“I know. A person, growing inside me. Our person.”
“It’s our job to protect him. Don’t you see? For his sake, we have to get away from here. Take the down payment money and run. We’ll do it ourselves, so there are no leaks, no one who can give us up.”
“Yeah, there’s a problem with that. Not only will we have the bad guys on our tail, we’ll have the FBI.”
“I agree it would be tough to pull off. We’d have to plan carefully. Identify a place to go. Find a secure way to get false documents. It could take months, and nobody can know. But we’re smart and resourceful and determined. And we have the greatest motivation in the world now. We can do it. I know we can.”
He took her in his arms, stroking her hair. She listened to his heartbeat and thought about a life far away. A backyard, a swing set, a little boy with Matthew’s eyes. In that moment, she believed it was possible.
* * *
Kathryn stood in the dim light of the funeral home, her hand on Matthew’s casket. It was the first time she’d seen him since identifying the body. He’d been found shot dead in the driveway of their rental house in Wellesley, not by Kathryn, but by a neighbor who’d heard shots fired and called the police. The neighbor didn’t see much. Just a car speeding away. There was no description of the killer, no license plate, not even a reliable model on the car. But Kathryn knew exactly what happened. The people who pulled her strings, who sent those bullets in the mail, made good on their threat. They murdered the man she loved to send the message that there was no escape.
That was two days ago, and she hadn’t slept or eaten since. The service was tomorrow. This was her last chance to be alone with him. Soon Matthew’s parents would arrive. It might even become contentious. They wanted a closed casket, but Kathryn preferred to show the world how they’d murdered her beautiful love. The bullets shattered his skull so badly that no amount of sutures or putty or pancake makeup could hide the wreckage. She had to look past it, to see the familiar lines of his face, so they could talk. She told him about visiting the graveyard where he’d lie, and how she wanted to join him there as soon as possible. The ground is hard at the moment. It smells like snow is coming. But we can handle seasons, right, babe? In spring, I bet it’s pretty there. Daffodils, robins. In summer, the sun will be warm on the grass, like on the Common when we’d walk, do you remember? I want to come with you so bad. I hate that you’ll be alone. It’s only Ollie holding me back.
Oliver. Ollie. Their son. They’d taken to calling the baby that even though it was too soon to find out the sex, picking Grace for a girl just in case. How to protect Ollie should be at the forefront of her mind right now. But all she could think of was Matthew.
Hearing footsteps, she turned, composing her expression for Matthew’s mother. But it wasn’t her.
“How dare you show your face,” she said, spitting with rage as she advanced on Ray. “Get out of here before I fucking kill you.”
She picked up an empty vase from the table where the guestbook was displayed, hefting it in her hand, ready to smash it into a cutting blade. She would slash his throat with it and laugh while he bled out.
He backed away, raising his hands defensively.
“Whoa, whoa, Kathy, this is not on me. You must know, no matter how you disappoint me, I couldn’t do that to you. Or order it, or even know about it advance. They kept it from me.”
“Who did? I want names.”
“What good would that do?”
“It was Charlie, wasn’t it? That fucking pervert. He was jealous.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. They wouldn’t ask him, and he would never agree.”
“Bullshit. Them. They. These shadowy people don’t exist. They’re ghosts you make up to cover your own ass. This conspiracy has only ever been Eddie, and you, and Charlie, and her. Anyone else is hired help.”
“That’s just not true. If it was, would I have warned you? I told you what would happen. I tried to head it off. But you wouldn’t listen. Instead, you did the worst thing possible. You decided to run. You think they weren’t gonna find out?”
The vase slid from her hand, bouncing on the rug.
“No.”
“Yes. The guy you went to, to get your passports done? He narced on you.”
She sat down on the nearest chair and started to cry, struggling to get words out.
“How … do you know that … if you’re not involved?”