“Yeah.”
“What?”
“I’m just worried that even when I leave, the doubt about Ruck will stay with me. Like it’s permanently stuck in my mind now.”
“You’ve got to unstick it, Bree.”
“Okay,” I say, as if that’s enough to make it so.
Logan shoots an arm from the sleeve of his sweater, checking his watch. “Why don’t we grab some lunch, have a glass of wine. I’ve got work calls to make this afternoon, but it would be good to try to decompress first.”
I’m famished, but what I want more than food is to plan my trip home and provide more of the details to Bas. To finally have afull conversation with him and, as promised, share more of the news from here. To make the distance between us seem like less than five thousand miles.
Besides, going out to lunch with Logan would be repeating the mistake I made last night. Though I’ve appreciated his support, it’s time to recalibrate and put the old boundaries in place.
“I should go back to my room. I need to take care of a few things.”
“Sure.” He checks his watch again as if forgetting he did that ten seconds ago. “Why don’t we plan to meet in the lobby at five thirty. The reception starts at six, but I’d like to show up at Boyd Hall a few minutes early.”
He’s expecting me to go with him, and I really should. After all, he gave Lisa the boot on my account, and it seems unfair to make him arrive alone. But I don’t want to walk in there practically arm in arm. We seem unified at this moment, but it’s only in grief and outrage. Anything else is an illusion.
“Thanks, but I’ll probably be coming from another direction. Not the inn.”
He nods, his expression inscrutable. I say goodbye, promising to see him shortly after six.
Back in my room, I wolf down a small bag of potato chips from the basket on the dresser and settle at the desk to check flights for tomorrow night. I wasn’t expecting an issue at this time of year, but the one route to Montevideo that doesn’t involve a huge layover is sold out. I had no intention of spending one more minute than I had to in Cartersville, but holing up in my room here for an extra day seems like a better option than an eight-hour wait in the São Paulo airport—at least based on how slightly fragile I feel.
I book the flight for Saturday night instead, which means by midday Sunday, I’ll be at the chacra, eating lunch with Bas and drinking espresso afterward with my feet in his lap. I grab my phone and place a call to him, but it goes to voicemail.
“Bas, hi,” I say. “We just met with the police, and they’ve decided everything points to Ruck in the end. I’ll be there Sunday morning at ten forty. Can’t wait to see you, sweetheart.”
A wave of fatigue almost knocks me off the desk chair. I rise, stumble toward the freshly made bed, and stretch out across it on my back. Right above me on the ceiling is a carved plaster medallion where a light must have hung during another decade. As my gaze traces its outline, I feel something seeping through me, quickly weighing me down. I’m not just tired, I realize. I’m ...disconsolate, like I’ve been swallowed whole by sadness and can barely move.
I should never have gone to Mohegan Park today. In the end it offered nothing new, and what it’s done instead is stir the ghastly images I’ve worked so hard to bury: Mel brutalized, suffering beyond words, possibly pleading for her life. And unable to escape.
Opening my eyes, I realize I’ve passed out cold. And when I glance at the bedside clock, I discover, to my shock, that it’s after four.Shit.The reception is less than two hours from now.
I check my phone to see if I’ve missed any calls or messages. There’s nothing, not even one from Bas. Maybe his cold has laid him low.
I take my second shower of the day, hoping to jolt my senses, and then slip into the lavender silk cocktail dress I brought, pairing it with silver kitten heels and a matching clutch. I chose it for tonight because one of the rare compliments Mel paid me after age thirteen was that I looked nice in lavender.
I wasn’t really deceiving Logan when I said I’d be coming from elsewhere. My intention is to finally check out the newMuseoffice before heading to Boyd Hall.
Though there’s still light in the sky as I make my way to campus, the air is raw, and I shiver inside my trench coat. I should have madetime earlier in the day for this, but at least going now means I won’t have to come back to Carter College again before I leave town.
Arriving at the campus, I find it looking oddly deserted. The students I do pass are all hurrying, eager, I’m sure, to get to their dorm rooms or one of the dining halls.
I’m halfway across the quad when Chip finally returns my call.
“Ms. Winter, sorry to be late getting back to you,” he says. “How can I be of assistance?”
I explain what I’ve heard about the archive and my hope to find Mel’s writing there.
“You heard correctly,” he says. “Thereisa creative archive.”
“Wow.” I’d been sure that with my luck so far, it didn’t exist anymore. “How do you happen to know?”
“Because I stored some stuff of mine there ages ago.”
