But I haven’t thought about what it must feel like lingering there with no idea when her captivity will end. She has some freedom, but not too much, some ability to live, but not as much as she did before. I wonder if she loved Kieren the way he clearly loved her, and I guess it doesn’t matter.
Vera’s suffering means Regan is safe. And in the ledger of my heart, where there’s already enough murder and death to weigh me down to hell, that feels right on balance.
I drive until the city recedes, until New York City turns to suburbs which turn to a wider rural spread. I slow on a quiet street in Pine Bush, New York, peering out at a moderate rancher with a brick facade and a worn roof. A beat-up truck’s parked in the drive. I pull in behind it and kill the engine.
He’s waiting on the porch.
“Morning.” Luke nods at me over a cup of coffee. “You eat yet?”
“I’m good.”
“Here, got you this.” He tosses me a thermos. “Figured you’d need it. Cream, no sugar.”
“Thanks.” I pop it open and take a sip. For all Luke’s faults, the man knows how to brew. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” He sighs and stands, hefting a duffel on his shoulder. “Gonna miss this place.”
“No, you’re not.”
He grins and doesn’t argue.
We get in my car. I start driving again, heading north. Luke doesn’t talk much on the trip. We roll through towns, past homes, past lives, and I try to imagine them all, their own little worlds. Their loves and losses, their hatred and their joy. All these petty existences, eked out for nothing. I don’t pity them, exactly. I don’t hate them either. They’re nothing at all, as far as I’m concerned. They might as well be dead already.
We have no trouble at the border. The crossing guard looks over Luke’s fake papers and waves us through with a bored but friendly smile. More miles roll past until the sun begins to sink over the horizon, sending pink smears through clouds. I pull over at a random downtown street corner and cut the engine.
Luke doesn’t get out. He peers through the window, brow furrowed, saying nothing. My legs ache and I still have to find a hotel for the night. But he’s clearly in no hurry.
“Does she know?” His voice is small. There’s a weight to it.
“Not exactly.”
“What did you tell her? Does she think I’m dead?”
“She knows you aren’t dead, but she also knows not to ask for details, because I’ll tell her, and then both our lives will be in danger.”
“What does your family think?”
“I told them you were taken care of. They made their own assumptions.” My guts flip, but the guilt isn’t so strong anymore. Not after months of pretending like nothing was wrong, making occasional trips up north for business, acting as though I weren’t doing something stupid.
“Why did you do it?” Luke twists to look at me. “I nearly fucked you all over.”
I sigh and sink back. In all the months I’ve been looking after Luke and keeping him in that shitty shack while I got his documents in order, bribing government officials, changing his name, turning him into a real Canadian citizen with a sketchy but passable history, we haven’t once talked about this.
“It’s easy. I love her. I’d do anything for her. And I knew she wanted me to do this, even if we couldn’t talk about it. So here I am, dumping your ass on a random street corner in Quebec City. How’s your French?”
“It sucks.” He tries a weak smile but it quickly fades. “Can you tell her something for me?”
“Probably not.”
“Tell her one day that I’m sorry. I really, really am, and I love her, and she was a great big sister. Better than she thinks.”
“I’ll try.”
“Okay. This is it then.” He still doesn’t move. “I can’t believe you named me Guy. That’s going to take some getting used to.”
“You got a whole life to deal with it.”
He steps off onto the curb, duffel on his back. He doesn’t wave as I drive off. Last I see of Luke is him turning away to face the city.
