Turn up the Heat

left of it. Boxes took up most of the space, including space previously occupied by air.
    “They made him go down to headquarters to give another statement. And he asked me to say that I’d spent Tuesday night with him. I can’t do that! Chloe, it’s not true. I told him he doesn’t have anything to hide, and he said it would just make things a lot easier if I gave him an alibi for this Leandra mess. I know he’s right about that. But I can’t lie to the police. ” Adrianna paced the floor.
    “Does he have his truck back yet?” I asked. “Has he been making his deliveries at least?”
    “They still have the truck, but like we thought, his boss let him use another one, and Owen seems overly pissy about it, if you ask me. I mean, who cares what truck you use to drive fish around Boston? But he has lots of accounts and big orders, so he should get paid pretty well this week. At least there is that. Are you hungry? I made these seven-layer bars that I can’t stop eating.”
    I was always hungry. “Yeah, those sound good.” They weren’t exactly lunch food, but I wasn’t complaining.
    “Oh,” I managed between mouthfuls, “I got you something.”
    “You did?”
    I handed over the bag with the books on pregnancy and baby care. “I thought these might make you feel better. I know how upset about stuff you’ve been recently, and I thought it might be helpful for you to read what people who’ve actually had babies have to say. I didn’t really know what to pick for you. You can return them if you like.”
    “You’re the best!” When Ade flung her arms around me and squeezed me, I felt her belly push into mine. “I’m totally going to read them! You’re right. I’ve just been hiding out trying not to think about being pregnant, and it’s not working out for me. I’ve got to take charge here and be more in control. Knowledge is power, as they say, right?”
    “I’m so glad you like them.”
    “And I’m going to call your sister, too.”
    I gave Ade another hug. “She’d love to hear from you. And this mess with Owen will get straightened out. I promise.”
    I was going to make sure of that.

ELEVEN

    BACK at home, I devoted the rest of Friday, including the evening, to conquering the DSM. I made piles of flash cards with symptoms and descriptions on one side, and diagnoses on the other. I did my best to follow Doug’s suggestion to associate the diagnoses with people I knew. So, had Kevin succumbed to kleptomania? Or to something more sinister? What about Snacker? For the purposes of the exam, I categorized him as suffering from hyperactive sexual desire disorder, a diagnosis I based on his need to flirt shamelessly with every woman in sight. I then decided that Gavin was having a major depressive episode consequent to Leandra’s death. Josh’s diagnosis was acute stress disorder—in response to pressure at the restaurant—and Belita’s was obsessive-compulsive disorder. Her need to clean? Yeah, I was stretching the categories more than was acceptable, but I was determined to do well on the test, no matter who got stuck with which diagnosis. My only regret was that I didn’t know people with the interesting or peculiar symptoms required to help me remember agoraphobia (with or without history of panic disorder) and dissociative amnesia. At this rate, I’d succumb to trichotillomania: the irresistible urge to yank all my hair out.
    I called Doug to see whether he had any brilliant advice for a struggling social work student.
    “He’s not telling you what’s on the test,” Terry said as soon as he picked up the phone. Stupid caller ID.
    “I wasn’t calling for that,” I lied. Doug must have warned his boyfriend to screen my calls. “Beware of students seeking classified information!"
    “I’m sure you weren’t.” He laughed. “Doug isn’t here, anyway. Do you want to leave a message?”
    “No. No message. Just called to check in.” Another lie. “I heard about our waitress from dinner the other night. Doug told me. What a traumatic experience you’ve been through! How are you handling it?” Doug’s attitude had evidently rubbed off. Or maybe Terry was good at interpersonal relations on his own.
    We talked for a few minutes about Leandra. Then I told Terry about my dinner with the chefs and about the archaic attitude toward women prevalent in the professional culinary world. “Listening to Digger made me want to scream!”
    “So what are you going to do about