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ask her.”
    Uncomfortable, Max glanced at him. “Why? Did she talk about me? Give you a message or something?”
    “Some, but nothing like what you mean.” The old man touched the thin metal of the coffin, stared at it for a moment, then looked back up at Max. “I'm just saying if you have questions you want to ask her, it might not be too late.”

chapter

2
    M ax had no intention of going anywhere with this strange man. He'd just buried the girl he'd once loved, and Corinne's suggestion that they get a drink—probably more than one—sat well with him just then. Besides, this guy was …spooky. And obviously a little deranged.
    “Look, no offense, but—”
    “Your lady's gone,” the old man whispered.
    Max glanced at the coffin, thinking he meant Gabrielle. But then he heard the sound of a car starting and looked across the cemetery to see Corinne driving slowly away. Shedidn't turn to look at him, but neither did she seem in a rush to leave. Almost as if she'd forgotten he was even here.
    “Time to talk, Max,” the old man said. Max was not sure whether it was posed as a question or a statement.
    “How d'you know my name?”
    The old man shrugged, in a smug way that Max knew would become bothersome very quickly.
    “And what do you mean when you say—
    “I know a nice little bar,” the old man said. He stretched, and Max was sure he actually heard bones creaking. “Not far from here. Least, used to be nice. Since the Rage, the whole city has gone sour.”
    “Rage?”
    The man rolled his eyes at the clear blue sky. “The storm. Katrina. Such a sweet name.”
    “Why would I go anywhere with you?”
    “ ’Cos you're intrigued,” the man said, shrugging again. Then he smiled. “And 'cos your lady's gone.”

    As he climbed into the passenger seat of the white coupe, Max realized that he had made no plans beyond the funeral. He'd arranged the trip, booked the flight and hotel, spoken with Corinne about her picking him up from Baton Rouge airport, but his focus had always been on the moment that had just passed. He had watched Gabrielle's coffin as words that meant little to him were spoken across it, and now that it was over, he was lost. He'd figured today would be taken up with the funeral, and whatever gathering might take place after it. But there wasn't going to be any gathering,and Corinne had just taken off and left him in the cemetery. And what the fuck was that about?
    Two days remaining in New Orleans, and nothing left to do.
    At some point, back in Boston, he'd presumed he would at least go by and visit the colleagues he'd worked with at Tulane, see about their welfare after the storm. But he'd barely been in contact with them since he left, and wondered if he'd be welcome.
    Beyond that, he hadn't thought about what he would do after saying good-bye.
    Max closed his eyes for a moment and saw her face, and the idea that he would never see her again cut him in two. Since leaving, he had lived with the certainty that she was out of his life forever, but at least she had still existed in the same world, still shared the same atmosphere with him. He was still
aware
of her. And now she was gone, completely and finally, and when he sucked in a breath it contained nothing of her.
    The old man drove slowly from the cemetery, steering around grave markers that had been washed onto the road. He turned left, eventually edging them past the muddy ruin of City Park and driving so slowly that Max thought they could probably walk faster. He glanced across, and the expression on the guy's face was one of quiet contemplation.
    “You said it might not be too late,” Max said at last.
    “Hmm?”
    “To ask questions of Gabrielle. What did you mean by that? And who are you, anyway? An uncle or something?”
    “Something like that,” the man said, smiling. He exudedcalmness and peace, and Max wondered how he'd made it through the past couple of months. Because he had no doubt that the old man had been here