There it is, the night articulated. A check of the door to see if the past can still come in. A test of my hinge.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t want to hurt you again. It’s just not fair to her to act like it means less than it does.I love her, Em.”
The blink that means tears are ready. I’ve seen it before. I hate that my fingerprints are on that reflex. I want to say a thousand apologies in different keys. Instead I lean in.
“This is the last thing I want to leave you with,” I tell her. “You left and you were right to. You deserved more. You were too good to me.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I can see it there, the hurt and the warmth, both alive in the same breath.
“I didn’t respect your time,” I go on. “Didn’t see what I had until it was gone. I’ve wanted to say this a hundred times, but I didn’t want to wake old hurts. Didn’t want to bother you if you’d found peace.”
I pause, swallow the weight of it. “But you’re here now, and you deserve to hear it. Even if I can’t be whatever you hoped I might be tonight. I’m sorry, for letting you down, for hurting you in ways I still don’t understand.”
She slides her hand over mine. Old love echoes in the bones, a ghost chord.
“Thank you,” she says. Then, after a long look that searches and accepts, “You must really love her. I’ve never heard you talk like this before.”
It hurts her to say; it doesn’t make it less true. She draws back, smooths her dress, collects her poise.
“Well. It’s getting late, and you’ve got a hundred things to do. Like always.”
I nod, grateful for the grace she grants both of us. “It never stops. Let me get you an Uber?”
“No.” She stands, and I stand too. “I’ll walk. It’ll clear my head.”
We have the familiar awkwardness of people who used to know where to put their hands. She solves it by stepping in and kissing my cheek, palm warm on my face.
“I love you, Rafe. I hope you get to behappy, finally. Even if it isn’t with me.”
Something opens and stings. I only nod because anything else would be unkind to everyone involved. She leaves. The bell rings and the room breathes again.
I pay, step back into the night, walk for a while until the air cools my head. Back at the hotel, the phone rings. Kasia's name pulses. For the first time when I could answer, I don’t. Not because I don’t want to hear her. Because I need to find the words that won’t make ripples on water that’s finally calm.I need the right key.
I put the phone face down. Lie back. Stare at the ceiling where the shadow of the chandelier looks like a wheel. I tell myself:One minute. Then call.I watch the minute dissolve, and the black comes instead, heavy, swallowing me before I can form her name on my tongue.
Chapter 63
Rendezvous
Rafe
Iwake up to chaos.
Someone’s shaking my shoulder and someone else is swearing and for a second I think we’re late for the flight until I make out Ronan’s voice, incredulous:
“Jesus Christ, Rafe, get up, you’re everywhere.”
The room swims into focus, Rithy perched on the edge of the bed with a grin too big for morning, Kiri standing at the foot of it scrolling furiously on his phone, Ronan by the window with his arms crossed like a teacher about to hand out detentions.
“What—” I rasp, voice gravel. “What the hell’s happening?”
“You might want to sit up for this,” Kiri says.
“Iamsitting up.”
Rithy holds up a paper like a priest brandishing a cursed relic. The front page shows a grainy, super-zoomed shot, me and Emily at the café last night. Her hand over mine. Her face turned toward me mid-laugh. The headline, in block letters across the top:
OBELUS’ SECRET RENDEZVOUS: REKINDLING AN OLD FLAME?
