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the bed and a partially dressed Derek who’s having a seismic effect on me.
    Jeremy hears us leaving and comes out of his bedroom. He gives Derek a once-over and smiles at me. “You kids be safe out there. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
    “That leaves it pretty much wide open,” I say, and then we’re out the front door and down the stairs.
    The morning air has a snap to it that foreshadows the coming winter. I’m glad I’m wearing my jacket, and Derek slips his on and pulls me close. I love the way it feels to walk with him like this, like a real couple, two against the world instead of just one. The sky’s a pale blue, streaks of high clouds drifting lazily in the bright sunlight, a picture perfect autumn New York day, and for a few seconds I’m able to forget my doubts and inner dialogue and just be in the moment, Derek by my side.
    We grab brunch at the packed café amidst the clatter of plates and the din of conversation, and then set out for the subway that will take us to Battery Park, where we can catch the ferry to Liberty Island along with about a million tourists.
    The crowd is dense when we arrive at the island after a noisy boat ride, and we make our way to the base of the statue. As we near, I see a young family with a baby boy, and my throat tightens. They look so close, the guy taking turns pushing the stroller with the girl, exchanging secretive glances with each other. I think about my own childhood, abandoned by my father, and Derek’s with his drug-addled mother, and now Jason, and I wonder when the cycle of broken families will end. I know I’m being morose, and I do my best to put a brave face on, but I can’t help the regret I feel as I watch them.
    After an hour playing tourist, we tire of the endless humanity and make our way back to the dock. We take the return boat, watching the New York skyline near as we approach, and then catch the subway to the boardinghouse Derek’s moved back to since finishing his daily recording in New Jersey. The neighborhood is run-down and squalid. Graffiti covers every surface, and groups of toughs loiter on the stoops, glaring at anyone walking by. I edge closer to him as we move down the sidewalk, suddenly wondering whether this is such a great idea.
    “Why do you live here?” I whisper.
    “It’s the cheapest place I could find that wasn’t on Skid Row.”
    “It’s creepy.”
    “Beats the tunnels, though.”
    The boardinghouse is grim, the interior as shabby as the exterior. We climb the grubby wooden stairs, worn smooth by generations of luckless feet, and when we reach the second floor landing, my nose wrinkles at a sour stink. Derek notices and shrugs.
    “That’s the Korean contingent. It’s their food. Pickled horse dong, I think.”
    “You know how to impress a lady, don’t you?”
    “This wasn’t my idea, remember?”
    His room is about the size of a broom closet. It’s neat and clean inside, but the ceiling is stained from leaks above. I use the bathroom and wish I hadn’t. When I’m finished, I want to do nothing but leave, any curiosity I had more than satisfied. I know that just a few months ago I would have been grateful to stay in a place even half as good, but that was then. If anything, seeing Derek’s digs strengthens my resolve to work even harder so I never have to go backward.
    We take the train back to Manhattan and wind up at a restaurant near Lincoln Center for a late lunch. I’ve forgotten how expensive the city can be, and about choke when I see the tourist prices in the popular spot.
    “I just want a sandwich, not a new car,” I complain, and Derek smiles.
    “Don’t sweat it. I got paid eight hundred bucks for the appearance yesterday. Eat two if you want.”
    We place our order with an overly cheerful young man Jeremy would probably swoon over, and sip our sodas as we people watch through the picture window. I don’t want to ruin the mood, but the clock’s ticking, and we need to have the discussion