How long has he been out here? His dad said he had a few more whiskies after James left … that could have been ages. I watch the dot on the map: It’s not moving, and I frown. He could have dumped his phone before he jumped. Christ, I’ve read too many plot twists in books. I don’t need my overactive imagination right now. My hands are shaking as I draw ever closer. Several figures pass by heading in the other direction, but my gaze is fixed as far ahead as I can see. My heart nearly explodes when I spot a long, lanky figure, head down, leaning against the metal railing.
“James!” I call out, and the head lifts. The relief that swamps my body islike stepping into an ice bath. He straightens as I reach him, face breaking into his cute, lopsided grin.Thank Christ.
“Sadie!”
I lean over my knees, panting for a second.
“Are you okay?” he adds.
I hold up a hand, palm toward him. “I’m fine,” I gasp.
He bends his head down to peer at me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know. I thought I’d take a run in the warm evening air,” I say, deadpan, as I lift my head and glance around. “Really surprised to find you here, actually. What are you up to?”
He grins at me. “Contemplating life,” he says. “The museum of a beautiful life, Sadie.” He sweeps out a hand. “Right here.”
“Have you been smoking something?”
“If I’d thought of that, it would have been preferable to listening to the traffic.”
He sounds remarkably normal. Cheerful, even.Thank God.
“What areyoudoing here?” he says.
“Looking for you.”
“I gathered that.” He frowns. “So I guess I should have asked:Whyare you here? And how did you find me?”
I turn my phone and show him the little picture of him with the word “James” beside it on Google Maps.
“Ah, I set it up the day I got drunk in the bar, didn’t I?”
I nod. “I was worried.”
“Worried? About me?” He laughs. “What for?”
I shrug, and he examines me for a beat that turns into at least a minute of contemplation. “Is it because of what I told you at the bike ride about jumping off a building?” He chuckles. “And here I am worrying about you.”
He’s been worried aboutme?
“Partly.”
He frowns even more now. But he’s too smart not to put it all together. He slaps his hand on his forehead. “Des. He worked it out, didn’t he?” He groans. “He figured out what I was doing on that roof. He asked you tomove in with me to keep an eye on me, didn’t he? I thought he was very insistent that you come and live with me.”
“It wasn’t exactly like that. Ididneed somewhere to live. He told me you were having a rough time and that he wanted someone to make sure you were okay, but he didn’t explain why. I don’t think he worked it out until later.” I glance up into his steely blue eyes and grimace. “I realized when I found your suicide list.”
“Mysuicidelist?” He frowns again. “What list?”
“It was tucked into that Arthur C. Clarke book,2001. It slipped out when I went to retrieve it from your bedroom.”
He sucks in his cheeks, then peers off over the East River and shakes his head. “I made a list? I just …” Then his eyes narrow and he laughs. “Oh, God, I do remember making that! One night, months ago. It had some crazy-ass things on it, I think. Christ. You must think I’m a lunatic. You’re never going to think I’m …” He trails off.
His eyes swing back to my face. Think he’s what? “Shit. You were really worried, weren’t you?” He grimaces. “I’m so sorry, Sadie.”
Now it’s my turn to stare out over the water, still breathing a little hard from all the jogging.
He taps my arm, and when I look at him again, he’s smiling down at me, his eyes gentle behind his glasses. “Come here,” he says, long arms reaching out and pulling me forward into his wide chest.Oh, Jesus.My nose is pressed into the top two buttons of his shirt, the smell of woodsy aftershave and the fabric softener that sits in the closet at home drifting up. The worn plaid tickles my nostrils.
