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gray trench coat, who glared at him through square spectacles and said, “You could do a lot of harm with this book.” She then asked him to sign the book “To Megan.”
    By his count, he sold thirty or forty books. When the last customer, the man in the Yankees gear, made his way to the exit, Jo-Ann patted his shoulder. “Good job, Mark. That wasn’t easy.”
    He sighed. “This is my last stop on the tour. Now I’m going to stay home for a while.”
    The phone, secured in his jeans pocket, remained a silent hunk of metal and plastic. Scenes of Cape Le Chat Noir rushed through his mind, fragments of photographs Lea had emailed him. He saw the wide yellow beach. Fishing boats bobbing in the calm water offshore. Small, square white cabins with red clay roofs . . .
    “Your raincoat is in the office. I’ll get it for you.” Jo-Ann made her way to the stairs.
    Mark stood up, then froze for a second, surprised to see Autumn lingering near the back row of seats. She had a shiny violet-colored slicker folded over one arm. She smiled and hurried toward the podium.
    “I . . . didn’t expect to see you here,” Mark said.
    She giggled. “I wanted to surprise you.” The blue eyes flashed. The smile suddenly became teasing. “Did I surprise you?”
    “Well . . . yes.”
    She swept her hair back with a quick toss of her head. “You were very brave.” She squeezed his hand.
    Just a light squeeze, but it seemed strange to him. Like a rehearsed gesture.
    “Brave?”
    “Well, yeah. I mean, when I proofread your book, I didn’t really know it was, uh, so controversial. I couldn’t believe tonight. It totally made people angry. But you handled every question. I was—wow—so impressed .”
    “Thanks, Autumn. Nice of you to come tonight.” She lived inHampton Bays with her sister, he knew, nearly an hour’s drive from the bookstore in Easthampton.
    He started to the stairwell. “Are you coming to work tomorrow? There’s mail to answer. And a few things . . .”
    She shifted the raincoat. The white tube top had slid down, revealing the tops of creamy-white breasts. “Mark? Would you maybe . . . um . . . like to get a coffee? Or a drink?”
    She’s flirting with me .
    He felt a flash of heat in his cheeks. “N-no. I mean, I really can’t, Autumn. I haven’t been home in so long. And I have to call Lea. We were cut off and . . .”
    She nodded. He couldn’t read her expression. Her face went blank, revealing nothing, except that the light faded from those deep blue eyes.
    She nodded. “Just wanted you to know I’m here for you. You know. If you need anything?” Her pale cheeks turned pink. “See you tomorrow morning.” She spun away, swinging the violet slicker onto her shoulders, and hurried to the stairs.
    Mark watched her go. The coltish legs in the black tights. The silver-blond hair disappearing under the shiny rain hood.
    She was definitely coming on to me. If I had gone for that drink with her . . .
    Don’t even think about it.
    He tried phoning Lea from the car. Rain pelted the windshield. He let the engine run, waiting for the cold air from the heater to turn warm. The long row of stores were mostly dark. The street was empty.
    The call went right to her voice mail. He left a short message. “Call me back. Where are you? Love you.”
    Why didn’t she answer? Why did she sound so frantic when she called?
    Maybe Roz would know. Maybe Roz had heard from her too.
    The wipers set a tense rhythm. He pulled away from the curb and guided the car down Main Street through the torrents of rain. In the mirror, he glimpsed three or four people, huddled under black umbrellas, stepping out of the movie theater across the street.In front of him, the Ralph Lauren store windows were brightly lit. Cruise wear on display.
    He made the right onto 114. His tires sent up waves of rainwater on both sides of the car.
    Maybe Roz will know what’s up with Lea.
    His poor sister. Five years older than Mark,