Page 120 of Our Last Resort

“That William didn’t see?”

“Yes.”

He’s so self-assured. So naïve.

Can’t you see, Gabriel?

Don’t you understand?

If everything you’re telling me is true—if all this did, in fact, happen—then William knew something was going on. And he saw you. He put two and two together.

“Anyway, I overheard her telling William she’d forgotten something. She told him to go ahead, that she’d be right back. Next thing I knew, she was running up to me. It wasn’t much at all. She kind of hugged me. She kissed me. But it was—you know. Important.”

I know. I’ve seen enough movies. The stories people tell themselves, when they’re in love. Or, maybe not in love, but infatuated. Every moment, every detail, seems like the most important thing in the world.

“Yesterday,” I say. “When we spoke…”

And by “spoke,” I mean “argued.”

“You could have told me,” I say.

“I could have.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“It was…complicated. I almost did, actually. Tell you. But I couldn’t figure out how, and then we were yelling, and—”

You. You were yelling. And throwing stuff.

“The point is,” he says, “I didn’t know how to explain, and I didn’t want to make it sound like something it wasn’t.”

There’s another uncomfortable detail I need to broach.

Logistics, always: It seems ridiculous to care, but at the end of the day, they’re out to get you. Everything that happens in life is logistics. You don’tleave a cult;you walk to the nearest train station and board the first train. You don’tcommit arson;you pour gasoline and strike a match.

You don’tsleep with a murder victim;you welcome her into your suite, unzip her dress, run your hand on the inside of her thigh.

“Did you use a condom?”

Gabriel gives me a look, like,Are you high?

I know, I know, but: logistics.

“If you didn’t,” I say, “they’ll find your, um—DNA on her—”

“I used a condom.”

Well, that was smart, at least.

There’s a long silence.

It all hovers between us, the first day, the second day, the third day. The illicit romance. A whole little drama that unfolded right under my nose.

Allegedly.

I sigh.

“You don’t believe me,” Gabriel says.

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