Roy shrugged.
- Who the hell knows that ?! And that's what makes the case mole. He nodded towards Alan.
-Maybe only he knows the truth. It is possible that he got rid of his loved ones himself. And you never had
want to finish off your whole family?
Now I was the one who shrugged. It seemed to me that everyone our age had this type of desire.
- You know what I think? That he's just hanging his nose up, Roy muttered. - He won't give you the slightest chance. He is still busy only with his own affairs, spending hours in the library as if he had something urgent to do all the time. He does not meet anyone, he does not appear at the events. Although I admit that the style is pretty cool.
-He just seemed handsome to me.
It was the only class we did together. I was a teacher and I was getting ready to work as a teacher in case my great literary success came with a delay. Both my parents were teachers too, and they really praised the profession. When I started asking questions, I found out that Alan wants to be a detective and specializes in martial arts. One day, wearing a plain cotton T-shirt, I was sitting in front of my university bookstore and going over my reading notes when I sensed someone standing in front of me.
- Why are you asking about me? Alan asked. It was the first time he had spoken to me, before I hadn't known his gentle but firm voice.
- Listen? - I mumbled surprised.
"I found out you were asking about me," he repeated. - You're Kate Baker, aren't you? I nodded my head.
- Kate.
- So why don't you explain to me why you are asking about me?
I shrugged my shoulders.
- I do not know...
- What do you dont know?! Anything you would like to know about me ?! If so, why don't you come and ask directly ?! I really don't like people talking about me behind my back. I can sense it from a distance.!
- Look ... I'm sorry, I just wanted to ...
- You think I don't know when people talk to me ?!
- God, what do you mean ?! Are you paranoid? I wasn't talking to you at all. I was only interested ...
- Am I just the one to whom the whole family has disappeared without a trace ?! So here I am! Now be kind enough to take care of your own affairs and ...
"My mom has black hair too," I interrupted him. - Not as black as yours, more brown. But I really like yours. He blinked quickly in surprise. - So yes, it's true that I asked a few people about you because I was curious if you had anyone. But I found out no, and now I understand why.
He looked at me in disbelief.
"So ..." I started the real show, tucking my notes and books into my backpack and stacking it on my shoulder "... forgive me, but I have to go."
I got up and walked down the street.
"It's true," Alan said after me.
I stopped.
- What is the truth?
- I'm not seeing anyone.
He swallowed loudly. And I felt myself blush.
"I didn't want you to take me for a simple stupid girl," I added. "But I think you're a little ... you know, oversensitive."
We quickly figured out that he was indeed oversensitive, and I, unfortunately, am stupid, but somehow we ended up having a coffee at our university bar and I found out from Alan that he now lives with his aunt, his mother's sister.
"Lucy's fine," he admitted. "She never got married, has no children, so when I moved to her, when my family was gone, her whole world more or less turned upside down. But
she took it bravely. Anyway, what was she supposed to do? In the end, she also survived the tragedy, losing her sister, brother-in-law and nieces in an instant.
- What happened to your house? Could you no longer live where you were before?
Pretty good for a life pragmatist, right?
He lost his entire family, and I am asking about the legal status of the property.
"I couldn't live there alone," Alan replied. - There was nobody to pay the rent and other things, let alone the mortgage installments. When no one in my family showed up, the bank just took over our house. Lawyers joined the case and demanded a refund of the money my parents had paid, but after deducting the costs it turned out to be a pittance. Nevertheless, they were transferred to my trust fund. Now that a year has passed, my parents are presumed dead. At least legally. She looked up at the sky and grimaced painfully. What was I supposed to say?
- So it was only thanks to Aunt Lucy that I was able to start my studies.
I save money and work during the summer holidays, but I don't get much of it. I don't know how she makes ends meet. Not only did she raise me, but she also pays the university tuition fees. He has to sit in debt up to his ears. Even so, I never heard a single complaint from her.
"Gee," I muttered, taking a sip of my coffee.
For the first time Alan smiled at me.
- Gee? he repeated, surprised. - Is that all you have to say, Kate? Gosh? His smile faded as unexpectedly as it had come:
- Excuse me. I don't know what kind of reactions to expect. I do not have
the slightest idea what I would have said if I had sat in your seat.
"And I don't know how you take it all."
He took a sip of tea.
- Honestly, sometimes I want to kill myself. But I immediately think to myself that the next day after my death they will find each other. He smiled faintly again. - Wouldn't that be a tragic coincidence? And this time the smile vanished from his lips as if blown away by a delicate, imperceptible breeze.
Strands of black hair fell over his eyes, so he gracefully ran his fingers through it, putting it back as it had looked before.
"The problem is," he continued, "they might be dead, since they didn't even have a chance to say goodbye to me, but they might as well be living somewhere, which would mean they don't care." She turned her head and looked out the window. - I don't know which explanation would be worse for me.
We were silent for a good minute. Eventually, Alan admitted:
- You're nice. If I had to go out with someone, I'd love to go out with someone like you.
- Cool. So if you get desperate, you know where to find me.
He looked out the window again at the group of students heading for the entrance. This time he was silent for so long that I began to suspect that he fell asleep with his eyes open.
"Sometimes it seems to me," he began suddenly, "that I see one of them."
- By what miracle? - I was surprised. - Like a ghost or something?
"No, not," he replied, still not looking at me. Suddenly I notice someone on the street who looks like my father or mother. Let's say from the back. Something catches my eye, such as a slight tilt of my head or the way I walk, seems familiar to me, and I am convinced that it is one of them. Or I see a girl, at most a year younger than me, who I think looks exactly like my sister a year ago, only grown up. My parents would look the same today, right? Little would have changed in a year. But Sister might seem like a complete stranger, although some elements in her appearance would still make me recognize her, don't you think?
"I suppose so," I admitted.
"So when I see someone like that, I run and look in the face, sometimes I even grab my arm and turn to face me to look closely."
Finally he pulled away from the view outside the window, but stared at his tea cup as if hoping to find the answer in it. - But it turns out they are strangers.
- Maybe after a while you will stop doing this.
"If I come across any of them," he replied.
We started dating. We went to the movies, worked together in the library. He tried to get me interested in tennis.
I never had the heart for this game, but decided to take a chance. Alan at the beginning pointed out that he is also not a seasoned tennis player, but an avid amateur, apparently having a good backhand. But it was enough to encourage me, it made me fear even more. And as soon as I served and saw his characteristic right hand move over my left shoulder, I immediately lost hope that I would be able to hit the ball, if I even saw it rushing towards me.
One day I was sitting bent over the computer and trying to finish an essay about Thoreau, which I cared about as much as last year's snow, and it didn't help me at all to know that Alan was lying next to me on a narrow bed in my dorm room, though he was fully dressed, overwhelmed sleeping while reading a worn-out pocket edition
Stephen King's "Misery". He was not picky about English literature and would often reach for what he wanted to do, but he liked stories about people who had gone through something worse than what had happened to him.