were tan, and his socks were white, and he wore Nikes. He had a paper napkin spread out on his lap, and he was eating a capicola sandwich.
Marco held up his beer bottle, saluting him. ‘Mr. Hawk. Join me, please.’
Chris ducked under the shower of rain falling from the edges of the umbrella. ‘It’s not much of a day for a picnic, Marco.’
The squat motel owner waved his hand dismissively. His skin was damp, and his wiry salt-and-pepper hair was wet. ‘Rain is nothing. I love the rain. This is a gorgeous day.’
‘If you say so.’ He pointed at an empty chair next to Marco. ‘Are you expecting someone?’
Marco shrugged. ‘You.’
‘How did you know I was coming?’
‘I didn’t, but here you are. My wife always used to set an extra place at our dinner table, just in case someone showed up. She did that every night of the week for more than thirty years.’
‘How often did someone arrive?’ Chris asked.
‘Not once!’ Marco chortled.
Chris sat down on the rickety folding chair. Marco reached into a cooler of ice and offered him a dripping beer, but Chris shook his head. ‘Too early for me,’ he said.
‘How about half a sandwich? This is my favorite meal. I ship in my sausage from Chiaramonte’s. Some things in life I refuse to do without.’
‘It smells amazing, but no thanks.’
Marco took a large mouthful of his sandwich. The crusty bread made a loud crunch as he bit into it. A dollop of brown mustard leaked out the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it up with his finger.
‘I saw you packing your bag,’ he said.
‘Are you leaving me?’
‘That’s right.’ Chris handed him his motel key, and Marco shoved it into a pocket. ‘My ex-wife and I decided it would be easier if I stayed at her place. That way I can be close to Olivia.’
Marco winked, and his jowly face brightened. ‘Close to your wife, too, eh?’
‘I think she wants to be friends again. I’m not sure it’s anything more than that.’
‘You sound like you’d like it to be something more,’ he said.
‘In a perfect world, sure.’
‘Who says anything has to be perfect?’ Marco asked. ‘God screwed up the world the first time, didn’t he? You screw up, you try again. I’d love to have one more fight with my wife, just so we could make up.’
‘I thought you were soul mates,’ Chris said, smiling.
‘Oh, lovers argue better than anyone else, you know that. I’d scream at her that she worked too hard, she traveled too much. She’d scream at me that she hated what I did, she hated the risks. Then we’d drink wine and have sex.’
‘That does sound perfect.’
‘See? You’re a smart man, Mr. Hawk. Of course, the key to a happy marriage is to marry a woman who’s much smarter than you are. Fortunately for us men, that’s easy to do.’
Chris laughed. ‘True.’
‘Why did you and your wife split up? You sound like a love match. I hope you didn’t cheat on her.’
‘No, nothing like that.’
‘I didn’t think so. You strike me as a man of honor, Mr. Hawk.’ He added, ‘So what was it between you?’
‘If you ask Hannah, she’d say I forgot my priorities.’
‘Is that true?’
Chris watched the rain, and he acknowledged the reality for the first time. ‘Yes, I guess it is.’
‘Then change them.’
‘I’m here,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure it’s enough.’
‘Well, what are you willing to give up to get her back? Have you asked yourself that?’
‘Three years ago, I didn’t see why I should give up anything at all,’ he said.
‘And now?’
‘Now, I think I’d give up just about everything to have what we had.’
Marco calmly ate his sandwich and swallowed down his beer. ‘Sometimes that’s what it takes. Of course, the past is long gone. You can only build something different. Life changes, my friend.’
‘Are you a motel owner, or are you a marriage counselor?’ Chris asked, smiling.
‘I’m just a busybody,’ Marco said, his mouth full. ‘My wife isn’t around to offer advice, so I have to fill in for her.’ When he swallowed, his face grew serious, and he reached out with a fist and thumped it on Chris’s knee. ‘Me, I would give up everything, too, if I could have my wife back. I don’t have that choice, Mr. Hawk, but you do. Grab it.’
‘It’s her choice, not mine.’
‘Or maybe she’s waiting for you to reach out to her. Someone has to extend a hand, you know?’
Chris stood up. The rain was as strong as ever. Even in the mild air, he felt a chill. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘Do that.’
‘It’s been a pleasure, Marco, but I have to go.’ Chris shook hands with the older man. ‘I know where to come if I need advice.’
‘Truly, the pleasure has been mine, Mr. Hawk. I wish you good luck in all things.’ Marco held the handshake without letting go and added in a dark voice, ‘Speaking of choices, I assume you did not burden yourself with revenge against those who harmed your daughter.’
Chris remembered standing outside Kirk Watson’s window. ‘I almost did.’
‘God doesn’t punish us for things we
‘I still have your gun,’ Chris said. ‘Would you like it back?’
‘My gun? I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Marco winked and whispered, ‘You keep it, Mr. Hawk. You never know when it will come in handy.’
‘Thanks.’
Chris left the motel owner sitting under the umbrella with his beer and the last bites of his capicola sandwich. He walked past the line of red doors toward his car. Most of the motel rooms were empty, but he heard a loud television blaring in one room and an even louder couple making love in another room. Everyone had different ways of escaping the rain.
Before he climbed inside his Lexus, he saw that he’d failed to latch the door on his own room. The wood was warped; the lock didn’t always catch. The door hung six inches ajar. He crossed through the curtain of water off the roof and reached for the knob to yank the door shut. As he did, he saw the weak glow of a lamp on the end table.
He was certain he’d turned it off as he left.
Chris pushed at the door with the toe of his shoe. The rusting hinges groaned in protest as it swung open. Cautiously, he stepped through the opening, smelling dampness and something else.
Perfume. He recognized the aroma. He’d smelled the same sweet cloud once before, on the steps of a box home on the streets of Barron.
Chris went inside. The forty-watt bulb under the lampshade left the room semi-dark with the curtains closed. Someone was waiting for him in the shadows. Tanya Swenson sat on the end of the motel bed.
35
‘How did you get here?’ Chris asked her.
Tanya was soaked to the bone in a blue T-shirt and jeans. Her arms hugged her chest. ‘There’s a place in the woods where you can pull off the highway and park. Johan showed it to me.’
Chris switched on the motel-room heater. The fan had a loud rattle. ‘You look cold. Pull the blanket around you.’
‘I’m okay.’
