There it was, Belmont House, looking just the same as it had... was it only a week before? Yes, I had left on Saturday, and here it was, the following Saturday. And how different this arrival was than my first arrival, just over a week before that, showing up at night with nothing more than a paper invitation and crossed fingers.

It didn’t keep my stomach from doing backflips. I pulled my car into our private lot, swinging wide so that the U-Haul trailer followed straight behind me. Aubrey pulled into the space next to mine. She met my eyes, gave me a thumbs up. I took a deep breath, and my pounding heart slowed. At least whatever I faced in there now, I wasn’t facing it alone.

“Look who I found!” Aubrey called as we entered through the back door. The gallery would have just closed, which meant that most of the fellows were probably hovering around the kitchen.

“Welcome back!” Madge said, smiling, as we came through the threshold. “Josephine’s turn for dinner tonight. Hope you’re in the mood for takeout Indian food.”

“Always,” I replied, setting my shoulder bag down. I scanned the room. Gerald was lounging on a counter, but he always managed to drape himself onto any surface nearby. Nicholas was sitting upright at the table, wearing an expression of welcome.

Josephine had her iPad out, thumbing down a menu. “What is the difference between butter chicken and tikka masala?”

“One of them’s red, the other one is yellow,” Gerald replied.

“Which is which one?” asked Josephine.

Gerald shrugged. “I never asked. I just get some of both.”

“Do you need help with your boxes?” Nicholas inquired, hands on the table already pushing himself up.

“No, no, sit!” I told him. “I’m just leaving them there tonight. Time enough tomorrow to unpack. Thank you for the offer, though.”

He resumed his seat. “We are delighted you have returned,” he said. There was that smile again, the one that looked like he knew more than could possibly know. Maybe it was just his age, or the white hair, or the deep black eyes.

“Where’s Darren?” I asked in a forced casual tone. I did not need to look over to see Aubrey’s smirk.

“Getting his hands dirty again,” Gerald said.

When he did not appear inclined to say more, Madge chipped in. “Still working on that sculpt in the upper rooms. He swears he’ll do an unveiling any day.”

Josephine held up a hand for silence. “Bon, I have one butter chicken, one palak paneer, one chicken tikka masala, one beef vindaloo, two chana masala, and six orders of naan. Is that enough for seven people you think?”

“Seven?” I asked.

“That sounds fine, Jo. Yes, seven,” Madge said, busy at some task at the sink. “It was just yesterday. Anthony decided to go on sabbatical.”

Gerald picked himself off the counter and draped an arm over my shoulders, another over Aubrey’s. “And Madge is still furious about it,” he said in a whisper that carried clear across the kitchen.

“I am not furious,” she said. “I would have just preferred more notice to work up the schedules for next week.”

“Furious,” Gerald said again. “You’d think she was the one married to him.” He rolled his eyes elaborately, and began walking us out of the kitchen. “He does this now and then, just toodles off for a month or two. Let’s find a nice corner where we can gossip without Madge looking so disapproving at us.”

I allowed myself to be swept along to the common room. Why had Anthony left? And why so suddenly?

It quickly became apparent that Gerald did not know either, or maybe wasn’t telling. Every attempt to find out turned into a story about some other occasion that Anthony had flaked out.

I was just starting to figure out a way to disengage from the conversation without being rude, when Darren entered from the gallery side. His hands were dirty, and his arms right up to the elbows. The sleeves of his turtleneck were pushed up almost to his armpits. For a moment, I thought I saw a glint of something metallic on his left upper arm, but no doubt it was a trick of the light.

“You’re back!” he said. “I was wondering when... we missed you at Flanagan’s last night.”

“Sorry I didn’t get back in time,” I told him. “And sorry too I left on Saturday before you got up. I just wanted to get back to my old apartment right away and start getting packed up.”

“Oh! Right, yeah. Madge said you were finishing up your move.” He suddenly seemed to notice his dirty hands. “Right. So....”

“Looks like we’re having Indian for dinner,” Aubrey said, letting him off the hook. Both of us, because I couldn’t think of anything to say either.

“Nice. Good. Well.” He noticed his hands again. “I’d better wash these.”

“Not in the kitchen!” Gerald said. “I did my brushes in the sink, and Madge has been scrubbing away invisible watercolors for the last fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll go upstairs then,” he said, but did not move.

“You’re playing again on Friday?” Aubrey asked.

“Yeah! Yes, Friday. Same as usual.” He looked at me. “Interested?”

“Very,” I said, and flashed him a smile. He noticed his hands yet a third time. “Better go wash. See you at dinner!” he called, already half up the stairs.

“Cinnamon Bun, you are a delight,” Gerald told me, getting up to return to the kitchen. “Toodles!”

Aubrey and I were left on the sofa. “Well,” I said quietly after a minute or so. “That went well.”

“Of course it did,” she replied, leaning back and stretching her legs out. “We’re both back where we belong.”