The Thinnest Air

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The Thinnest Air Page 18

by Minka Kent


  “You had me followed,” I state, not asking. My mouth runs dry. He nods.

  “Anyway, after that I was willing to turn a blind eye to your little . . . indiscretion. Lord knows I’m not perfect.” He takes me in, watching for my reaction. He wants to see me in pain—the same pain I caused him.

  “So you cheated, too?” I deserve this gut punch, and I know it.

  “Almost.” He chuckles, gazing away, but his smile fades. “I tried once. Got to the hotel, started taking off her clothes, but then I stopped. I thought it would make me feel vindicated. Thought I’d feel better. But it only made me feel worse because, Meredith, you’re the only one I want to be with. Such a fucking shame you didn’t feel the same.”

  “I’m sorry, Andrew.” I rise, going to him, but he recoils when I reach for his arm.

  This is bad.

  Beyond bad.

  But we can fix this. He still loves me—he wouldn’t be so angry if he didn’t.

  The weight of what I’ve done sinks into my bones. My eyes mist, clouding my vision.

  “You need to make this right,” he says, as if the solution to our problem lies solely in my hands. His tone is ugly. Just like that my tears cease, and our eyes lock. His lips almost draw into a hint of a snarl. I see now that I disgust him. “I’ve worshipped the fucking ground you walked on since the moment we met. But you? You’re the one who couldn’t keep your clothes on the second some jackass with a badge paid you a little attention. Really, Meredith? Are you that insecure? Who are you? Because you’re sure as hell not the woman I married.”

  He’s right.

  He’s absolutely right.

  And I don’t even have an answer for him, though I wish I did.

  I’d be lying if I said there weren’t days I avoided my reflection in the mirror after returning from Ronan. The first few times, the girl staring back was ripe with shame and guilt and shameless sex hair, and I hardly recognized her.

  “And do you have any idea what this would do to my reputation if this got around?” he asks. “People entrust me with managing their money, their millions. Do you know how incompetent and clueless this would make me look? My beautiful wife running around on me? Finding pleasure in the arms of some blue-collar Cub Scout? I’ll be damned if my marriage to you turns me into gossip fodder.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask, falling to my knees in a last-ditch effort to physically show him I am willing to do what it takes to earn that look in his eyes again—the one he had the first time he told me he loved me. This may be melodramatic—it’s a desperate gesture—but I have to show him how sorry I am. “How can I make it up to you?”

  “I don’t know if you can.” He removes himself from my presence, his footsteps heavy.

  “So that’s it? You’re just going to walk off? End of discussion?” My voice is raised, broken.

  “I need some space,” he says from the stairs. “The fact that that fucking detective had the nerve to show up at my house and look me in the eyes after fucking my goddamned wife . . . has got me a little on edge.”

  Andrew leaves out the back door, marching toward the guesthouse, and I give him the distance he needs.

  Everything makes sense now.

  The hot and cold. The rough sex. The extremes our relationship has endured. He was hurt. He was in pain. And I did that to him.

  All this time, he knew.

  All this time, he still loved me.

  All this time, never once did he want to let me go.

  Harris was wrong. Andrew genuinely loves me. And if I’m lucky, our marriage can survive this.

  I can survive this.

  CHAPTER 32

  GREER

  Day Nine

  I try Harris’s phone for the fiftieth time, each attempt more in vain than the one before, and I hang up the second his greeting starts. The voice that once brought me comfort, made me feel loved and worthy, now makes me sick to my stomach.

  Sitting in the middle of his noiseless living room, I rifle through my contacts, trying to determine if anyone else might possibly know where to find him.

  I stop scrolling when I find his mother’s number. I haven’t seen or spoken with her in years, but I always kept her in my phone just in case. A retired professor, she lives in northern California now, and as far as I know, the two of them still speak on the phone at least once a day.

  Harris is a total mama’s boy—a quality I’d always found endearing over the years, ignoring the fact that she was oddly possessive of her only son and viewed his relationship with me as some kind of threat for the first several years. At some point, she came to accept the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere, and things were cordial after that.

  Pressing her name, I lift the phone to my ear, my heartbeat whooshing as it rings.

  “Hello?” Her familiar lilt answers. “Deborah Collier speaking.”

  She must have deleted my number after Harris and I called it quits.

  “Deborah, it’s Greer,” I say.

  I’m met with momentary silence before she clears her throat. “Oh, yes. Greer. Hi. It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes,” I say, picking at a loose thread on Harris’s sofa. “It has.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear about the situation with your sister,” Deborah says. “I’ve been watching the news every day, trying to stay on top of the story, but unfortunately there doesn’t seem to be much to stay on top of lately.”

  Thanks for the reminder.

  “Do you know where Harris is?” I cut to the chase.

  I’m met with silence. She knows something; I know she does.

  “I need to find him,” I say. “He’s not answering his phone, and Jake at Steam says he hasn’t heard from him in days. I’d been speaking to him on the phone almost every day while I was gone, and he led me to believe he was still in New York running the stores . . . but he lied to me, Deborah. And I need to find him. I need to know why he lied.”

  She exhales. “Oh, Greer. I . . . I don’t want to get involved.”

  “Deborah.” I say her name with force and grit. “I know you talk every day. Where is he?”

  “Yes,” she says. “We speak often, but not every day. We spoke a few days ago, matter of fact. I guess I just assumed he was at home.”

  Massaging my temple, I draw in a breath of stale apartment air and let it go. “Do you have any idea where he might be? Any idea at all?”

  “I wouldn’t even begin to know where he’d run off to.” She speaks of him like he’s some playful, elfin child.

  “If he did something . . . ,” I say, voice trembling. Heat creeps up my neck, blooming to my ears. Never once did the notion that Harris had anything to do with Meredith’s disappearance cross my mind. Until now it had been an absolute impossibility. Anyway, I don’t know if he’s with my sister. All I know is he’s gone and she’s gone, and there are no such things as coincidences. “If he had anything to do with my sister’s disappearance and you’re withholding information that could lead to her, you’re going—”

  “My son would never cause harm to a woman.” Deborah’s voice is raised, drenched in a shrill tone she’s never taken with me. “To even suggest that, Greer, is just . . .”

  “Fine,” I say. “If you’re so convinced he didn’t do anything wrong, then tell me where to look for him.”

  She pauses, mulling over her answer, perhaps, and then she exhales. “There’s our family cabin in Vermont.”

  I remember.

  The first year we dated, he was trying to impress me with his survivalist skills, and we road-tripped it to Rushing, Vermont, where his family owned a basic cabin that had been in the family for generations. It had running water and indoor plumbing, a fireplace, but no AC. The house was seldom used, smelled like mildew, and was nestled on a mosquito-infested lake, but we had a blast.

  Then again, we were in love. We would’ve had the time of our lives anywhere.

  “You think he went there?” I ask.

  “A few m
onths ago, he was asking if anyone was going to be using the cabin this month. He was itching for a vacation, said he’d been working too much and wanted to disconnect,” she says. “Now that I think about it, I told him it was all his, and he said he’d get back to me, but he never did. I just assumed he changed his mind.”

  “If you hear from him, Deborah, you need to let me know,” I say. “It’s very important.”

  “Will do,” she says, but I don’t trust her.

  I’d tell her my sister’s life is on the line, but she’d probably laugh. Her perfect, God’s-gift son, a born and bred feminist, would never so much as lay a hand on the finer sex, she’d say.

  “What’s the address to the cabin?” I ask before I let her go.

  She hesitates before exhaling. “Seventy-three Goodwin Road in Rossford Township, but I can assure you he isn’t there.”

  “Then where is he?”

  “Like I said, Greer, I don’t know. But I doubt he’s at the cabin. He would’ve said something.”

  “Please let me know if you hear from him.” Ending the call, I type the address into my phone before I forget it; I save it before dialing Ronan. Ronan and Harris are complete strangers. If Harris is involved in this, if he ran off with my sister, I need someone to help track them down, someone as desperate as I am to find her. Someone who can make sense of all this because I’m sick with confusion.

  “So what do you think?” I ask Ronan after word vomiting every minute detail of the last two hours of my life.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions,” he says, breaking his silence. “And for the love of God, don’t go out there alone. Wait for me.”

  “I don’t have time to wait for you. You’re on the other goddamned side of the country.”

  “I’ll get on the next flight, meet you in Vermont,” he says. “Promise you’ll wait for me, Greer.”

  “I will.”

  “And whatever you do, do not call the police,” he says. “If Harris was clever enough to organize this entire thing, he’s probably listening to local scanners. He’ll know if anyone’s been dispatched or if the police there have been told to look for a man matching his description. We want him to think he’s under the radar. Last thing we need is a moving target. He doesn’t know you came home, right?”

  He’s on it. He’s a pit bull, spouting directives and trying to stay two steps ahead of this entire situation in real time. He wouldn’t do this if he were guilty, if he had something to do with this.

  I have no proof that Harris is with my sister. All I know is he’s gone, his stuff is gone, and he clearly didn’t want me to know.

  “No,” I answer.

  “He doesn’t know you’re looking for him?”

  “No.” I palm my forehead. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “His mom. If she talks to him, she’s going to tell him I’m looking for him.”

  “Call her back. Tell her it’s absolutely imperative that she not share that with him,” he says. “That could jeopardize everything.”

  “I’ll try,” I say, exhaling. Her loyalty isn’t exactly to me these days.

  “I’ll text once I book my flight, Greer,” he says, breathy almost, like he’s scrambling around packing a bag. “We’re going to find her. We’re going to bring her home safe, I promise.”

  And I believe him.

  If he didn’t love my sister, didn’t want to save her, he wouldn’t be hopping on the next plane to Vermont to try to find her with me.

  CHAPTER 33

  MEREDITH

  Three Months Ago

  Three times last week.

  Four times in the last two days.

  “I’m beginning to think you’re following me,” I say to Ronan as I pass him in the cereal aisle at Hawthorne Food Market at two o’clock on a Wednesday.

  It’s like he’s everywhere I go lately. Every stoplight. Every gas station. Every random side street. And maybe I’m exaggerating, but when you go from hardly seeing a man to seeing him every other day, it’s tough to disregard.

  Ronan smirks, grabbing a box of peanut butter Cap’n Crunch from a middle shelf. I tell myself I’m making this worse than it really is. Anyone who wears a badge around his neck and eats children’s cereal for breakfast is harmless.

  “Was about to say the same thing to you,” he says, pushing his cart closer and eyeing the bags of Halloween candy in mine. “You’re everywhere I go lately.”

  Checking my watch, I realize I have to leave soon to get Calder and Isabeau from school. “Guess I’ll see you around?”

  I chuckle, trying to make light of a bizarre series of events and ignore the strange lump in my throat.

  Ronan’s eyes flash, and his smirk fades. “Oh.”

  He must realize I’m slighting him.

  “I have to get the kids,” I say, pointing toward the checkouts. “Need to get in line early. You know how crazy pickup can be if you don’t get there at a certain time.”

  No, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t have kids. And the fact that I’m being all awkward with this conversation isn’t helping the situation. He knows he’s making me nervous.

  “How have you been, Meredith?” he asks, ignoring my attempt to exit this exchange.

  My brows rise. “Good. You?”

  His lips tighten. “I hate this.”

  Glancing around to ensure we’re alone in this colorful aisle, I step closer. “You hate what, Ronan?”

  “How awkward this is,” he says. “It’s like we’re a couple of strangers now.”

  “Ronan.”

  “I want to be able to say hi to you without making you all flustered,” he says. “Without making you scramble in the opposite direction.”

  “I really do have to get the kids,” I say, eyeing the checkout once more.

  “It’s two o’clock,” he says. “You have plenty of time. Just . . . do me a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When we see each other around, don’t ignore me. Don’t make it a thing. Just wave. Say hi. We can be adults about this.” His thumb hooks his belt loop, and he hasn’t taken his eyes off me once.

  “This really isn’t the time or place.” I scan the aisle again, thanking my lucky stars when a woman from the gym glances down and keeps walking. She didn’t see me. Didn’t see us.

  “Shit.” He covers his face with his hands. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I forget you’ve got more skin in the game than I do.”

  “I really should go.”

  “Can we talk sometime?” he asks as I push my cart away.

  “About?” Not that I’d say yes. Curiosity has gotten the best of me.

  Ronan follows me, the wheels of his cart clicking against the tile floor. “There’s something I think you should know. About your husband.”

  My heart falls like a dead weight. “What about my husband?”

  “I’d rather tell you in private.”

  I refuse to go anywhere with him. I’ve been doing so well lately, working on my marriage, focusing on Andrew and renewing my commitment to him. I’m not proud of what I did. It was selfish and wrong, and I’m not about to tiptoe off for some secret meeting with an ex-lover.

  “Meet me in the parking lot after I check out,” I tell him. “I’ll give you five minutes, and then I have to go.”

  He follows me toward the front of the store, and I hold my breath until he chooses a different lane. A few minutes later, I’m wheeling my groceries to the fifth parking spot in the last row, and he’s strutting out the automatic doors, two bags in his muscled arms.

  I watch as he heads to his truck, dropping them in the back, and then comes my way.

  “So?” I ask, slamming the lid of the trunk. “What’s this thing you think I should know about my husband?”

  With folded arms, he widens his stance, studying me. “I have reason to suspect he’s been cheating on you.”

  “Do you have evidence?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Nothing hard. Nothing tangible
that I can present to you. But I’m working on it.”

  “Stop.” I push past him, heading toward the driver’s door. “Please just . . . stop meddling. Stay out of my marriage. I know we have issues. Neither of us is perfect. We’re just trying to make this work.”

  I don’t believe him.

  Or maybe I just don’t want to.

  Either way, I know one thing’s for sure: I don’t want Ronan involving himself in any of this.

  Andrew’s been a dream lately. I think he’d say the same for me.

  We’ve come too far, worked way too hard.

  And now we’re trying to start a family. Officially. Both of us on the same page, both of us equally excited about this next chapter.

  “So that’s it?” he asks.

  My grip pauses on the door handle. “What do you mean?”

  “I tell you your husband’s cheating, and you walk off like I’m the asshole in this situation?” Ronan scoffs, his finger digging into his chest, trembling almost.

  My gaze flicks into his, and I gather that this was never really over . . . not for him. How long has he been pining for me? Silently waiting in the wings? Wishing for another opportunity?

  “You picked the wrong guy,” he says, voice cracking.

  “It was never you against him,” I say, keeping my voice low and moving closer. “I married him. My choice was always going to be him.”

  Ronan’s expression darkens, jaw flexing and stare hardening.

  “I love Andrew,” I say. “You were my escape. My little cheap thrill. But he’s my husband.”

  “Convenient how little that mattered when you were fucking me.” He spits his words at me, lingers for a moment, towering over me.

  “I’m pregnant.” I hate to lie to him, but clearly, he’s hurting for closure. And I might as well be expecting. We’ve been trying like crazy. It’s bound to happen sooner or later.

  Ronan’s eyes water, and his hands lift to the back of his head. He steps backward, away. And then he’s gone. Climbing into his truck, he peels away, and I exhale, watching his taillights grow dim in the distance.

 

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