Before I have time to research hotels, Logan writes yet again to say he’s booked me into the Cartersville Arms, a charming inn that I nevermanaged to snag a room at when we visited Mel, and where Logan will be staying as well. I feel a pinch of annoyance—how typical of him to be all in charge. But at least this saves me the effort of searching for a place, and it probably means he’ll be picking up the tab, which I won’t argue with.
While I’m still at my desk, I take a few minutes to write to the college president, Maya Williams, letting her know I’ll be attending the event. When Mel died, she did everything possible to be of help to us, and I’m grateful even now.
For dinner, Sebastian opens a bottle of Tannat—the terrific red wine you find in Uruguay—and I finally get him to elaborate about his visit home. Though it’s so good to have him back, and he makes me chuckle with more stories about the dating life of the newly single Manuel, there’s a slight stiltedness between us. It’s like Logan’s still in the house somewhere, casting a pall.
Maybe, I think, Bas is concerned about how much time I’ll be forced to spend with my ex. As the meal winds down, I bring up the fact that Lisa will be coming to Cartersville, too, and I sense him relaxing a little.
“You’ve met her, right?” he says. “What’s she like?”
“I didn’t meet her long enough to get a real sense, but I know from Logan that she’s divorced, no kids, works in the hotel business now. I think she’s about forty-five.”
“Were they involved when they worked together?”
“No, not then. She left the company a few years before Logan and I broke up, and from what he told me, they ran into each other about a year and a half ago.”
Bas presses a hand against his cheek, thinking. “Is there anyone at the reception who can be a kind of wingman for you? Isn’t that what you Americans call it?”
“Ah yes, a wingman, that’s what I need.” My friend Ellie would make the perfect one, and I’m sure she’d be willing to take the train from the city and spend a night upstate with me, but I already know she’ll be in the Caribbean next week with her husband on a desperatelyneeded vacation. “Maybe I can use Maya, the college president, that way. She was always very supportive.”
I glance across the room, at the fire still going strong in the gray-stone hearth. In three days, I’ll be gone from here, and the thought already fills me with trepidation.
And yet I haven’t once second-guessed my decision. Because nothing about this place, including Sebastian, will be able to soothe me anymore if the current situation about Ruck isn’t resolved.
“I haven’t even asked about your return,” Bas says. “I take it you’re flying back Friday night?”
I hesitate a few seconds before answering, though I’m not sure why.
“I haven’t booked a flight home yet. Logan’s arranging for us to meet with the state police before the reception, but there might be ground to cover after that, and I want to keep my plans open for now.”
“Makes sense,” he says, nodding. But I feel a bit of awkwardness return. Does he have some crazy fear I won’t be coming back?
I think that again as we make love later. Since we’ve been together just two and half years, and much of the first year involved seeing each other only a handful of days a month, sex with Bas still feels excitingly new and erotic, but tonight he brings a different kind of urgency to bed—with how he touches me, pulls me to him, moves inside me.
I do my best to match his urgency with my own. I don’t want him worried about my trip and what it means for us.
On Sunday, as Bas drives me to Carrasco, the airport on the outskirts of Montevideo, I rack my brain for some final way to reassure him without coming on too strong or sounding like I’m protesting too much.
“Would you mind watering my herbs when I’m gone?” I ask. “Maitena tends to overwater, so I’d much prefer to have you do it.”
“Of course.”
“And thank you for being so understanding this week. I know I’ve seemed preoccupied at times, and anxious, too.”
“That’s to be expected, Bree. Just promise you’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do, okay?”
With one hand on the wheel, he reaches over with the other and cups it tenderly around the back of my head.
“For sure,” I say. “I miss you already.”
And then the airport appears up ahead, the bright interior lights highlighting the wing shape of its iconic white roof. My stomach churns at the sight of it.
The trip north, at least, ends up being wrinkle-free. Since I’ve booked a business-class ticket, it makes it easier for me to sleep on the second flight, the leg that’s nine-plus hours long. As soon as I’m through immigration and customs and have collected my bag, I spot the driver from the car service I’ve hired, holding an iPad with my name on it.
Still, by the time I finally arrive at Penn Station, I’m frayed around the edges. The train, fortunately, is on time, and I manage to grab a window seat on the west side of the first car I enter, sagging with exhaustion as soon as I’m settled. I use a facial wipe to remove the grungy traces of yesterday’s makeup and take a few bites of the sandwich I bought at the station. Ten minutes later, the train starts lumbering along the tracks. I text Sebastian, who I spoke to from JFK, to let him know I’m now on my final leg and will update him again later.
The first minutes of the journey are underground, through the dank, graffiti-covered tunnels beneath the station. But soon enough we’re pulling out of the city, and the Hudson River appears on my left, silvery gray and undaunted. I finally relax a little, slightly hypnotized by the way the river water ripples from the wind.
But when the train departs Rhinebeck, New York, an hour and a half later and the conductor announces, “Hudson’ll be next,” my body begins humming with anxiety—because my stop is soon after that. I check my phone. Logan still hasn’t responded to my most recent text,asking for details about our meeting with the state police. Since I’ve come all this way, it had damn well better happen.
