Chapter 18
“Go over it again,” said Bruce Putnam. “I still don’t understand it.”
It was lunchtime the next day, at the office. Astrida had met me that morning in the parking lot, as pretty as ever but seemingly distracted. There was none of the banter of the night before, only a bland and distracted politeness. I kept trying to engage her in conversation, but she didn’t go for it. She just kept staring out at the road ahead of her, responding with the briefest possible answers no matter what I said.
Did I ever mention that I hate dating? Not that I was dating her, of course. But I really don’t like it, that vague yet acidic anxiety that burns away at you constantly. Last night it seemed like we connected; this morning we might as well be on different continents. We drove over to the pro
