CHARLOTTE

Charlotte was confused. She ran through a scenario in her head.

“Javier sent Martin a book.”

“A book about poisonous mushrooms.”

“So Javier must know what they did.”

“How?”

“Who told?”

“Luca?”

“Why?”

“Scruples?”

“Or blackmail?”

“Javier?”

“Nah.”

“Not Javier.”

Charlotte stared at the book. Luca was grinning at Martin. Martin looked chagrined. Charlotte still didn’t understand.

“How did he figure it out?” she said.

“He didn’t figure anything out,” Luca said.

He smirked as he gave Martin a knowing look.

“I took him with me,” Martin said.

He looked embarrassed.

“When?” Luca said.

“This weekend. Foraging. For mushrooms.”

“What?” Charlotte said.

“I said I took Javier mushroom hunting.”

“And you told him?”

“Of course not. I didn’t tell him anything. Well, not anything like that.”

“But the book?”

“It’s just a gift. A token. A token of his esteem. Isn’t it, Martin?” Luca said.

Martin nodded as Luca went on.

“Look, there’s something you both need to know.”

He opened and closed a drawer, as if he was searching for something, then changed his mind.

“I didn’t do it.”

He gave Martin a sidelong look.

“We didn’t do it.”

“But . . .” Martin said.

“I just told you. I didn’t do it.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t do it? He died.”

“Of course he died, except I didn’t do it.”

Luca paused.

“No. That’s not quite right.”

He measured his words again.

“I didn’t want to do it. But he died. He died that night anyway.”

Charlotte couldn’t take her eyes off Luca. He was so still. Motionless, he always seemed less the golden boy, more just an ordinary man. She liked him better that way. When he was playing the golden boy he was good with words, good at twisting them.

“I didn’t want him to die quickly. I wanted him to live until there was nothing left of him to writhe in that bed—your bed,” he said, to Martin. “I wanted him to live until he either melted into it or dried up and blew away, poof, gone. Every sip of water, every spoonful of soup bought another few days. I read about it in a hospice pamphlet. Do you know how much longer something as small as a single sip of water can drag it out?”

“But the soup. You fed him the soup. I saw you carry it in,” Martin said.

Luca laughed.

“Pure unadulterated Campbell’s. Cream of Mushroom.”

Charlotte gripped the book. Her hands felt small and delicate, childlike, clenching the green cloth cover.

“But Martin told me . . .”

“You want to know what his last words were?” Luca said.

Martin and Charlotte nodded their heads.

“M’m! M’m! Good!”

Charlotte took a sharp breath.

“That’s right. Just like the fucking commercials. I laughed, and he upped and died. I wanted to kill him for that.”

Martin slumped against the kitchen counter. “Good grief.”

Charlotte held the book up.

“So, what about this?”

“I can’t believe you,” Luca said. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

She opened the book and unfolded one of the plates, a delicate copperplate etching, illustrating row upon row of mushrooms, each one tinted by hand. She ran her fingers across them.

“You’re as much of an idiot as he is,” Luca said.

Martin circled around behind her. “Don’t speak to her like that.”

“Haven’t you been able to tell? Javier’s in love.”

There was a tease in his voice.

“With you?” Charlotte asked.

Martin’s face colored again.

“With Martin. He’s in love with Martin,” Luca said.

Martin exhaled. When he smiled, his face was crisscrossed with lines. For the first time, Charlotte saw something she hadn’t seen before: he was an old man.

He straightened up and squared his shoulders. There was an unmistakable quaver in his voice when he tried to puff himself back up and said, “I don’t know about the two of you. All this talk about mushrooms has made me hungry.”