Page 4 of The Thinnest Air
“All right. Yeah. I can handle everything here. Just keep me posted, will you?” he asks.
I pause, lingering outside his door. He never cared much for Meredith, though he never explicitly said that. It was just in the little digs he’d make here and there, making fun of her for her social media addiction, her affinity for tabloid articles, and wearing too much makeup and too little clothing. He mostly hated that she was overtly sexual, but that was on principle. Raised by two Harvard-educated women’s studies professors alongside three older sisters, Harris was a staunch feminist.
“Jesus. I hope nothing happened to her.” His gaze falls, his words barely a whisper.
Funny how all those old misgivings no longer matter once shit gets real.
“I’ll keep you updated on everything,” I say, if only because I imagine I’m going to need his rational demeanor to keep me sane until I find her. He was always good at that, always good at putting things in perspective and talking my anxious ego down from the ledge. “Just ... keep your phone on from now on, please. Even in the middle of the night. I’ll only call when I need you.”
The moment I turn to leave, the warmth of his palm clasps my wrist.
“Greer,” he says, head cocked to the side. His touch is a comfort I can’t allow myself to enjoy, not under these circumstances. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” I lift a brow, looking him up and down. “For what? She’s not dead; she’s missing.”
He says nothing.
“And I’m going to find her.” I’ve never said anything with so much conviction.
“I know you will. Look, I’m here if you need me.” He pulls me into his arms, crossing a line he drew years ago.
Being in his arms again is a momentary catch in the midst of a never-ending fall. He still loves me; I know he does.
Just as I’ll never stop loving him, he’ll never stop loving me. His proposal to go our separate ways came after years of placing our relationship on the sidelines as we gave everything we had to our business. All our time. Our energy. Our passion. At the time, we were too far deep to see it, and by the time we noticed, we were too far gone. We’d lost our spark, settled for comfort over excitement, and we deserved more.
At least that’s what Harris said.
The breakup took months, but it came as no surprise. I have my own issues, and Harris is a complicated man. It was always something I liked about him. He’s deep. A thinker. They don’t make them like him, at least not in mass production.
There’s a melancholy sweetness and an air of sadness swirling together as I breathe him in the way I always used to. Part of me wishes he were coming with me to Utah, but someone has to stay back and keep the business going. The two of us leaving for an undetermined amount of time isn’t an option.
“Call me when you land,” he says.
“I’m going.” I pull myself away from Harris and grip the purse strap over my shoulder, turning to leave after giving him a parting glance.
The unfamiliar gnawing of helplessness and uncertainty threatens to sink into my bones, but I draw in a deep breath, stride toward the elevator, and head toward my waiting cab.
I’m going to find my sister.
CHAPTER 3
MEREDITH
Thirty-Three Months Ago
“I can’t believe you live here.” Greer drops her bags on the marble-tiled foyer, her eyes floating to the top of the two-story entryway and landing on a Schonbek chandelier, complete with sixty-five lights glimmering through thousands of teardrop crystals. “Sure beats those shoe boxes we grew up in.”
“Can we not?” I ask.
Greer’s icy blues land on mine. “Can we notwhat?”
“Can we not make a big deal about the house?” I bite my lip, fingers interlaced on my hip, brows raised and head tilted.
As soon as Greer told me she was coming out for a visit, my stomach twisted into knots for days. It turns out the human body doesn’t always know the difference between excitement and anxiety.
“So I’m supposed to pretend that you didn’t pick me up in a Bentley, take me to a Michelin-starred restaurant for a five-course dinner on your husband’s dime, and bring me back to your multimillion-dollar ski chalet?” Greer smirks, like she’s razzing me, but I know her. There’s a layer of something beneath her teasing tone, though what it is exactly I haven’t a clue yet. Doubt? Skepticism? Disappointment? Jealousy?
It’s not like I’m asking her to be proud of me. None of this is anything that I’ve earned or necessarily deserve. I married well. I got lucky. And I own that. I just want her to know that someone’s taking care of me now.
