Nicholas can only shrug, straighten his back. It’s true and it’s not that Frank doesn’t know about the place where Nicholas is going. After all, he’s sure that Meredith mentioned the farm in Tuscany to Jenny at some point—the farm where Meredith’s grandmother grew up. Did Meredith also mention it to Frank? Nicholas can’t be sure. But it would’ve been fifteen years ago now. Longer.
Frank doesn’t know that Nick’s wife was buried there, Kate beside her. One way or another, now, Nicholas will be buried there too.
Frank stands up. He stands up and moves close to Nicholas. And they take each other in for the last time. One of them at eighty, the other not too far behind, but knowing he won’t reach that same fate.
That’s not in the cards now. If he gets this one miracle, it’s too much to also hope for the other.
Nicholas knows this is probably why Frank can’t seem to let it go—why Frank feels the need to take one more shot at convincinghim. As if Frank doesn’t already know that it’s a fool’s errand—as if there is anything he can do to change anything about what’s going to happen now. As if what Frank is doing (what they’re both doing here, together) isn’t actually something else. Something closer to saying goodbye.
“It’s not too late, Nick,” he says. “Don’t trade your life for his.”
Nicholas puts out his hand and reaches toward his oldest friend, their lives, their fates linked—the way you are linked to the people who know you best, whatever time and distance you put between you, whatever break you try to make.
“Didn’t you hear, Frank?” he says. “I’m already dead.”
And, forty-three years too late, Nicholas walks away.
Seventy-Two Hours Ago
“I owe you an apology,” Nicholas said.
“We’re past all that now,” Owen said.
“Are we though?”
Owen looked away.
Nicholas wanted to push it, force the conversation, but he stopped himself. There was no point in trying to litigate any of this further. What did Nicholas expect Owen to say anyway?
It was ironic in a way: for so long his son-in-law blamed Nicholas for what happened to Kate. But, now that they were on the other side of it, Owen just wanted Nicholas to stop blaming himself. And here was Nicholas—only wanting the same for Owen. Right or wrong didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Wasn’t that love, after all? Wasn’t that forgiveness? At the end of the day, I want you to be free.
“You don’t owe me that,” Owen said. “Not anymore.”
“You look worried though.”
“I just keep coming back to it,” Owen said.
“To Hannah?” Nicholas asked.
Owen nodded. “She knows I’d never allow her to be in harm’s way.”
“She knows I wouldn’t allow it either.”
“What are you going to do?” Owen said. “When she figures it out?”
“I’m going to say goodbye.”
The Good Lawyer Is Free
“You should have told me,” I say.
“Hannah, not here,” Nicholas says. “Not anywhere near here.”
We are walking at a fast clip down the cobblestone path, away from the hotel—back down the steps, which are taking us past the Nietzsche Path, out of the main village. Away from all this.
The municipal police follow ten yards behind. A strange, silent escort. It doesn’t seem like anyone is following behind them, but we wouldn’t know, would we? We wouldn’t know for sure, not yet. The shadowy figures have been following me too long for me to trust they’re no longer following me still.
So I don’t say anything else. Neither of us says anything again until we are down those steps, leading out of the village and down the hill, the hotel far behind us.
