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“No, I do,” she says with a friendly smile. “But I have something to discuss with Andrew in person. A favor.”
I nod and say nothing, since there’s really nothing to follow up with that wouldn’t seem prying.
“He said your name is Georgiana?” Pam asks, putting a nicely rolled piece of chicken onto the baking sheet I already lined with foil.
“Georgie,” I say. “I live in the building, and we…” She lifts her eyebrows, and I feel myself blush. “We’re friends.”
“Awfully nice of you to attempt chicken saltimbocca for a friend,” she says, winking as she uses the back of her hand to push blond hair off her forehead.
Pam’s easy to like. Her brown eyes are friendly, and her appearance is friendly without being flashy. But she seems a little bit sad too.
“How long have you and Peter been married?”
“Oh, forever,” she says with a laugh. “We were high school sweethearts, got married when we were nineteen. We’re six years older than Andrew, so I’ve known him since he was a kid.”
“What was he like?” I can’t help asking, leaning forward.
She’s quiet for a moment. “About like you’d think. Quiet. Serious. Deadly smart.”
“Deadly smart,” I say, surprised by the strange word combination. “Like…a savant?” Good Lord, am I falling for some sort of genius?
Pam gives a little shake of her head as she sets the fourth piece of chicken on the baking sheet and goes to the sink to wash her hands. “He hates all those labels, but yeah, I suspect his IQ’s off the charts. Parents didn’t know what to do with him. He was lucky to have a couple of good teachers who recognized that his brain moved faster than was the case with the rest of the kids, but sometimes I think…”
I wait for her to dry her hands and gather her thoughts.
“Sometimes I wonder if it was the best thing,” she says, turning back. “He’s kind and considerate as they come, but being put in with older kids didn’t do him any favors. They didn’t know how to relate to someone two years younger, and he didn’t know how to relate to them.”
My heart hurts at the thought of little Andrew feeling ostracized by his bigger classmates.
“Were he and Peter close?”
“Not particularly. The six-year age gap was a lot to overcome, even with Andrew’s advanced intellect. They cared for each other, got along well enough when they weren’t fighting, but were never friends in the way of siblings that are closer in age.”
I sip my wine, and she does the same. “Did he have any friends?” I ask quietly. “Andrew, I mean.”
“Sure. Some. He tried hard, but…”
She doesn’t finish her sentence, but that tells me all I need to know. No wonder he seems so heartbreakingly alone. The poor guy never learned how to make a friend.
“Please tell me he has some friends now,” I say, keeping my voice light. “You’re killing me here.”
She tilts her head. “You don’t know?”
“He and I are sort of…new to each other’s lives.”
“Ah. Well. Yes, he’s got a couple of close friends. Things were rough in high school, but they got better in college. His best friend is from law school. Paul. He lives in Boston. And I get the impression he gets along quite well with some of his colleagues.”
I relax slightly. Andrew doesn’t know it, but he just got saved from a very aggressive Georgie Watkins friend-matchmaking campaign.
Oh, who are we kidding? I’m going to launch one of those anyway. Everyone needs new friends.
Pam starts to clean up the cutting board, and I jump out of my chair. “Don’t you dare,” I say. “You sit.”
“I’m saying yes, mainly because you’re young and springy and have more energy than me,” she says with a wink.
“Okay, one more question,” I say, keeping my voice casual as I squirt some dish soap onto the kitchen knife.
She sighs. “Andrew’s going to kill me, huh?”
