– What could there be a third?

– Tranquility, what else. – Lorraine picks up her glass by the neck. – Well, what about you, Emily? Do you like the theater?

Suddenly the atmosphere of the establishment seems to set Emily up for conversation – and the conversation folds in on itself, as if someone invisible had removed the boundaries or pushed the limits.

Or maybe it's because Clark is sitting beside her-not across from her, but beside her, laughing, covering his purple lips with his lipstick that's barely worn off, smiling, twirling; his hair sparkles, his knitted sweater falls off his shoulders, revealing his collarbones and moles; Lorraine fixes it, but when she waves her hand, it slips down again, and she laughs, scolding the naughty thing.

Emily feels her own body relax; what served as the starting point-the alcohol, the atmosphere, Clark's proximity, or all together-she doesn't know, but she feels the metal plates being removed from her spine and the twigs of resentment dissolving, finally dying down.

Clark jumps from "you" to "you," staying true to his traditions; orders another glass of wine and a vase of ice cream; takes a grape ball with a spoon and laughs as it melts:

– I wasted my entire first paycheck on food. I remember bringing home a dozen bags filled with all kinds of crap. Well, you know how it is, I guess. It was my first unnecessary purchase-and I wanted to burrow into those bags and cover myself with food and sleep in them. Charlie was terrified!

– Do you live with your brother? – Emily didn't let her glass out of her hands.

– Until… twenty, I think," Lorraine frowned, remembering. – Then things got better, and we were separated right away. Now it's almost an hour by car between us. – Sigh. – So we only see each other at work. Life doesn't stand still, Emily. Things change.

– How did you manage to change things like that?

– I just wanted to. – Clark shrugs. – First your life, then Charlie's. It's not that hard. You just have to…

– Walk straight," Emily finishes, raising her hand with her glass.

The neurosurgeon smiles:

– Glad you remembered.

– Charlie tells me you used to say that phrase to him a lot.

– Charlie talks too much. – Lorraine shakes her head. – Sometimes I think he lacks sociality. There are a colossal number of people around him, but he's still alone.

Emily puts the empty glass on the table – the second at lunch today – and realizes, with a hazy, refusing-to-work mind, that Lorraine is looking at her like she's a child:

– Emily, has anyone ever told you that you can't drink?

Johnson nods – or rather, she thinks she is nodding, but instead her body jerks along with her head, and Lorraine rolls her eyes laughingly.

– I'm sorry," Emily mutters, trying to straighten up.

– It's okay," Lorraine nods understandingly, "the last few days have been too stressful not to get drunk.

– That's not true," the nurse disagrees, grabbing the napkin and crumpling it in her hands. – It's just that I'm so weak. And I can't drink, yeah.

Clark pulls a mirror and lipstick out of his backpack, flips the lid off, and with one swipe, paints his lips with clear lines.

– I don't think you're weak," she says seriously, fixing her hair. – Silly, yes. But not weak.

– I am not stupid! – I am not stupid!" she protests, a little too loudly, and then, ashamed, repeats more quietly: "I am not stupid. I got straight A's in college, by the way! Though I bet you were, too," she sighed.

– Nope." Lorraine pushed her lipstick aside and leaned her head back on her hand, meeting Emily's gaze with hers. – You're wrong. I was a terrible underachiever, but that's predictable, isn't it? We all had very poor grades. I got through basic school by some miracle, I guess," she admits.

The sweater falls off her right shoulder, leaving the gathered fabric dangling somewhere around her elbow, exposing a rubber lanyard around her neck – the same one Emily had seen on the waterfront, only now, freed from its knit bonds, a pendant falls onto the table with a metallic clang.

Medallion simplicity: blackened silver, almost green from old age in places, carved ligature, wide lock. Emily, breathless, freezes, devouring it with her eyes: her fingertips tingle with the desire to touch the warm metal.

Lorraine irritably puts the fabric back in place, hiding the pendant, but Emily manages to notice that the top connecting ring has almost come apart, threatening to fall off at any moment.

– This sweater is obviously too big for you," the nurse comments, straightening up.

– But it's comfortable," Clark grinned. – Except it falls off.

– It doesn't fall off," Emily protested, "you fall out of it… You were talking about college," she reminded me.

– About college? – Clark gives himself a faint sigh. – Oh, yeah, right. College. You know what, Emily, why don't we take a walk? – She raises her hand, catching the attention of the waiter at the counter, and says softly, "With a card, please.

The young man instantly rushes out of his seat, grabbing a portable payment terminal and a small cardboard envelope.

– You know, I'm not much of a conversationalist," Emily admits honestly. – Neither is a companion for the long road.

– Well, at least you did a good job as an alcoholic. – Lorraine pulls a platinum VISA out of her backpack and slides it into the terminal, not even looking at the folder with the account. – That's okay, we'll get some air now. I hope you're on your feet…

* * *

By the time they reached Victoria Park, Emily had sobered up, and with that feeling came shame – she'd been called to lunch and managed to get drunk! Good thing she hadn't done anything stupid, or she would have had to quit her job, and no one would have come after her – who would want an alcoholic nurse?

And Clark seemed to have forgotten about it altogether: she walked along, talking about incidents at work, occasionally drawing Emily's attention to the architecture of Cambridge Heath, a street dotted with art galleries and restaurants, on which they were walking.

On Pound Pat Clark pauses, staring at the rushing water-the Regent's Canal is choppy today, crashing with angry waves against the rocks-and then suddenly descends under the bridge, stopping almost at the very water's edge, separated by a thin carved fence. Barely keeping up with her, Emily catches a sense of déjà vu-just a few days ago they were standing, leaning against the parapet, talking in exactly the same way. How far is it from here? About ten kilometers, tops-she could walk to her house if she wanted to.