Lara, you and I are like comrades in arms. We’ve done and seen things that wouldn’t make any sense off the battlefield. We’ve seen the very worst in each other. And the best. We’ve seen all the gloom this world has to offer us. But we know the light now, too.
You and Beth exchange warm greetings, even a hug. The way you smile at her, and she at you, I could tell the two of you would be friends—under other circumstances. She invites you to stay for dinner when we are done. But you beg off.
“My family is waiting for me,” you say. “But thank you. Another time.”
Unlikely.
We climb the stairs to my office and close the door. It’s my favorite time of day in here, late afternoon. The light is golden, washing surfaces, glinting in your hair.
“I just have a few more questions,” you say, setting up the digital recorder on the table between us. “We won’t be long.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
I’ve been wanting to talk about it, but this is our first conversation without Gillian present. You look up at me, dropping the hand that hovered over the record button back into your lap. Your wedding ring picks up the light.
“Knowing what you know about me, about us, about what we did,” I continue. “What compelled you to do this story? Weren’t you afraid of where it might lead?”
You bow your head, twist at the ring on your finger.
“I’ve thought about this, too,” you say.
I wait for you to go on. I have some theories of my own, not the least likely of which might be your desire to self-destruct. When I think of all the choices you’ve made since Kreskey—to cheat on Greg with me, to follow me back to Kreskey, to lure Tess’s killer into the house, to kill him with your own hands—none of them have been acts of self-preservation. In fact, the last healthy thing you did was hide in the hollow of the tree. Part of me wonders if you wanted to confess, if you wanted to answer for your crime. It’s not unusual, so attached are we to the story of good rewarded, and evil punished.
“It was almost as if there were two of me,” you say. “The one who almost died that day, the one who did what we did. And the one who emerged after—Rain Winter, journalist, wife, mother. That other girl was locked inside, buried deep. And once I let her free—”
You pause, not sure how to go on.
“You integrated,” I offer. “The frightened girl with the woman you’ve become.”
You consider it a moment. Then give an affirming nod. “Yes.”
“There are only three of us who know the whole truth,” I say. Agent Brower has her suspicions about me, but no proof. And I suspect she’s running an agenda of her own. It’s her who I think has taken the kill bag. What she’ll do with it, I have no idea. Maybe it’s a way to keep me in line, a warning not to continue. Or maybe it’s something else. I keep this fact to myself.
“And none of us will ever tell,” you say. “Not I, not you, not Harper. We’ll take our secret to the grave.”
“So, you weren’t looking for answers, or punishment.”
“No,” you whisper. “I already had more answers than I wanted. I was looking to control the telling of what happened to us, I think. To control, to own it, to choose where our story ends.”
“I understand.”
You reach across the table and I take your hand in mine, a joining, a pact sealed.
“That part of it, who we were then, what happened to us—” You pause, pull your hand away to dig something from your pocket. Then you place the crystal heart on the table between us, where it picks up the sun and casts red flecks on the ceiling.
“Our story ends right here, Hank.”
Tess stands by the window and watches, smiling sadly. She is as she would have been, like Sandy, willowy and blonde with kind, smiley eyes. Then, as I watch her, she fades into the sunshine.
FORTY-SIX
She rose before 5 a.m., the sun not yet lighting the sky, kissed Greg on the cheek.
“Mmm,” he said, reaching for her.
She slipped from his grasp, causing him to moan and roll over. She checked on Lily, who was still sound asleep—thank goodness for small favors—then laced up her sneakers at the door, slipped out into the near-morning coolness. She jogged down her drive,