“Sometimes when you’re looking too hard for something, you can’t see what’s right in front of you,” I tell him. He nods slowly as he lets this information sink in. I feel like a guru on a mountaintop.
“When did you last have it?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Last time I went out of town, I guess.”
“And you checked your suitcases?”
He shrugs again. “Well, not all of them. Come with me,” he says. He leads me upstairs.
His closet is not quite as organized as Amber’s. And there’s a lot more leather: Six Mark Cross suitcases of various sizes. A gaggle of Versace black leather jackets. Lots of black leather oxfords.
We start with the suitcases. He can’t remember which one he used last, so we look in all of them one at a time, opening zippers, checking inside flaps. Here I am, looking through all of Ben’s personal things, exactly what I was assigned to do, and he’s completely cool with it. With alldue respect to my extraordinary undercover abilities, this is what the FBI would call dumb luck.
But I find nothing.
Now we check the pockets of all his bespoke suits. I go from pants to pants, jacket to jacket. Sure enough, in the inside pocket of a navy Prada blazer, my hand touches something at the bottom. It’s the passport.
His reaction? A quick smile and an even quickerThank youas he grabs the passport out of my hand before I even get a chance to glance at it.
I go back down to my sandwich as he begins to pack.
CHAPTER 49
IT’S GETTING LATE. HAILEY is studying, Ben is packing, and I’m up here in my top-floor room with a reheated tuna melt on ciabatta bread and a chilled Blue Moon beer. Exactly what I was looking forward to. But I find myself as fidgety as Ben.
I keep thinking of that old Carl Sandburg quote I’ve seen on needlepoint pillows and posters everywhere: “A baby is God’s opinion that the world should go on.” A couple of months ago, I would have smirked at that, maybe because I’d never had a baby of my own.
But now I do. Or at least I did, sort of, for a while.
Tonight I’m bereft. Why did Lily have to wait until today to try to say my name? That only made it worse. Iask myself the same question everybody asks after every sad farewell: Will she remember me?
God, how I miss her.
I miss her smell, a combination of baby skin and Tubby Todd Sweet Cheeks Diaper Paste.
I miss the way she giggles when I tickle her chubby little belly.
I miss how she looks at me with those big green eyes as if I’m the wisest person in the world.
I miss how she hangs on my every word, even though she doesn’t understand any of them.
And how she kicks her legs with glee when I change her diaper.
I miss changing her diaper. (Did I really just say that?)
And how she laughs and laughs as I wiggle her toes while I recite “This Little Piggy.”
Lily has been trying like crazy to roll over onto her belly from her back. She almost made it a couple of times. If she does it while she’s gone, I’ll be heartbroken to miss that too.
What I miss about Amber:
Her attitude. She might be wealthy, but she’s never pretentious.
Her modesty. Who knew she had major art credentials? I had to practically pry the information out of her.
Her basic decency, whether she’s chatting with her friends at the club or a bunch of valet-parking elves.
I miss how Amber can toss a simple sweatshirt over her shoulders and look elegant.
