Early in their relationship, Jen realized that Zach had many althoughs in his life. He had a moderately steady, although excruciatingly small, income. He had a PhD in environmental economics from the London School of Economics, although that didn’t exactly mean he had a job. For the past two years, he had run a gardening business, although the word business was a bit of a stretch, since he worked from a bicycle that dragged a tiny trailer. In the winter, he shoveled snow, although snow in DC was now as rare as pregnant popes. And he had a nice place to live, although, like millions of others, it was at home with his parents, even though he was forty-one. He was expecting, although not hoping, that would come to an end in January. After all, his parents were both sixty-four.
If Jen had first seen him in close-up photographs of his face, she wouldn’t have tagged him for a fashion model. His eyes were slightly too far apart, and his head one size too large, as if that big brain of his had pressed everything outward at some point. He had a boyish mop of hair that was forever flopping into his eyes and, by contrast, a long-ago-broken nose.
But in some unaccountable way, snap all the pieces together and add in his strong shoulders, and they gave him a rugged yet vulnerable appeal. Jennifer found him remarkably good looking. No, more than that: she was mesmerized by his looks.
They had met a year earlier after an accident she had on the trail along the Potomac. Afterward, she had phoned her best friend and her work partner, Les.
“His hairline is so low I think he’s part Neanderthal.”
“Yech,” Les had said. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“Caught a piece of glass. Nothing serious.”
“You’re still wearing those stupid minimalist shoes?”
Jen didn’t respond.
“And he rescued you?”
“You don’t have to say it like I was a damsel in distress.”
“Did he?”
“Kind of. He was riding his bike and saw me fall. He stopped and asked if I was okay. I said I was fine. He got off his bike about ten feet away and had a sip of water, but it was obvious he was making sure I wasn’t going to die. I repeated, ‘I’m fine,’ to try to get him to scram. I examined the bottom of my shoe. There was a nasty shard of glass sticking through the rubber.”
“Through the thin rubber.”
“Glass that somehow dug through the extremely tough rubber. I pulled it out. Started to stand, but, well … he pulled out a small first aid kit, came over to me, and said, ‘Let’s have a look.’
“I asked if he was a doctor and he laughed. I wriggled out of my shoe and there was blood everywhere. He said, ‘You tested?’ just like it was an everyday question. And when I said I was fine, he replied, ‘Okay, then, let’s have a look.’ He cupped my foot in one hand—did I tell you he has nice hands?—”
“Nice hands are definitely a turn on,” Les said.
“—and carefully wiped off the blood with a piece of gauze. The cut was on the ball of my foot, near my toes. He peered at it. He wiggled the two closest toes and looked up at me. I shook my head, saying it didn’t hurt. He said, ‘Scream if this does.’ He pressed gently around the perimeter of the wound, checking for another piece inside. At each point, he glanced up at my face. Halfway around, I swore, and he suggested we go to a hospital. Les, you really want to hear all this?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“At first, I tried to walk, and he pushed his bike alongside. But it hurt like hell. So he said, ‘Why don’t you borrow my bike.’ It wasn’t fancy but I could tell it had decent parts and I said, ‘What if I steal it?’”
“You tell him you’re a cop?”
“Nope. He said, ‘Well, you wouldn’t take it, would you.’ It wasn’t a question or a command, just like he’d known me forever and trusted me. But the bike didn’t have real pedals, just these clip-on knobs that I knew would kill my foot. So he said, ‘Then hop on.’ I pulled myself up sidesaddle on his bike frame, and off we went.”
“Are you nuts? You took off with a total stranger?”
“He didn’t give off any sketchy vibes.”
“Classic psychopath.”
“I’m not an idiot. There was nothing creepy. Totally the opposite. And anyway, I knew I could handle him.”
“Okay.” Les’s voice was still tentative, but he always was a sucker for a good love story.
“I was trying to hold myself upright so I wouldn’t touch him. I mean, I trusted him, but I didn’t know the guy from Adam, and I was soaked from my run.”
“Where did all this happen?”
“I told you, along the river.”
“No, I mean how far out?”
“Maybe three miles. So he had his arms around me, holding the handlebar, and he has beautiful shoulders, and I guess I sort of let myself lean against him little by little and before long, I just about had my head against him, and he was telling me about how much he loved it out there, and I was saying I used to escape there when I was a kid. Before I knew it, he said, ‘We’re here,’ and I’d barely noticed we’d come back into the city.”
“But you say he’s not exactly movie star material.”
“I’m not so sure.” She paused to think about this. “He has this rugged body and these really cute dimples when he smiles—”
“God, I love dimples.”
“And his smile kind of pops out at you. Although I guess it did make his eyes kind of disappear under his hairline.”
“Sounds hot. Does he have a brother?”
“I won’t tell Christopher you said that.”
“It was a joke. Anyway, you’ve already exchanged bodily fluids.”
“Sweat and blood.”
“Two out of three ain’t bad.”
“Three?”
“Blood, sweat, and tears. There are always those goddam tears.”
After their second get-together, this time for a coffee, she reported back to Les.
“I saw him again.”
“Your shining armor guy? Does he have a name?”
“Zach.”
“Okay. I like Zachs.”
“We were doing the usual, asking what we did, where we went to school, all that.”
“Finally tell him you’re a cop?”
“Of course.”
“And?”
“Nothing. I guess he kind of looked surprised.”
“Surprised?”
“I mean, none of the retrograde shit I still hear from some guys.”
Les threw up a pair of air quotes. “‘Pretty dykey’?”
“Or, ‘Aren’t you afraid of getting hurt?’”
“Classic.”
“Although …” She gazed off as if picturing the scene. “I kinda got a feeling he was wondering about being with a cop. Sounds like he had some bad experiences with the police when he was living in Jamaica.”
“Living in Jamaica?”
“For five years, after he did his PhD. He was working on a big climate change project.”
“And now he shovels snow.”
“What d’ya have against snow?”
On their third date, Jennifer and Zach had slept together—well, had sex.
“Apparently,” Jennifer told Les, “there is no correlation between a low hairline and lack of ability in bed.”
“His place?”
“Yeah, lives with his parents. Sort of an extended family vibe.”
She never brought men home. Not that Ava and Taylor would mind. Just that it was their apartment, and they were giving her a deal, and she wanted to keep her private life just that—private.
“You can always bring him over.” Both of Les’s parents had exited, and now he and Christopher co-owned their condo. “You know, if you need a place.”
“The Love Hotel,” Jennifer had said.
“You’re saying he was good?”
“Transcendent.”
“Transcendent? Seriously?”
“If you only saw his hands.”