The last message was from that morning.
Bring coffee. Hank has declared war on the printer.
It belonged to another life.
One that had existed six hours earlier.
I typed:
I’m leaving now.
Then erased it.
She knew.
I typed:
I’m sorry.
Erased that too.
She knew that as well.
Rachel closed the suitcase.
“Ready?”
“No.”
“Good. Honesty is progressing.”
Outside, the SUV waited.
I took one last look around the cottage.
The pies.
The decorative phone.
The kitchen where Ellie had kissed me.
The bedroom where, for one night, I had stopped listening for the next demand.
Then I followed Rachel outside.
We drove past the café.
Rosa stood beneath the awning talking to two people holding cameras. She pointed firmly toward the menu, which suggested they would not receive information without first purchasing breakfast.
The marina came next.
Then Reef Rascal.
I told myself not to look.
I lasted four seconds.
Ellie stood at the end of the dock.
