“Kimberly,” Alice said brightly. “How are you doing?”
“Good! Really, really good. Are you sure you should be here?”
“Uh, we came back to get Nika’s shoes—the ones I gave you.”
“They’re in the boxes in the garage.” Kimberly made it to the kitchen island and leaned heavily on it. “We could raise a fortune for them in the cancer support group auction.”
“Long story, but we need just one pair—the green platforms.”
Kimberly pushed off the island. “They’re buried at the back, but I’m sure I can?—”
“I’llget them,” Malik said quickly, “with Jason Bourne here. You two need to talk.”
Carter looked across at Alice, a question in his eyes.
“Sure, go,” she said.
Kimberly watched Carter and Malik leave—well, she watchedCarter. “What does Malik think we need to talk about, do youthink?” she said. “Can we talk about your spy? He’s even more scorching than I remember him, and I only saw him yesterday. More rugged.”
“Malik said they’ve canceled the last round of chemo,” Alice said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.
Kimberly smiled weakly. “I’d rather he hadn’t told you that.”
“Kimberly…”
“Alice…” Kimberly parroted. “I’ve always had a plan for this—God, half of my friends are making birth plans right now, and I’m making a death plan—and that plan does not involve everyone who’s close to me dropping everything to come and sit around while we all wait until the end. How boring. And depressing. I’d rather have a vicarious adventure through you. Speaking of which, tell me everything.”
“Oh, back to me? I see your tricks.”
“Please talk to me about something other than my soul’s imminent departure from my body.” Kimberly narrowed her eyes at Alice. “Gotta say, you seem much more chill than you did yesterday.”
“Why do people keep saying that?” Alice said, though she wondered if it was Kimberly’s drugs that were making Alice look chill. “I’m not calm. I just get a blank face when I’m in total body panic.”
“You project a feeling of calm. Some might say you’d make an excellent spy.”
“Hardly.”
“Why not?” Kimberly said, opening a cupboard and grabbing a couple of glasses. “You’re smart, a good judge of character…”
“The aforementioned lack of courage could be an impediment.”
“Lack of courage, my ass. Look at you go—on the run with a super-hot spy.”
“I pulled out of an interview with theMontrose Gazetteabout the book because I was scared. Is that the behavior of the next Valerie Plame?”
“Oh, come on,” Kimberly said, filling a glass from the water filter. “You nursed Mom and Poppy through cancer. You organized their funerals and gave the most beautiful eulogies when all I could do was sit in a corner, numb to it all because I’d spent so much time in denial. You held us together. You’re still holding us together, those of us who are left. You’ll hold Malik together when I’m gone—I’m counting on that, by the way.” She passed the full glass across the kitchen island to Alice, who took it gratefully. Alicewasthirsty. It was hard to keep up your regular water intake when you were navigating international spydom.
“I did those things because there was no choice. I was probably just trying to keep busy, because it’s the pauses and silences when it hits you—but you know about that.”
“Isn’t that what courage is?” Kimberly said, filling the second glass. “Doing what you have to do when it’s hard and scary and actually you just want to run and hide under a blanket, like I did—a grief counselor who couldn’t deal with her grief! You did what you did then because you needed to step up and you’ll do what needs to be done now. Youaredoing what needs to be done, what you think is right.”
“I know, but … I am so over my head, in multiple ways. Like, every time I stop and think, it’s like, ‘What the fuck?’”
“Oh, come on, that’s why you wrote the book, right? You wanted to do something outside of yourself?”
“While not leaving the street I grew up on. It’s like I’m living in a choose-your-own-adventure.”
“Um, isn’t that what life is?”
