Annette can’t visit the retirement home, not without thinking about him and their one afternoon there, and this is why she makes herself stop by —it’s the same way she bears finding the loops of her name in his journal, or sitting resolutely in his car: she has to stop wearing Sebastian like second skin, has to lose and find him in the places where she’ll always keep him

Even then, she doesn’t know why she locks herself in for three hours with his, uh, old friend—the woman looks at Annette with dewy eyes and asks her if that lovely boy who likes playing backgammon will be back soon, and oh by the way, the both of you make such a picture-pretty pair; and Annette’s hands quiver on the china teapot, her vision glazing over as she lies, soon, Mrs. Sugarman, he’ll come back soon.

Such a gentleman, that boy—you know, don’t tell him this, but I knew all along that he was just letting me win all those games, the woman says beaming; Annette swipes at her eyes and chokes out a semblance of a laugh; she likes to think that somewhere out there, Sebastian is doing the same.