Steamed

to lure Josh home. When the alarm went off, I rolled over, slammed my hand on the snooze button, and saw the toy party goodie bag, which was right where I’d dropped it, in the middle of the floor. An hour later, after breakfast and coffee, I was in the middle of deciding which would be a less boring Social Policy paper topic: the failure of Bill Clinton’s health-care reform plan or the bleak future of the United States Social Security system. Inspired by the toy party and the early morning sight of Julie’s parting gift, I’d just concluded that writing anything about Clinton would make the research bearable by giving me an excuse to review the Monica scandal, when the phone rang.
    I mindlessly picked up without checking caller ID and was punished for my brainlessness by the sound of Phil Rafferty’s voice. “Chloe, Sheryl and I are getting ready to move soon, and we wanted to see you so we could say our goodbyes. Are you free to stop over later today?”
    All right. The time had come to clear up the misunderstanding, and if I chickened out, Julie or Gretchen or one of my other classmates would eventually get me to confess to my cowardice and take me to task for failing to get closure on the episode. I compromised by telling Phil that I’d stop in at around six but would be able to stay only a short time.
    I spent three hours at the computer Googling Clinton and printed out a bunch of articles on his health-care reform plan, plus a few on Monica and cigars, before taking a break to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. After that, I resumed my research. When late afternoon finally arrived, I regretted my promise to Phil Rafferty but knew that I’d be rewarded for enduring the visit by getting to go to Magellan later that evening. And I had the spa to look forward to tomorrow.
    I arrived at the Raffertys’ house at precisely six with a great deal of knowledge about Clinton, health-care reform, and Monica Lewinsky and not a single idea about how to tell the Raffertys that their late son and I had practically been strangers or how to explain why I’d let them go on believing that Eric and I had been madly in love. And how was I going to broach the subject of the family’s finances? I couldn’t just blurt out, “And so, how much money do you two actually have?”
    Phil answered the door. “Chloe,” he slurred. Damn. Drunk again. “Come in. Come in and sit down.” As he stumbled to the couch in the living room, it occurred to me that inebriation was his version of Monica and that Sheryl Rafferty probably felt the same way about liquor bottles that Hillary Clinton did about cigars.
    I sat down next to Eric’s father and noticed on the coffee table in front of us a bowl of ice, two large crystal tumblers, and a bottle of whiskey, which seemed to be Phil’s drink of choice.
    I scooted to the far end of the couch. “So, um, where is Mrs. Rafferty?” It was a surprise to discover an occasion on which I’d be outright eager to see Sheryl.
    Phil waved his hand carelessly. “Had to go out. She’ll be back later.”
    Lovely. Much as I hated being stuck there alone with the drunken Phil, I decided that his intoxication was practically an invitation to practice my new interviewing skills to elicit information about Rafferty finances.
    “Well, so you’re moving soon? That’s exciting, right?” I sounded more weak than professional, probably because I trying to figure out how to confess my falsehoods to this grieving, if repulsive, father.
    Phil poured drinks for both of us. I thanked him as he handed me a full glass with only two ice cubes. He belched loudly before taking a large swig of his drink.
    “Look, Mr. Rafferty,” I said, moving swiftly ahead with my agenda, “I know about Eric.”
    Phil laughed loudly. “You know what?”
    “I know he was broke and that he owed tons of money.”
    “And you didn’t leave him, huh? What a doll. Not like that stupid bitch Veronica. She dropped him ’cause of it. But not you.” Without warning, Phil lunged unsteadily at me and, to my horror, buried his head in my neck.
    For a second, I was paralyzed with disgust and fear, but the feel of his wet tongue on my skin roused me to action, and I succeeded in shoving him forcefully away. “Oh my God! What are you thinking, you big freak?” I sprang off the couch and backed away from Phil Rafferty, who was now slumped in his corner of the couch. What a sicko! With anger ripping through me, I practically