And hey, this was exactly what I’d wanted: uninterrupted time with Kristen, the chance to reconnect, to discuss all the things we’d shoved under the rug from Chile and Cambodia. Plotting a treasure hunt, involving my friends, planning a weekend away—it was all so kind, so selfless, so Kristen. So why did I feel so uncomfortable? The satellite radio cut out, dropping the pop song Kristen was singing along to. She lifted her phone from the console.
“Here—cell service is gonna go in and out, too, but I have a ton of music downloaded.” She held it out. “DJ’s choice.”
I was perusing artists when a text came through, a flash of green and jolt of vibration, so that I couldn’t help but read it. I stared at it in confusion and felt my pulse ticking in my hands and ribs. It was from someone Kristen had put in her phone as Cindy Broker:
Kristen: Congratulations, Grand Management Services has approved your application for 450 Parkland Lane #2. When would you like to come into the office to sign the lease?
450 Parkland Lane. I knew exactly where that was.
I passed the For Rent sign every day.
It was a block and a half from my apartment.
CHAPTER 20
“You just got a text,” I said. “From your…broker?”
“Oh my God, what’d she say?”
I read it aloud, then looked over. Kristen was beaming as we whipped around a curve.
“I didn’t want to tell you until it was final,” she said, “but I’m officially moving back!”
“Whoa!” I stared out the windshield. On the side of the road, a cloud of flies furred a flattened raccoon. Eventually I shook my head. “So your old boss wasn’t able to get you into another department?”
“Y’know, I realized I’m done with Sydney.”
“Wow.” I snatched my water bottle from a cup holder. “What are you gonna do for work?”
“Well, now she’s trying to figure out a way to bring me back into the Milwaukee office!” Kristen flashed an openmouthed smile my way, like this was amazing!
“Wow,” I said again. Sudden sunlight tore into the windows; the trees here were snapped in half, all jutting out the same way. They looked like broken bones.
“Tornado,” Kristen said, following my gaze. “Last summer. Hundred-mile-an-hour winds.”
“Jeez.” I looked at her. I was happy, truly, but not in the uncomplicated way she was. I so desperately wanted to match her excitement level. I wanted to sit my emotions down and bully them into compliance. “I can’t believe you’re moving back!”
“I’m ready for a change. I did almost two years in Australia. People don’t understand how far it is from everything. Even Asia is, like, fifteen hours away.”
“Damn.” I nodded. “Well, that’s great, then!”
“And wait till you see this place I found—it’s so cute and so close to you!”
“Awesome!” Why were things so weird between us right now? What I wouldn’t give to regain the feeling of closeness we’d had in Chile, pre-Paolo, the two of us together in a safe, warm womb. I wanted it the way I’d wanted to fall back in love with Ben all those years ago, before he hit me—when the biggest problem was that I felt nothing. Now, all I felt was a heavy, hovering anxiety.
Relax, Emily. With a little patience, we’d get through this rough patch and go back to being Kremily. She and Aaron would grow close, too, and my Milwaukee life would feel complete.
And this weekend in the woods? It would be good for us, a perfect place to start.
Kristen cleared her throat. “Hey, you ever gonna turn on some tunes?”
“Right, sorry.” I chose an album, something appropriately upbeat and celebratory, and we wound through the forest without passing another soul. Maybe we really were the only people alive.
* * *
—
We parked on the broad, flat pad near the street, then clambered down a path carved between tall trees—fat firs and slim birches and ragged-barked popples. Pine needles crunched under our feet as we approached the front door. Behind us, the lake was magnificent: rippling and alive, reflecting the bloat of moss-green foliage directly across from us.
Kristen fumbled with the lock and then heaved open the front door. The smell hit me like an old song: pleasantly musty, sweet pine and funk. She began opening blinds, and as sunshine soaked the interior I took in the antler chandelier, the green-and-cream-striped sofa, the stack of logs and old Bon Appétit magazines piled by the stout woodstove. She insisted I take the largest bedroom, the one with a soaking tub in the en suite bathroom. She took her usual room down the hall.
“And watch out for rabbit poop,” she called as I unzipped my bag. “In the closets and stuff. Apparently a family keeps getting in and making a mess. I wanna kill the little assholes—they ruined these gorgeous moccasins I gave Nana for Christmas.”
“Aw. Bunny just wants a nice Airbnb,” I murmured to myself.
We changed into bathing suits and dragged lawn chairs out to the boat dock （not to be confused with Grandpa’s Pier, on the opposite end of the property）。 I followed waves with my eyes, watched them scatter around lily pads, get punctured by reeds. An azure bluet dragonfly, pretty as a piece of turquoise, landed on my knee and cocked its head. This is going to be great, I thought. And having Kristen down the street will be wonderful. I needed to stop girding my loins around her. Don’t we elicit whatever we anticipate?
“This place is so healing,” I said, glancing her way. “I feel like it’s already helping me release some stuff. From Cambodia. And…Chile.”
She was quiet, the only sound the waves slapping against the dock. Would she fiiinally open up about it?
“You know what else is good for that?” she said. The lawn chair creaked as she rose from it. “Wine. Let’s run to the grocery store before it gets too crowded.”
She strode toward the cabin, shoulders loose, hips swaying. Like someone without a care in the world.
* * *
—
At the Lakewood Supervalu, we zoomed around the aisles, joking as we piled things into the cart. We tossed supplies for s’mores atop a case of spiked seltzer, nestled bottles of wine among the fixings for burgers and brats. Kristen selected two T-bone steaks from the case: “A dinner fit for the birthday queen.”
Back at the cabin, we chitchatted as we put the groceries away—mundane stuff, purposely avoiding anything about Chile or Cambodia this time. It felt so normal that for a second I forgot about the past, the rough-skinned men who’d attacked us, the lives we’d snuffed out, the people who were looking for them, for us. I felt a sudden, swooping ache for how our lives had been, the friendship we used to have. It felt like homesickness.
“Oh my God, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Kristen dropped a loaf of bread and rushed over to me.
“I’ve been so worried. About you, about being caught…about everything.” My voice teetered and I swiped at my cheeks.
“Aw, Emily, it’s okay! We’re not going to get caught.”
I snuffled. “It’s not just that.”
She gazed at me, her eyes tender.
“I just…you’ve been acting so normal. Like this huge and terrible thing didn’t happen. How are you so…fine?”