Chapter 6
For a few seconds a weird silence hangs between us, and we stand there awkwardly, like we’re ex-lovers who’ve bumped into each other on a subway platform and don’t know which words should follow hello.
“That makes sense,” Bas finally says. “But would it be best to wait a few days and see how things play out?”
I shake my head. “If I wait, they might decide things without me having any input.”
“Right . . .” He looks straight at me, and I see real concern in his dark-brown eyes. “Why don’t I go with you, Bree? I can work as easily from the US as I can from here.”
His offer is immensely gratifying, especially since he doesn’t appear to dread the idea, and yet there are several cons to it.
“That’s wonderful of you, Bas, but no, it’s too much to ask. The airfare to New York is insane, as you know, and it will be even higher booking at the last minute. I think it’s best if I go alone, take care of what needs to be done, and then get out of there as fast as I can.”
What I don’t say is that I can’t bear the thought of dragging him into the gruesome past even more than I’ve already done this afternoon. And at the end of the day, it’ll be better if I’m on my own, able to focus totally on what’s at hand.
“You sure?” he asks. “The money doesn’t matter to me.”
“Thank you, sweetheart, but, yes, I’m sure.”
“If you change your mind, even at the last minute, just let me know.”
“Will do.” I step toward him, and we hug each other tightly. He smells like fresh air and the outdoors.
For a while I read on the couch with Sebastian, trying to find comfort in his presence and the crackle of the fire he’s started, but after an hour I grow restless and retreat to my office.
Seated at my desk, I book a Sunday-night flight from Montevideo to New York’s JFK, with a two-hour layover in S?o Paulo, the fare as pricey as I expected.
I also reserve a seat on an eleven-o’clock train Monday from Penn Station north to Albany-Rensselaer, and from there it will be a twenty-five-minute cab or Uber ride northwest to Cartersville. With any luck, I won’t be completely ragged by the time I show up.
Once I’m done planning the trip, I email Logan the itinerary, saying that I’m coming to the reception next Thursday after all and will arrive a few days early in order to be included in the meeting with Detective Halligan.
I also make it clear that, though he’s welcome to introduce me at the reception, I don’t want to make any remarks.
“Thank you, Bree, that’s great,” he writes back soon after. “I’ve just texted Halligan.”
I assume that’s the end of the thread, but a minute later he writes saying there’s an issue he needs to raise.
When it seemed like I wouldn’t be attending the reception, he’d invited his girlfriend, Lisa, and she’s looking forward to it, especially since she helped with some of the paperwork for the scholarships. Is that a problem for me?
I certainly don’t love the idea. Not because I’d ever feel jealous—as the other night reinforced for me, my desire for my ex-husband burned off long ago—but being around his girlfriend is bound to be slightly awkward.
Still, I’m in a solid, happy relationship of my own, and it seems unfair to make Logan disinvite her.
And at least I have a glimmer of what to expect. I met Lisa once years ago when she briefly worked at his company.
“No, not a problem,” I respond.
Before I have time to research hotels, Logan writes yet again to say he’s booked me into the Cartersville Arms, a charming inn that I never managed to snag a room at when we visited Mel, and where Logan will be staying as well.
I feel a pinch of annoyance—how typical of him to be all in charge.
But at least this saves me the effort of searching for a place, and it probably means he’ll be picking up the tab, which I won’t argue with.
While I’m still at my desk, I take a few minutes to write to the college president, Maya Williams, letting her know I’ll be attending the event. When Mel died, she did everything possible to be of help to us, and I’m grateful even now.
For dinner, Sebastian opens a bottle of Tannat—the terrific red wine you find in Uruguay—and I finally get him to elaborate about his visit home.
Though it’s so good to have him back, and he makes me chuckle with more stories about the dating life of the newly single Manuel, there’s a slight stiltedness between us.
It’s like Logan’s still in the house somewhere, casting a pall.
Maybe, I think, Bas is concerned about how much time I’ll be forced to spend with my ex. As the meal winds down, I bring up the fact that Lisa will be coming to Cartersville, too, and I sense him relaxing a little.
“You’ve met her, right?” he says. “What’s she like?”
“I didn’t meet her long enough to get a real sense, but I know from Logan that she’s divorced, no kids, works in the hotel business now. I think she’s about forty-five.”
“Were they involved when they worked together?”
“No, not then. She left the company a few years before Logan and I broke up, and from what he told me, they ran into each other about a year and a half ago.”
Bas presses a hand against his cheek, thinking. “Is there anyone at the reception who can be a kind of wingman for you? Isn’t that what you Americans call it?”
“Ah yes, a wingman, that’s what I need.” My friend Ellie would make the perfect one, and I’m sure she’d be willing to take the train from the city and spend a night upstate with me, but I already know she’ll be in the Caribbean next week with her husband on a desperately needed vacation.
“Maybe I can use Maya, the college president, that way. She was always very supportive.”
I glance across the room, at the fire still going strong in the gray-stone hearth. In three days, I’ll be gone from here, and the thought already fills me with trepidation.
And yet I haven’t once second-guessed my decision. Because nothing about this place, including Sebastian, will be able to soothe me anymore if the current situation about Ruck isn’t resolved.
“I haven’t even asked about your return,” Bas says. “I take it you’re flying back Friday night?”
I hesitate a few seconds before answering, though I’m not sure why.
“I haven’t booked a flight home yet. Logan’s arranging for us to meet with the state police before the reception, but there might be ground to cover after that, and I want to keep my plans open for now.”
“Makes sense,” he says, nodding. But I feel a bit of awkwardness return. Does he have some crazy fear I won’t be coming back?
I think that again as we make love later.
Since we’ve been together just two and half years, and much of the first year involved seeing each other only a handful of days a month, sex with Bas still feels excitingly new and erotic, but tonight he brings a different kind of urgency to bed—with how he touches me, pulls me to him, moves inside me.
I do my best to match his urgency with my own. I don’t want him worried about my trip and what it means for us.
On Sunday, as Bas drives me to Carrasco, the airport on the outskirts of Montevideo, I rack my brain for some final way to reassure him without coming on too strong or sounding like I’m protesting too much.
“Would you mind watering my herbs when I’m gone?” I ask. “Maitena tends to overwater, so I’d much prefer to have you do it.”
“Of course.”
“And thank you for being so understanding this week. I know I’ve seemed preoccupied at times, and anxious, too.”
“That’s to be expected, Bree. Just promise you’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?”
With one hand on the wheel, he reaches over with the other and cups it tenderly around the back of my head.
“For sure,” I say. “I miss you already.”
And then the airport appears up ahead, the bright interior lights highlighting the wing shape of its iconic white roof. My stomach churns at the sight of it.
The trip north, at least, ends up being wrinkle-free.
Since I’ve booked a business-class ticket, it makes it easier for me to sleep on the second flight, the leg that’s nine-plus hours long.
As soon as I’m through immigration and customs and have collected my bag, I spot the driver from the car service I’ve hired, holding an iPad with my name on it.
Still, by the time I finally arrive at Penn Station, I’m frayed around the edges.
The train, fortunately, is on time, and I manage to grab a window seat on the west side of the first car I enter, sagging with exhaustion as soon as I’m settled.
I use a facial wipe to remove the grungy traces of yesterday’s makeup and take a few bites of the sandwich I bought at the station.
Ten minutes later, the train starts lumbering along the tracks.
I text Sebastian, who I spoke to from JFK, to let him know I’m now on my final leg and will update him again later.
The first minutes of the journey are underground, through the dank, graffiti-covered tunnels beneath the station.
But soon enough we’re pulling out of the city, and the Hudson River appears on my left, silvery gray and undaunted.
I finally relax a little, slightly hypnotized by the way the river water ripples from the wind.
But when the train departs Rhinebeck, New York, an hour and a half later and the conductor announces, “Hudson’ll be next,” my body begins humming with anxiety—because my stop is soon after that.
I check my phone. Logan still hasn’t responded to my most recent text, asking for details about our meeting with the state police.
Since I’ve come all this way, it had damn well better happen.
Just as I start to stuff the phone back into my purse, it pings with a text from him.
We’re all set with Halligan. Will fill you in when I see you.
Okay, I should be at the inn by 3.
Finally, the conductor announces that we’re approaching Albany-Rensselaer. After hauling my bag down from the overhead rack, I rock my way up the aisle to the end of the car and join the crowd of departing passengers.
I feel jittery, even weirdly fearful, and it doesn’t help when I step off the train and get my first taste of the local weather.
It’s about sixty degrees, with a slight bite to the breeze.
Though Melanie was murdered in mid-October, the weather is eerily reminiscent of that time.
Lovely, I think. Just the fucking welcome I need.
Before crossing over the track to reach the station house, I fumble for my phone, desperate to order an Uber. To my shock, I hear a man call my name. I lift my head, searching ahead of me.
“Bree,” he calls again. “Bree, over here.”
Glancing farther to the right, I see Logan standing by the door of the station with one hand raised in greeting. Of course he’d show up without telling me.
I offer a tepid wave in return and flick my eyes to the left and right of him, making sure before taking a step that Lisa isn’t here, too.
Thank God, he’s been smart enough not to make her part of the welcome wagon.
As soon as I reach him, he leans toward me, obviously planning to kiss my cheek, but I step back a little, adjusting the strap of my purse, so that he can’t follow through.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I say.
“Happy to. I would have let you know, but I was afraid you’d tell me not to.”
“Maybe,” I say, smiling wanly.
“Plus, I figured you must be fried by this point, and it might help to see a friendly face.”
Friendly face. Is that what he considers himself to me? What’s he going to do next—suggest he, Lisa, and I meet for cocktails this week? And yet, I can’t deny that it’s good not to be facing this moment alone.
He takes my roller bag from me and leads me across the parking lot.
He’s in what I came to know as his typical work outfit: nice jeans, a blue-and-white-striped dress shirt—perfectly pressed—and a navy blazer.
His hair is slicked back a little, unlike when I saw him in Uruguay.
Logan is at heart a power player, and maybe he feels that’s the role he needs to step into this week.
“So, when’s the meeting?” I ask as soon as we’re in his car. Yup, a black BMW, always his vehicle of choice.
“That’s another reason I came to pick you up,” he says, firing up the engine. “Halligan can meet today, so once I saw your train was on time, I suggested thirty minutes from now. You okay with that?”
“Sure,” I say, though I grumble internally. I’m grungy and sweaty and wearing the same underwear that I put on yesterday morning. But I can’t let that get in the way.
“I could ask him to postpone it until tomorrow or at least until later today, when you’ve had time to freshen up at the inn.”
“Really, I’m fine.”
I give Logan a minute to maneuver out of the parking lot before lobbing my next question at him.
“So, what’s he going to cover today, do you have any idea?”
“I don’t know the full agenda, but he mentioned he’d talked to law enforcement in Pennsylvania and Ohio, so that’ll be part of it.”
Logan is speaking matter-of-factly enough, but even after all these years, I can detect the undertone of worry in his voice.
“Did something he said concern you?”
“Not something he said. It was how he said it. I got the feeling that whatever he has to report, we’re not going to like it.”