turned out than I was ten minutes ago.
“Why do you think they arranged it? Can you find out?”
He nods. “I’m about to do just that, Mr. Stone.”
“Good, and when you do, ring and let me know—even if it’s late. I’ll be awake.”
On that serious note, I release the stop button and ascend to the second floor. I need a drink, something that will help me sleep; something that will numb this nagging pain I have in my chest that has become my companion for the past three weeks.
The rich, red liquid coats my tongue and warms my throat as it descends into my stomach. I swill it around in the glass as I descend one floor down to the master bedroom. With every trace of dirt, dust and debris removed, it’s as it should be for a parents’ bedroom with adjoining nursery. There is only one thing missing—Beth, the heart of this house.
I place down the glass on the bedside cabinet and remove my shoes and socks. The new carpet feels soft and plush against my toes, a comforting reminder that this is our home. Having discarded my jacket, I lie back on our bed, scanning the furniture and ornaments on the other side of the room where our bed used to be. My whole perspective has changed, this bedroom has a secret room now, it’s new, unexpected and about to take us both by surprise. Much like my wife who, I do believe, just took the initiative by arranging a visit, crossing land and sea to slip unnoticed back into my arms. I’m not complaining, but after seeing Lester’s reaction earlier, I can’t help but wonder about her motivation.
What’s going on in that ingenious mind of yours, Beth?
Left alone with my thoughts, a single word holds my attention like a satellite mesmerising in its brilliance but out of reach—one word, one syllable, a world of worry.
Why?
Why would I question her explanation? Our babies moved, she wanted to discuss baby names—both valid reasons to want to share the experience with the father of your children. But to travel over 1,000 miles to do so?
I don’t think so.
The phone rings by the bed and the red light tells me it’s an internal call—Lester.
My body stiffens. “Yes, Lester. What do you have for me?”
“Very little, Mr. Stone. Apparently, your wife was feeling morose.”
“Morose?”
What kind of explanation is that?
“Yes, that’s the word Bernie used. I wrote it down.” He pauses to clear his throat. “Beth told the crew that she had to see you, and arrangements were made.”
“And that’s it. She felt ’morose’ and just had to see me?” I feel the muscles contracting in my neck. “And do you think Bernie’s telling the truth?”
“She has no reason to lie, Mr. Stone,” he replies briskly.
“She doesn’t. I’m sorry. I’m making too much out of this…”
Get a grip, Stone.
“Maybe not,” he says in a kind of pensive whisper.
I hold my breath. “How so?”
“She didn’t tell me beforehand,” he confirms.
“Maybe she forgot?”
I’m clutching at straws.
He clears his throat again. “She doesn’t forget, Mr. Stone. She’s too well trained for that.”
I’m starting to lose my patience. “Well, maybe she has other things on her mind. What other reason could there be?”
He takes a breath. “That is was a spur-of-the-moment decision arranged earlier today in response to something that has happened, causing them to deviate from protocol.”
“What difference does it make when it was arranged? Everything went to plan, didn’t it?”
“It would appear so…”
“Well then. What’s your point?”
It’s now or never, Lester. Spit it out, man.
“My point is … my point is that nothing gets arranged that quickly unless…”
I wait with bated breath like a man about to be sentenced. “Yes?”
“Unless, there was an emergency. For an expedition like that to be turned around in … what, a couple of hours, there had to be something more pressing than your wife feeling—forgive me—morose.”
He’s right.
I ask the million-dollar question: “And what could that be?”
Silence.
“Lester? What could the reason be?”
“There’s only one possible reason.”
Instinctively, I reach for my neck, feeling muscles knotting behind my ear. “For fuck’s sake, just tell me! I’m losing my will to live here.”
“Very well.” I hear him inhaling deeply. “I believe it may be part of a bigger plan.”
“What plan? What fucking plan?” I yell, standing and pacing around the room.
“I have no idea.”
“So now you’re telling me that your people have gone rogue on you and you have no fucking idea what they’re up to, or what my wife’s involved in?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll