A Million Miles Away(40)

Something worked behind Sam’s gaze that made her uneasy. He didn’t have the usual nervous politeness of a stranger.

“I have to be extra careful in my business, buying and selling beagles,” he began. “I only buy certain lines of heritage, and I pay a lot for them. People try to pass off common beagles for rare breeds, but there are ways to tell. Markings. Affinity for the hunt.” He leaned closer to her. “I can also tell when a person is trying to sell me bullshit. Their body language. Their eyes.”

Kelsey said nothing.

“You have any brothers or sisters?” he asked, as innocent as can be.

Kelsey choked on the champagne she was drinking.

When she recovered, she took a minute to answer, staring absently at the crowd. “A sister,” she finally said. “My twin.”

“What’s her name?”

“Kelsey,” she answered quietly.

“Kelsey,” he repeated.

“Yes,” she said, her fist tightening around her glass.

“You know what? I knew that. Peter told me that. I saw a picture of you.”

“Of me?”

“Of you and your sister. Or maybe it was just you. Which one was it?”

The snakes were back in Kelsey’s stomach, winding their way around. “What do you mean which one?”

“Which picture did you give Peter?” When she didn’t answer, her throat frozen tight, he kept going. “Which painting does Peter have?” His voice was louder now, and he picked up the candle sitting beside them. “Peter said you spoke French. What is ‘candle’ in French?”

Kelsey couldn’t move from her position, her eyes wide. He knew. He could tell, somehow. Slowly, she turned her gaze to Peter. Still occupied. Still happy. Out of range.

Sam leaned closer, following her eyes to Peter across the room. “I don’t know what game you’re playing,” he said. “But you should leave him out of it.”

Kelsey sighed, looking around to make sure no one could hear. Sam knew she was lying. She might as well explain herself. “Peter is the only reason I’m playing in the first place.”

They looked at each other, best friend and alleged girlfriend, and finally, in a trickle to a flow, Kelsey poured it all out. Every detail she had held in for so long. The day Michelle died. Her trip to the Army Recruiter’s office. The first Skype call. The letters. She told him the whole myth of Michelle, explaining that if it fell apart, then the only person who still believed in that myth would also be destroyed.

Sam sat quietly with his empty beer glass, absorbing Kelsey’s confession. Then he spoke. “Well, first of all, I don’t think Peter’s the only person who still believes in her. You do, too. That much is clear.”

Kelsey nodded, staring at the floor. She felt drained. Dry.

She looked up at him. “Please don’t tell Peter. Not yet.”

“I won’t,” he said, his brow furrowed. “It’s not my crazy, insane, totally nutso secret to tell.”

Kelsey smiled, half relieved. “Thank you. Really, thank you.”

Sam stood up. “But it is yours to tell.” He bobbed his head toward Peter. “And he deserves the truth.”

“You’re right.” There was no doubt about that. That part was easy, to agree to it, to say it. To do it was the tough thing. And she would. Perhaps after another glass of champagne.

“Now, pardon me, ma’am, but…” He began to drift away, squeezing through the tables. “After that, I need another beer.”

As Sam left, Peter and Phil made their way over to their corner.

Phil pointed toward the jukebox, tipsy. “That guy’s from Kansas! I’ve never been to Kansas but what are the odds?”

Peter, beside him, pointed in the air, his eyes sparkling. “Listen,” he said.

Kelsey recognized the song from Michelle’s playlists. It was “Baby” by the Cicadas, the same band Peter had sang for her over Skype the day he received his guitar. The twanging sounded over a slow bossa nova beat, the lyrics in buttery Portuguese.

Peter took her hand. “Will you dance with me?”

Kelsey stood up, and led him to a space near the jukebox, ignoring Sam’s pointed looks as he loitered near the bar.

She needed not to care so much, just for a moment. She was also tipsy, and Peter was so handsome, and they didn’t have much time left of being a regular guy with a regular girl, dancing in a bar across the ocean. She put one of his hands around her waist as they swayed, and took the other, letting him twirl her.

He laughed in surprise at her assured movements, and soon he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She smiled back at him, letting everything else melt away.

Peter had asked Kelsey the only question she would always have the answer to. Wherever she was, whoever she was, no matter how much she had messed up, the answer was the same. Yes, she would dance. She would always dance.


The next day, the four of them stood in the airport, where they had met just thirty-six hours earlier. Kelsey had never seen time pass so quickly. That morning, at the break of dawn, the three soldiers had changed into their fatigues and taken turns in the bathroom with an electric buzzer, slicing centimeters of hair back down to regulation length.

Their gates were on opposite ends of the terminal, and as they watched the departures screen, the flight to Kansas City via London began to flash. Kelsey’s plane had started boarding.