Turn up the Heat

that.” I looked around to make sure none of my fellow students were watching and then kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you! You’re the best.”
    “Don’t thank me yet. You still have a ton of work to do.”
    “Yes, sir!” I gave him a military salute. “Oh, Doug. I haven’t told you what happened at Simmer.” After I’d filled him in, we talked for a few minutes about Leandra and about the dangers of living in a big city like Boston.
    Doug reminded me to be extra careful when I went to visit Josh at the restaurant. “Make sure you get someone to walk you to your car, okay? And call me if you need to talk about any of this.”
    “I promise. Do you need a ride?”
    Doug shook his head. “Terry’s picking me up and taking me to lunch. I’ve got another review class later this afternoon, but we’ll have enough time to eat at a dark and romantic place he found in the North End.”
    “I’m jealous! Have fun.”
    When I got to Cleveland Circle, I double-parked and picked up a Pino’s pizza. I was ravenous, and nothing except a thin-crust delicious lunch would get me through the afternoon. It wasn’t what Josh served on Newbury Street, but a good pizza had a place in my heart. In fact, it seemed to me that Adrianna had almost been justified when she’d threatened to throttle Owen for forgetting a Pino’s pizza when she’d been in the throes of a craving.
    When I reached my condo, I balanced the pizza on one hand and opened my back door with the other. I could hear the phone ringing as I worked the old lock with my rusty key. Even with caller ID, I hated missing calls, and it drove me crazy to have caller ID display Unknown Caller or, worse, nothing but Incoming Call with no number. When caller ID let me down, I always felt convinced that I’d lost an opportunity to scream at some telemarketer about the National Do Not Call Registry! Missing a call with an actual phone number on caller ID meant that I’d spend twenty minutes Googling in an attempt to trace the call. Was I suffering from an anxiety disorder? Paranoia?
    I snatched the phone off its base and practically screamed into the phone. “Hello!”
    “Chloe, this is Gavin Seymour.”
    “Oh, Gavin. How are you doing?”
    “Hanging in there. I’m actually calling to see if you’d do me a favor.”
    “Anything,” I said honestly, although I couldn’t imagine what I could do to help. Unless he wanted to tap into my half-trained clinical skills?
    “I’m organizing a memorial service for Leandra. She was an orphan. Is that the word I want? She didn’t have any family that I can locate. When her body is released, I’ll arrange for cremation, but for now I’d like to have a gathering at Simmer on Monday. For her friends to share their memories. And grieve.”
    “Of course I’ll be there. Do you want me to call people and let them know?”
    “No, I can handle that. But I think it would be nice to have a memory book. Would you be able to put one together? I know it's already Thursday, but I’m sure that people from the restaurant would be more than willing to contribute to the book. Maybe the book is more for me than anyone else, but with no family around, I feel like I need to do something meaningful. Does that make sense to you?”
    It did make sense to me. A memory book would give Gavin something tangible to hold on to. How I was going to have one ready for Monday was beyond me, but I obviously had to say yes. “Sure. And I can definitely do it. I think it’s a lovely idea, Gavin.”
    “Thank you. I was thinking we’d all meet at the restaurant between lunch and dinner service, around three o’clock. Simmer is opening again tomorrow, so maybe you could stop by then or this weekend and have Leandra’s friends make their contributions to the book? I really appreciate this, Chloe. Thanks again.”
    He sounded so grateful that I felt like a shrew for worrying about my exams and papers. But I hadn’t known Leandra very well, and putting together a memory book seemed like a job for a close friend. Maybe she hadn’t had any? I had the impression she’d been far from popular with her fellow employees at Simmer, but she must have had friends outside work. I had no idea who they’d been, and I had no time to find out.
    After assuring Gavin that I’d have the memory book with me at Monday’s gathering, I hung up, put all my DSM review materials on my coffee table, and dropped onto the couch. My eyes fell shut for a moment. God, I