The Perfect Stranger (Social Media #2)(48)

Wondering whether Elena will be able to fly out as planned, Landry gazes past her row mates, noting the still-gray sky beyond the portal. Then the man in the window seat abruptly pulls the shutter down, obliterating her view.

She looks around for another portal and once again makes eye contact with the man across the aisle.

“So where do you live in Alabama?” he asks.

She keeps the answer vague: “Baldwin County.”

“Me too. Gulf Shores. Right on the beach.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. Alabama is the best place in the world to retire, did you know that?”

“Is that a statistic?”

“No. Opinion. Mine. My wife wanted to go to Florida, but I won that battle. I don’t win many, believe me. But that was the important one.”

Wife—so he has a wife. She relaxes at last. He’s just a nice, friendly guy making conversation to pass the time. Nothing more.

“You’re not that far from Florida,” she points out. “The panhandle, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, my wife was thinking Boca. She has family there. Too fancy for my blood. Hers too—but she wouldn’t admit it.”

“How does she like Alabama?”

“Loves it. What’s not to love? Can’t beat the weather, or the friendly people, or the tax breaks.”

“So you’re both retired?”

“Not exactly. The wife’s in real estate, so she got licensed down there, and I’m licensed down there, too.”

“To do what?”

“Pack a pistol,” he says with a grin. “What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just kidding around. Well, not about the gun license. But it’s just for my job.” He reaches into his pocket, takes out his wallet, passes her a white business card. “Here. In case you ever need me. You never know.”

She looks down.

BRUCE MANGIONE, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR AND PERSONAL SECURITY

“No, you never know,” she agrees, and tucks the card into her bag.

“I can’t believe you’re spending all this time and money to go to a funeral for a perfect stranger,” Tony tells Elena as they barrel along interstate 93 toward Logan Airport.

“She’s not a stranger. She’s a friend. One of the closest friends I—”

“You never even met her!”

“So? I have plenty of friends I’ve never met.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just . . .”

He doesn’t bother to complete the comment, and Elena isn’t about to ask him to.

Jaw set, she keeps her head turned toward the passenger’s window, eyes fixated on the suburban landscape flashing past against an overcast sky.

Anything is better than looking at Tony.

Whenever she thinks about last night, she cringes. Of all the one night stands she’s ever had—and there have been plenty, more than she remembers—this is by far the worst. She doesn’t even like the man. How the hell did she end up bringing him home?

Oh, come on. You can guess, can’t you?

After a few too many glasses of wine, the usual loneliness and bad judgment set in . . .

That’s how it usually happens—more and more often, it seems.

You try to fill the gaping void left by your mother’s death, or your father’s neglect, or your own illness, or . . .

Who knows what really lies at the root of her problems? The only thing that’s certain is that she feels empty inside; has felt empty for a long time now. Most of her life, but the real problem started when she got sick.

So she tries to fill the emptiness with booze, and empty talk, and meaningless sex . . .

Tony Kerwin. For God’s sake.

When are you going to learn?

Sometimes, the morning-after haze is frustrating, and she struggles to piece together the events of the evening before. But in this case, she realizes, amnesia might actually be a blessing.

“So you said this woman is someone you got to know online?” Tony asks.

“Did I?”

“Last night.”

“Oh.”

Maybe amnesia isn’t a blessing.

What else did I say to him last night? she wonders nervously. How much does he know about Meredith—and the others? About me?

“Did you ever even talk to her on the phone?” Tony asks.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t get it.”

She shrugs and gestures at the car in front of them. “You might want to back off that guy’s bumper.”

“I thought you were in a hurry.”

“I’d like to get there alive. Back off, okay? Please?”

He ignores her.

Damn him.

Thank goodness the school year is almost over. Another few weeks and she won’t have to see him again until fall. By then this will have blown over.

That she was forced to accept a ride to the airport from him is beyond maddening, but what choice did she have? There wasn’t time to collect her own car from the restaurant parking lot, nor even time to arrange for a car service. Her only option was to let Tony drive her—or miss the flight.

Even now that might happen. She steals a quick glance at the dashboard clock. They’re cutting it really close. Maybe the tailgating is okay after all.