“I don’t need to reach.” His smile sharpens. “I already have what I need.”
I watch him, searching my memory for some tell—a tap of a finger or a tic of his brow—that he is bluffing. But I come up short.
“Where were you that night?” I press. “Answer it straight.”
He drains the rest of his water, sets the glass down with care. “The night Gemma died?” His voice lowers to something dangerous. I open my mouth, but he keeps going, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “If you want answers, you’ll have to look closer to home. Ask your husband.” His eyes glitter. “Ask him what really happened the night Gemma died. Ask him what really happened to Redwood while you’re at it.”
The last of his words slips poison into my bloodstream, and the truth of what Beau’s done slides into place with chilling ease.
Chapter 25
California
After that first night in my apartment, Beau and I went on something of a world tour.
It started as a single trip. I was unemployed, and he was fun employed—the distinction being his bottomless bank account—and we wanted to get away for a few days. But one trip kept rolling into another until we hadn’t stopped moving for months.
We’d hopped from city to city, carrying only what fit in two suitcases, trading boardrooms and deadlines for airports and hotel pools. It felt like we were chasing sunlight across the globe. And now, somehow, our tour had delivered us here to Joshua Tree.
“You’re going to get eaten by a mountain lion out here,” Beau said when he found me by the pool.
All day, we had drifted from the pool to outdoor daybeds, thumbing through books under the desert sun. And as the sky shifted from seamless blue to a smoldering amber sunset, I was transfixed by the arrival of a night so dark it was hypnotic. Away from the light pollution and the noise, the stars burned in an almost ghostly white.
“Look.” I pointed up at the sky. “Isn’t this why we came?”
We had read Joshua Tree was one of the best places in the country to see the Milky Way. We had timed our trip around the season when you could see the Milky Way’s core from the flatsof the desert—millions of densely packed stars. It looked like a city in the sky.
“To get eaten? You left that off my itinerary.”
He reclined beside me on a daybed, and I instinctively fit myself against him as we both stared at the ocean of stars above us.
“It’s so quiet,” I whispered. The stillness of the air was almost hypnotic, to the point where I felt guilty speaking above a hush. “I’d rather get eaten by a mountain lion than go inside right now. I’ve never seen anything like this,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the stars.
Beau’s chest rose and fell with a laugh. “All right, death by mountain lion it is.” He put his arm around me and pulled me close. “Hey, Este,” he said, matching my low volume, turning to look at me. And I peeled my eyes away from the stars to catch a glimpse of the crinkle of his eye. “Don’t panic, but I love you.”
The words made my chest swell. The endless warmth in his eyes made me sure he meant it. He wasn’t saying it to get something from me. He just wanted me to know. And like he did in those quiet looks he gave me sometimes—the ones where I could feel him promising to keep my secrets—I knew he would always feel that way. I could count on him.
But I was who I was, so I looked away. Turning my eyes back toward the stars in the sky. And for a split second, I wondered if Beau was just a soft place to land after Simon’s total decimation of my life and career.
Worse, am I his soft place to land after the InfoSynth sale left him adrift?
Simon had gotten time from me—a dense concentration of years of my life. From the start of my time at Redwood—long before we were sleeping together—I gave Simon most of my days. But there was so much I held back from him. And with Beau, after a handful of months, I trusted him completely. More than I ever trusted Simon.
I listened to his chest, searching for any signs of hesitation when I didn’t say the words back right away. But he was steady as ever, breathing evenly and tracing slow circles on my back.With the quiet drum of his heartbeat in my ear, I gave myself permission not to overanalyze or cast cynicism on how I felt about Beau. He wasn’t abstract books and ideas, like in my childhood home. Or chaotic jazz like in Delia’s New Orleans. And he wasn’t the cold, blunt force of slide decks and power lunches. He was solid ground and a starry sky. He accepted me, and I liked the way it felt to simply exist with Beau. No expectations. No rules. Only me—entirely myself.
And in the stillest quiet I had ever known, I looked back at him and said, “I love you, too.”
After Joshua Tree, Beau and I flew to Playa Mujeres for a week, trading long nights under desert skies for sultry heat and the sapphire-blue waters of Mexico. We were lovestruck and mooning most of the time. And away from California—away from the roads I used to take to meetings and the places that haunted me with reminders of Simon firing me—it was getting easier and easier to reinvent myself post–career collapse. With Beau’s encouragement, I sold off my Redwood equity, washing my hands of Redwood for good.
Suddenly, our days were sunburns and fresh-mango margaritas. And I liked who I was in a maxi dress under a tropical sun.
Unfortunately, the dream was almost over, because it was checkout day.
“Are you ready to pack?” I asked. Beau was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, waiting in a pool chair for me to get out of the water.
“I mean, hear me out,” he said. “We could stay here.”
I laughed. “Haven’t we done this dance before?”
