So even with Amber and Lily home, I am still all alone in the universe.
Until I realize thereissomeone I can talk to. The one person I’ve been afraid to talk to for the past ten years.
CHAPTER 71
MILLIONS OF PEOPLE CONSULT GOOGLE with questions about geography (how far is Uganda from Khartoum) and statistics (how many gold records has Elton John had) and facts (who won the Kentucky Derby in 1959).
But I bet those search volumes pale in comparison to the number of us stalking our exes.
It takes just thirty seconds to learn that Coveleigh Ravenstock is still alive and still in the FBI’s Cleveland field office. And he’s been promoted to deputy director.
Lily is sleeping and Amber is unpacking, so now’s a good time to call him. I want to do it before I lose mynerve. My fingers are shaking as I dial the number. A woman answers.
“Mr. Ravenstock’s office.”
“Hello,” I say. “I’m, um, an old friend of Cove’s and I’m wondering if he’s there.”
“May I tell him who’s calling?” she asks. Yes, she may, but it’s been so long since I used my real name, I almost sayCaroline Babulewicz. I catch myself just in time.
“Tell him it’s Elinor Gilbert.”
“Let me check,” she says. I take a deep breath. While she puts me on hold, I think of all the possible options.
He’s not there.
He’s there, but he doesn’t remember me and won’t take my call.
He’s there, hedoesremember me, and won’t take my call.
He’s there, he thinks he remembers me, but he wants his secretary to ask what this is in reference to.
Then I hear Cove’s voice.
“El-i-nor,” he says. And I smile. It’s the way he always said my name—slowly, gently, giving all three syllables equal time.
Does he sound the same? Hard to say. My heart is beating so loud, I can barely hear him.
“Um, hi,” I say. I’m doing a really first-rate impression of a tongue-tied teenager.
“This is a surprise,” he says. “A nice surprise.”
“Yes,” I say. “Well, it’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yes,” he says.
Yes?Is he agreeing that it’s good to hear his voice, or ishe saying it’s good to hearmyvoice? I can’t believe I’m sitting here like a lovesick fourteen-year-old, trying to unpack what a guy really means when all he said wasyes.
“Are you in Cleveland?” he asks.
“No,” I say. (Is he hoping I am?) “But something’s come up. Actually, a lot of things have come up and I don’t know how to handle them. And I tried to think of someone I could talk to and you’re the only one I can think of and—”
Cove interrupts me. “Why don’t you start at the beginning.”
So I do. I tell him how Alan Metcalf tracked me down for a special assignment. “Before you say anything,” I add quickly, “I know what you’re thinking. I never thought I would talk to him again either after what he did to me.”
“But you said yes?”
“I did.” If this were FaceTime or Zoom, I bet I’d be seeing Cove’s eyebrows knit together. “But that’s because he said that the FBI needed me for an undercover thing. And he made it sound so tempting. I could get my reputation back, my benefits reinstated, my back pay, and—”
