“Don’t fire me,” Ned said stiffly. “I know I can find what you’re looking for.”
“But you keep telling me how hard it is. Maybe we should agree it’s impossible?”
Ned filled his mouth with Negroni. It seemed impossible for him to lift his eyes to Alexander. “Nothing is impossible. I have to keep working. I have to keep digging. The past is right beneath our fingers. I can feel it.”
Alexander heaved a sigh and agreed to keep paying Ned for his private detective work. But a part of his stomach tied itself into a knot and reminded him what a fool he was.
If I don’t find my way out of this, he thought,I’ll be ruined.
After their second drink, Alexander and Ned parted ways. Ned wanted to head back to the hotel to get some sleep, while Alexander preferred to roam the streets and think. They shook hands, and Ned hurried away, looking more like an insect than a man. Alexander sometimes imagined private detectives that way, always slinking through the cracks of things to discover the truth.
Alexander meandered through the city streets, his hands in his pockets, his mind racing. He’d been in Florence no longer than a few days, but he was itchy, eager to get going again. Such was the life of a pilot (for as long as he could call himself a pilot).
Alexander found himself on an iconic bridge, watching water trickle along beneath the moonlight. He thought about the female Whitmores: about Nina, Charlotte, Lorelei, Allegra, Francesca. He felt a dull ache, as though missing the women in his life was an old wound that would never really heal.
Before he chickened out, he reached for his phone and dialed the number of a person many time zones away. The phone rang and rang, but no one answered. He guessed they never would again. Fighting the urge to throw the phone in the river, he shoved it back in his pocket and bent his head. He had to find a way through this.
Chapter Three
July 2025
California
Janie was on her knees in the walk-in closet of the house in Malibu, shoving pants and skirts and silk scarves into her suitcase as tears sent stripes down her cheeks. Outside, a siren screamed down the nearest highway, what sounded like both a cop car and an ambulance, off to tend to another emergency. The sound of it matched her inner turmoil. She kept shoving her things (how many things had she purchased over the years? Had she been so bored with her old stuff? Had they just had too much money?). She was unsure if she wanted to bring everything. Maybe it was better to leave it all here in the house and start over. She imagined people moving in, changing into her pants, putting on her makeup, living the life she’d thought would forever be hers. Maybe she could change her name, get a new haircut, and reinvent herself. But what would her teenagers think? Despite her broken heart, she laughed at herself and leaned against the cool, air-conditioned wall. It wasone hundred degrees outside. Nothing would ever be the same again.
Janie got up and went downstairs, passing by the kids’ rooms. It sounded like they were together, playing video games and cackling and goading one another. It lit her up inside that her children got along. At least they had that.
What would they say when they learned what was happening? She decided not to think about that right now—one thing at a time.
Janie found her cell phone on the kitchen counter next to a bowl of uneaten popcorn. Had she popped it? It sounded like her—deciding to stress eat and then forgetting to stress eat because she was so dang stressed. She checked her messages and calls and found several. The one that stood out was from Chloe, her longtime best friend. Every woman in the world needed a best friend. She called her back right away.
“Janie! Hey!” Chloe sounded breathless, as though she were running up the stairs. “Are you okay? I’ve been worried about you!”
Janie almost melted on the spot. Just the sound of her best friend’s voice made everything less sharp, less dramatic. She pictured them somewhere, laughing about this later, with a glass of wine.
“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t answer.” Janie sat on the kitchen floor with the bowl of popcorn, praying that one of her children wouldn’t come in and find her like that. It wasn’t like her to sit on the floor, snacking.
“It’s okay. It sounds like you have a lot on your plate.”
Janie sighed and let her head drop against the Scandinavian-type cabinets that she’d had installed just two years ago, back when she’d thought she’d live and retire and maybe even die in this house (a long time from now). That had been the plan. It had been the plan since she’d said, “I do.”
Of course, things in her marriage hadn’t exactly been perfect through the years. But she’d been more than willing to ignore so much until now.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so cryptic,” Janie said. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. But I think I’ve decided…” She knew that if she told Chloe the truth, she probably couldn’t go back on it. She couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening. “I can’t be here when he gets back. I’m going to take the kids and go somewhere. Anywhere else.”
Chloe was quiet for a moment, processing. Finally, she said, “It’s that bad, huh?”
Janie let out a sob, then stifled the rest of them behind her hand.
“Oh, honey. You know that you can cry in front of me,” Chloe whispered. “I’m the last person you have to pretend in front of. Especially when it comes to these people.”
These people. The words cut through Janie like a knife. She wanted to protest, to remind Chloe that “these people” were in fact her people, her family. But she wasn’t so sure what she believed these days.
Suddenly, there was a wild knock on the door, one that made her think of the police sirens screaming outside. “I have to go,” Janie said.
“Why?” Chloe sensed something was wrong. “Janie, what’s going on?”
“I need to keep packing,” Janie said. “I love you. I’ll call you soon.”
