried to engage Poppy in conversation on their winding drive, but in response she’d turned the music up high enough to discourage even the most casual of conversation. She pretended not to hear him when he had the gall to ask her where they were going, once more when he tried to tell her she parked so close to the curb he wasn’t sure if he would be able to extricate himself from the car, and a final time while he held the door of the Brass Monkey open for her and wondered aloud whether they served food or just drinks because he’d already had three whiskeys in the last six hours and couldn’t drink any more on an empty stomach. Only once the bartender had poured her a tall glass of Pinot Noir and him a dark Guinness did Poppy give him her full attention.
“Can I—” Landon began, but Poppy had stolen the air out of every room she’d walked into since they’d first met.
“You can’t stay, Landon,” she said. “Before I tell you anything else, I need to know that you understand that.”
Landon kicked his feet against the lowest rung of the barstool, looking around to try to buy himself time to come up with a response that would satisfy her. The pub was lit by lamps ringed with red tassels, the walls papered in posters and photographs of timeless movies and their beautiful stars. “This place doesn’t feel very traditional,” Landon said. “Feels like they’re catering to a real young, edgy crowd.”
“Well, it’s close to my flat and the drinks are cheap.”
Landon all but spit out his beer. “Yourflat?” he said, with biting inflection.
“I thought it was rather obvious that I’ve been here awhile.”
Landon’s head was too fuzzy to spar with Poppy without some food to weigh him down. He waved to the bartender, who he felt should have walked over more quickly given the pub was near empty. “Can I get a burger?” he asked. “Medium, with fries?”
“Aye, right enough,” the burly man said in such a heavy Scottish accent that Landon decided he would take back the “traditional” comment if Poppy dug in further. “But I’ve got to tell you, they’re pretty shite.”
“That’s great,” said Landon. “Appreciate the honesty.” The bartender noted the order on a slip of paper he pulled from beneath the bar, gave Landon a smooth wink, and sauntered off to the kitchen.
“Landon,” Poppy said, snapping her fingers. “Promise me you’ve heard me. You have to go. You can’t stay.”
Landon took a long sip of his drink. “You owe me an explanation.” He fought the childish impulse to cross his arms in front of him. “People take these pills to forget. If I shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be here, either.”
“Landon,” Poppy said, her tone too close to pity for comfort, “she didn’t want to forgetme.”
The words stung all the more for how little Landon had expected to hear them. He swiveled in his chair and stared deep into the playful eyes of Audrey Hepburn inBreakfast at Tiffany’s, a long cigarette resting on the corner of her upturned mouth. “She didn’t want to forgetyou,” Landon repeated, as though saying it back would help his body understand.
Poppy reached a hand across the bar to Landon, then clearly thought better of it. “I’m sorry.”
He fiddled with his wedding ring. “She left a note, then?”
“Yeah.” Poppy trailed a finger along the edges of her drink. “And you know better than to ask to read it.” It was a question disguised as a comment, giving him the benefit of the doubt when he was nowhere near close to deserving it. “She knew I was worried about her—that we were all worried about her—and she told me she would tell her other just enough about me that I could tag along. She made me promise I would only stay as long as I needed to know she was safe, and happy, and I might have already overstayed my welcome here because, Landon, she’shappy. For the first time in a long time. That has to mean something to you.” He wasn’t sure what any of it meant, least of all to him. Poppy deflated, briefly, then sat up straighter in her chair. “And what’s that saying people are always harping on about? If you love something, set it free?”
“Let it go,” Landon supplied.
“That’s it. Let her go, Landon.”
“What is she doing here?” Landon asked, hoping his fishing wasn’t too obvious, hoping the question didn’t read as desperate for information as he was, having flown halfway across the world to re-meet her.
“She’s learning to paint.”
Landon laughed. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
Rose, painting? His practical Rose, who’d been collecting a steady corporate paycheck for years without a word of complaint. His practical Rose, who once cried when she realized she had twice as much in her bank account each month than she needed to pay the mortgage, overcome by the knowledge that they wouldn’t be repeating the same fights her parents once had.
NothisRose, he reminded himself, only barely managing to suppress the urge to smack the side of his head with an open palm. “What does she paint?” It was a dumb question, and he felt eons away from his Rose as soon as it came out of his mouth.
“I don’t know,” Poppy said. “And to be honest, I don’t really care. If it’s a money issue, I’ll buy you the ticket home.”
“It’s not a money issue.” Though in truth, his savings had rapidly dwindled. Quitting his job had had that effect. But after Rose left, he’d been so manic and scattered that staying had never felt like a real option.
“What can I say to convince you to leave?”
The bartender pushed through the double doors from the kitchen with a steaming burger and fries that Landon felt should have taken much longer to cook than they had. Landon shrugged. “I can’t think of anything.”