“So would they understand?” she said. “If they’d heard what you just said?”
He thought about it. The answer was clearer than he’d expected. “Probably.”
“They’d forgive you?”
He looked over. “I can see where you’re going with this.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“And now that a bit of time’s passed, would any of these normal, decent people have a huge problem with you forgiving yourself?”
He made himself consider, but he found he already knew the answer. “No.” The word itself felt like a release. “I mean, of course they wouldn’t.” He looked across at Gemma. She still didn’t seem surprised.
“What kind of farming was your dad in?” she said after a moment. “Back in your old town. Sheep, was it?”
“Yeah.”
“What was his general position on chasing losses?”
Falk smiled. “He thought it was bullshit.”
“I’ll bet he did.” Gemma smiled back. “And look, only you knowwhat’s going to be best for you. So I’m really not pushing one way or the other—as much as I’d love to, I’m not. But I do think it’s worth stopping and looking around once in a while. Take stock. See if anything’s changed over time.”
Falk didn’t reply. He gazed out across the darkened valley once more, then he got up from the bench and reached for her hand. Gemma stood, too, and stepped in close as he wrapped his arms tight around her. He buried his face in her hair, and the smell of the shampoo and fabric softener blurred with the relief of the conversation and the memory of her sheets in the afternoon sun.
“Thank you,” he said, and he felt her shrug lightly against him and hug him tighter.
“Thank you, too. This was perfect, by the way. Sweeping, romantic. So practical.”
Falk smiled, his lips against her head. Night had fallen fully, he realized, when they eventually pulled apart.
“Well, I could seriously stay here for hours.” He glanced at the sky and reluctantly checked his watch again. “But we had better head off if we’re going to get you back.”
Gemma touched Falk’s chest gently with her fingertips and looked up into his face. “Do you know what my second-favorite romantic trait is?”
“I’m hoping it’s punctuality.”
“You read my mind.”
33
They drove back to the festival in a silence that was warm and relaxed, if not fully contented. Unresolved decisions, Falk supposed. He watched the winding road ahead as Gemma stared out of the window, both wrapped deep in their own thoughts. The streets grew busier as they neared the grounds, and when Falk turned in to the parking lot, Gemma sighed and pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her messages, and Falk glanced across at the passenger seat.
“Didn’t miss too much?”
“No. It all seems—” She paused, though, her finger hovering above the screen.
He maneuvered into a parking space as she tapped a button and lifted the phone to her ear. Falk could hear the tinny whisper of a voicemail and looked over in time to catch her frown.
“Everything okay?” he asked as she lowered the phone.
There was another pause, a little longer this time. Gemma was staring at her screen, her face lit by the artificial glow. “Has Greg called you as well?” she asked.
Falk turned off the engine and reached for his own phone. A few work messages, but nothing from Raco. “What did he want?”
Gemma was listening to the voicemail again. She hung up and clicked the screen to black. The lights from the festival entrance shone bright through the car windshield, and the sounds of music and crowds floated through the air.
