Page 29 of The Thinnest Air
“I’m turning in.” I pull the phone from my face, checking the time as if it matters. My body’s running the show, and right now I can barely keep my eyes open.
“Call me,” he says. “I mean, I know you’re busy, but keep me in the loop, okay? I know your sister and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but this ... this is terrifying. And I care about her. Shit, I’ve known her for ten years now. She’s practically family, even if you and I ...”
“I know.” I don’t let him finish his thought. The last thing I need is another reminder that we’re not together anymore. “I’ll call you more. There are actually some things I wanted to run past you, but I’m way too fucking tired to even think straight.”
“Oh, yeah?” He sounds disappointed.
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Keep your phone on you.”
“Of course.”
“Night,” I say, sliding my thumb across the glass screen.
“Greer?” he asks.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this week,” he says. “And I can’t stop asking myself what if it were you? What if something happened, and you were ripped out of my life and I had no idea if I was going to see you again? And I’ve been thinking about how I’d feel if I lost you. If I woke up tomorrow, and I couldn’t see you again.”
I’m listening.
“It’s really just ... stirring up all of these feelings ... and I think ...” He pauses, his silence lasting far too long. “I don’t want to be apart anymore.”
I release the breath I’ve been harboring, soaking in his words and replaying them in my mind a handful of times before questioning if I heard him correctly or if I’m dreaming. For all I know, I’m fast asleep, wishing he were saying these words.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had this dream.
“You still there?” he asks.
“Can we talk more about this when I’m home?” I ask. “After I find my sister?”
I know Harris, and though he’s a devoted feminist, he’s still a man. And I’ve yet to know a single red-blooded man who doesn’t like the thrill of the chase. If I told him I never stopped loving him, that I wanted to be with him again, I’d look pathetic. And I don’t want him to think all he has to do is snap his fingers and I’ll be back by his side—even if that’s true.
I may be hopelessly imprinted on this man, but I’m not stupid.
“Absolutely.” He exhales. “Good night, G ... I love you.”
CHAPTER 13
MEREDITH
Twenty-Seven Months Ago
The parking lot of the Ridgewood Heights community center is filled mostly with shiny Lincolns and Buicks, and a group of white-haired, Lululemon-wearing women make their way to the main entrance.
I didn’t want to come here, but Allison insisted. And after that note on my car yesterday, I wasn’t able to sleep last night. Every little sound, every flash of a headlight outside our windows sent a breath-capturing kick start to my heart while Andrew slept soundly to my left. At one point, I bit my lip and tapped Andrew on the shoulder, whispering in his ear that I thought I heard something, but his face scrunched, and he mumbled for me to go back to sleep.
Taking my gym duffel from my back seat, I fling it over my shoulder and make my way inside.
Ronan is in the front of the room, standing before a wall of mirrors chatting with a couple of the women, while another guy sets up rows upon rows of blue and red wrestling mats. The detective wears charcoal-gray sweats low on his hips and a white T-shirt with GLACIERPARKPOLICEprinted along the chest in bold black font.
It doesn’t take more than a minute before he spots me, though I imagine I’m sticking out like a sore thumb among all these retirees. Ridgewood Heights is a mecca for the nonworking well-to-do, and most of the female residents are former stay-at-home moms who read too many crime books and never miss an episode ofDateline. Not to mention that old people with excessive wealth tend to be on the paranoid side. I’m not surprised they insisted on a self-defense class.
“You can never be too prepared anymore,” I overhear one of them saying. “Just yesterday, there was a strange man going door-to-door in our neighborhood. Said he was selling pest control services, but Nancy thinks he just wanted to scope out the place, see if we had anything worth stealing. Flat-screen televisions and MP3 players, that sort of thing.”
“That’s how it happens,” her friend says. “Can’t trust anyone anymore.”
“Meredith.” Ronan approaches me, his mouth pulling up at the sides like he’s forgotten, momentarily, that we met under less than ideal circumstances. “Glad you could make it.”
