“What does that mean?”
“It means that money Owen left for Bailey? It’s legitimate earnings. It’s money Owen kept clean,” he says. “You’ll be entering WITSEC with a nice nest egg. Most people in our program don’t have anything close.”
“Sounds to me, Grady, that you’re saying if we decline, the money goes away…”
“If you decline, all of it goes away,” he says. “Being a family again, safely, goes away.”
I nod, knowing that’s what Grady’s trying to convince me of—that I should be on board with Bailey and me entering protection. That I need to be on board because everything is set up for Owen to join us in this new life. Everything is set up for our family to be reunited. New names, but reunited. Together.
Except this is what I can’t let go of despite Grady’s insistence, what I know Owen doesn’t want me to let go of. My doubt. My doubt when I think about the leak at WITSEC and when I think about Nicholas Bell. My doubt when I think about Owen’s hasty exit and what I know about him, which would explain it. The only thing that would explain it. Everything I know about Owen is convincing me of something else.
Grady is still talking. “We just need Bailey to understand that this is the best way to keep her as safe as possible,” he says.
As safe as possible. That stops me. Because he doesn’t just say safe. Because there is no safe. Not anymore.
Bailey isn’t wandering the streets, but she is on her way to this office and to a world in which to be as safe as possible, Grady is going to tell her she is going to have to become someone else. Bailey, no longer Bailey.
Unless, of course, I manage to stop it. All of it.
Which is when I brace myself against it. What I need to do now.
“Look, we can get into all of this,” I say. “The best way to handle Bailey. But I just need to go to the restroom first… splash some water on my face. I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours.”
He nods. “No problem.”
He holds the door open and I start to head out of the conference room, pausing in the doorway, pausing when I’m right next to him. I know this is the most important part, making him believe me.
“I’m so relieved she’s safe,” I say.
“Me too,” he says. “And look, this isn’t easy, I get that. But this is the best thing to do, and you’ll see, Bailey will get comfortable with it sooner than you think, and it won’t all seem so scary. You’ll get to be together and we’ll get to bring Owen to you as soon as he reemerges. I’m sure that’s what Owen’s waiting for now, to make sure you’re safe, first, make sure you’re all set up…”
Then he smiles. And I do the one thing I can. I smile back. I smile like I trust him that he knows why Owen is still gone, like I trust a relocation will be the answer he and his daughter need to be together. To be safe. Like I trust that anyone is capable of keeping Bailey safe—except for me.
Grady’s phone rings. “Give me a minute?” he says.
I point toward the restroom. “Can I?”
“Sure thing. Go ahead,” he says.
He is already walking toward the windows. He’s already focusing on whoever is on the other end of his phone call.
I head down the hall, and in the direction of the restroom, turning back to make sure Grady isn’t watching. He isn’t. His back is to me, his phone to his ear. He doesn’t turn around as I walk past the restroom’s door and the elevator, where I press the down button. He keeps staring out the conference room windows, staring at the rain while he talks.
The elevator arrives blessedly fast and I jump in, alone, pushing the close button. I’m in the lobby before Grady gets off his phone call. I’m outside, in the rain, before Sylvia Hernandez is sent into the ladies’ room to check on me.
I have turned the corner before she or Grady look on the conference room table and see what I left there for them to find. I left the note on the table, beneath the phone. The note that Owen left me. I left it for Grady.
Protect her.
And I walk at a quick clip down the unfamiliar Austin streets to be there for Bailey now, to be there for her and Owen the best way I know how, even though it’s taking me back to the last place I am supposed to go.
Everyone Should Take Inventory
Here’s what I know.
At night, before he went to sleep, Owen did two things. He turned on his left side and then he leaned into me, wrapping his arm around my chest. He would fall asleep that way—with his face against my back, his hand on my heart. He was peaceful.
He went for a run every morning to the foot of the Golden Gate Bridge and back home.
He would live on Pad Thai, given the choice.
He never took off his wedding ring even to shower.
He kept the windows open in the car. Ninety degrees or nine degrees.
He talked about going ice fishing on Lake Washington every winter. He never went.
He couldn’t turn off a movie, no matter how awful, until he’d made it to the credits.
He thought champagne was overrated.
He thought thunderstorms were underrated.
He was secretly afraid of heights.
He only drove a stick shift. He extolled the virtues of only driving a stick shift. He was ignored.
He loved taking his daughter to the ballet in San Francisco.
He loved taking his daughter on hikes in Sonoma County.
He loved taking his daughter for breakfast. He never ate breakfast.
He could make a ten-layer chocolate cake from scratch.
He could make some mean coconut curry.
He had a
