Free I Saw a Man by Owen Sheers Page A

looking out at the pond again. “She died.”
    “Jesus.”
    Michael heard Josh take another drag, then blow out a thin plume. “God,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
    Michael had never had to say those two words before. Since returning to London he’d avoided them. But now that he had, they felt untrue. As if someone else were speaking through his mouth.
    “I like it best when it’s frozen,” Josh said, drawing his cigarette across the air in front of him, its tip glowing in the movement. “Last year all this, the whole thing, was ice. The girls wanted to skate on it, but, well, you know—”
    Michael knew Josh was talking to fill the vacuum. He wanted to let him know he didn’t have to.

    “That’s why I moved here,” he said. “We had a place in Wales. But when it happened—”
    Josh nodded in understanding, but also, it seemed to Michael, in calculation, too. Was he remembering the night he’d moved in? How they’d stood together in his flat, the meagre pile of boxes and bags abandoned in the living room?
    “Was it an accident?” Josh asked.
    “Sort of,” Michael said, taking another deep breath and releasing it in a sigh. “But also not. She was in Pakistan. Well, in the border area—”
    He broke off, unsure how to continue.
    “Was she serving?”
    “God, no!” Michael allowed himself a bemused smile at the thought of Caroline in the army. “No, she was a reporter. Wrong place, wrong time. You might have read about it. It was in the papers.”
    “What was her name?”
    “Caroline,” Michael said. “Caroline Marshall.”
    Josh took another drag on his cigarette. “That’s terrible,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, Mike. Just terrible.”
    Michael nodded. He was right. It was terrible. That was the word, and it would always be the word for it, however much time passed, or however much his memory might fade. He ran his hand across the top of the fence, to feel the realness of its grain, the dampness of its wood against his skin.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to bring it up. I mean, at your party.”
    Josh reached out and held Michael by the shoulder, his grip firmer than necessary. “Are you serious?” he said. “Christ, don’t be ridiculous. And anyway, you didn’t bring it up, I did.”
    A drift of voices came down the garden. Some of the guests had moved into the kitchen.
    “If there’s anything we can do,” Josh said, “just let us know. I’m serious. Please.”

    Michael nodded. “Thanks.”
    The back door opened and the chatter of the party became louder.
    “We should get back,” Josh said, stubbing out his cigarette and slipping the butt in his pocket. “Or at least I should.”
    “No,” Michael said, letting go of the fence. “I’m fine. I’ll come, too.”
    As they walked up the garden Josh touched Michael’s arm again. “So what’s it you do, Mike? To keep the wolf from the door?”
    “I’m a writer,” Michael said.
    “Yeah?” Josh said. “Anything published?”
    “One book. Too many articles.”
    “Hey, that’s great!” Josh said with too much enthusiasm.
    “And you’re with Lehman’s?” Michael asked.
    “Yeah, in brokerage, mostly,” Josh said, as if that’s what everyone did. “Hey, listen, there’s someone here I want you to meet. Old college buddy of mine, Tony. He and his wife have just moved over. He’s a publisher.”
    As they neared the back door, Samantha appeared at the top of the steps. Her face was tense. “Joshua?” she said, showing her palms in exasperation.
    “Is Tony in there, honey?” Josh asked. “I want him to meet Mike. Mike’s a writer, did he tell you that?”
―
    In the years to come, Michael would often think how it was Tony, more than anyone else, he had to thank for his friendship with the Nelsons. Or perhaps to blame, given what happened because of it. Had Tony and his wife, Maddy, not been at the party that day, then it was more than possible Michael would have remained no