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In Istanbul, Oriana sat at an airport bar, nursing a glass of wine, and texting the people she loved, so far away on Martha’s Vineyard. Even Roland chimed in, wishing her good luck on her big trip.
Meghan had written:
Hey! Just wanted to say congrats on the big sale in Bangkok. Question (and don’t take this the wrong way): is there something wrong? Ever since we returned from New York, I’ve felt like you’re avoiding me for some reason. I know, I know. It’s not all about me. But I’m slightly worried that you’re angry, and I would love to know what I did wrong so I can fix it.
Oriana closed her eyes and pressed her phone against her chest. She had to make it seem that everything was fine.
ORIANA: Don’t worry about a thing! I’ve been stressed with work stuff (no excuse, I know). Let’s catch up when I’m back, okay?
ORIANA: I’ll bring you a great souvenir.
On the flight from Istanbul to Bangkok, Oriana was just tired enough to slip in and out of consciousness for hours, frequently falling into nightmares before bursting awake. In the dreams, peers of hers in the city were shaming her, telling her they’d always known she was a fraud, that they’d always suspected she’d gotten where she was criminally.
“Are you all right, madame?” A French stewardess paused and looked down at her in her airline seat.
“What? Oh. Yes. I’m fine. I’m…” Oriana sputtered. “Could you please pour me some wine?”
The stewardess returned with a glass, and Oriana sipped it, trying to steady her anxious mind. It was impossible to know what time it was or where she was in the world. Outside, it was dark. She would land close to midnight. The entire trip was twenty-two hours long and far from over.
At customs, Oriana placed her American passport on the counter and watched as the customs employee scanned it, glanced at her, and stamped a page toward the back. She was in.Had Brea come in just like this? How had she hidden herself so well? Even Rita had been impressed with her tactics.
Oriana couldn’t fathom how anyone could hide away this deep into the twenty-first century. Her phone tracked everywhere she went. She frequently posted photographs to social media. Not only did she feel she had nothing to hide (except for the 1998 incident), she felt eager to share her life.
After her suitcase arrived at baggage claim, Oriana wheeled it out into a balmy night. Taxis lined up like shiny yellow beetles, and one of the drivers hurried forward to take her suitcase. Her hotel was thirty minutes from the airport, a blissful drive during which she gazed out at the impossible darkness and listened to the Thai radio station.
Oriana’s hotel was quaint and very comfortable. The hotel concierge was careful to tell her they’d ordered “western mattresses” for each room, as traditional Thai mattresses were hard as cement. Apparently, previous customers had complained.
That night, Oriana slept like a rock and awoke at eight, her heart thudding with expectation. That afternoon, she had another flight to Ko Samui, followed by an immediate boat to Ko Tao.
Because she was twelve hours ahead of Martha’s Vineyard, it was eight p.m. yesterday there. That meant Reese was still up.
His voice was welcoming and bright when he answered her call. “There she is! Our world traveler. How were the flights?”
“Exhausting,” Oriana said, smiling into the phone. “I couldn’t sleep very much on the plane.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you don’t have too many meetings today?”
“Not many,” Oriana said.
“How’s Bangkok?”
Oriana’s hotel wasn’t fully in Bangkok, as she needed to get back to the airport. Out her window was rolling hills and a line of shimmering blue— the ocean.
“It’s crazy here,” Oriana lied, remembering what she’d learned of Bangkok. “It feels like the city never calms down.”
“I bet.”
“What are you up to? How’s home?”
Reese eased her mind with his boring roundup of what he and Benny had done, what they’d eaten, and the television shows he was watching. Oriana was grateful for the comfort of schedules, family, and going through the boring details of everyday life with her soul mate. She would have given almost anything to be there with them.
The flight to the island of Ko Samui was brief and easy. Out the window, Oriana watched the plane glide toward a lush green island in the midst of a turquoise sea. It looked like a Windows screensaver rather than real life.
She was beginning to understand why Brea had picked Thailand to hide out.
The boat to Ko Samui was a squat little ferry with very little speed. As they went, Oriana overheard an English tourist telling a friend that in another boat, they’d dropped all the tourists off still in the water, and he’d had to carry his bag over his head. “The water was up to my chest!” Oriana imagined the boat employees asking her to do that, to just “get out” when the boat hadn’t reached the shore. She would probably laugh at such a ridiculous request. After all, her clothes were Dior, and her shoes were Louboutin. No, she didn’t fit in with the rest of these tourists in their elephant pants and tank tops. But maybe she’d forgotten how to look casual after so many years of having to dress the part of a very important art dealer.
In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone somewhere without makeup, or a little underdressed, or without putting on a pair of expensive earrings. It had just become her state of permanent being.
