Unmissing(25)

“I’ve got it,” Merritt says, though I didn’t see Luca offer.

The moment she disappears, I reach across the table and place my hand over his. My throat squeezes and my stomach roils. I’m hopeful that one day I’ll be able to tolerate human touch again.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about this moment.” I keep my voice low, out of Merritt’s earshot. “Seeing you again.”

His eyes flash, but he remains statue still.

This must feel dreamlike to him.

I scan the beautiful surroundings of his kitchen, a never-ending expanse of marble and stainless steel, the abundance of fresh flowers and meticulously styled accessories—cutting boards, a butter bell, a vintage recipe tin, copper salt and pepper mills. It’s a far cry from our humble beginnings in that run-down one-bedroom apartment on the east side of Bent Creek.

“Looks like you’ve done pretty well for yourself since I died,” I say.

His jaw sets and his temples pulse. “I don’t understand . . . why didn’t you go to the police after you were shot?”

“Because I wanted to find you first. I wanted you to hear the good news from me—not some small-town sheriff’s deputy.” Head tilted, I offer a warm smile. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Sure, I could walk into the Bent Creek police department and speak to a skeptical detective who begrudgingly digs my case file out of an old storage unit. Proving my identity would likely require a DNA test, and those things take time. At that point, word would easily get out that a formerly missing-and-presumed-dead wife of a local businessman is very much alive.

After everything I’ve been through, I at least deserve to be the bearer of my own good news.

“This is . . . a lot to take in.” He forces a hard breath through his nostrils. “Where are you staying?”

“I’ve been taken in by a woman who runs a shop on the square,” I say. “She drove me here tonight, actually. She’s helping me get on my feet. Thinks of me like her daughter, in a way. I’d love for you two to meet sometime.”

I’m getting ahead of myself. And maybe exaggerating the daughter thing. But I want him to know I’m planting roots and making connections here, because I don’t intend to disappear into the night ever again.

“Okay.” Merritt returns, kimono billowing and glossy curls springing with each hurried stride. I casually remove my hand from Luca’s. She doesn’t seem to notice the exchange, or if she does, she pretends not to. “Got Elsie situated. Did I miss anything?”

Did she miss anything? What kind of question is that? This isn’t a made-for-TV movie—this is my life.

“I was just telling Luca I needed to head out.” I retrieve my flip phone from my jacket pocket and text Delphine. It’s clear I won’t be able to have the conversation I need to have with my husband as long as his wife is around.

Merritt pouts, scanning each of us. Whether she’s confused or disappointed, I can’t tell, nor do I care. I’m sure she’s mourning the details she expected me to entertain her curiosities with tonight.

Luca clears his throat and rises, pushing his chair in but still bracing himself.

“Should we exchange numbers?” Merritt retrieves her phone from a charger by the sink. “I feel like we still need to sort through everything . . .”

“Yeah, good idea,” I say, stealing a knowing glance at my husband while his wife isn’t looking.

He refuses to return my silent sentiment, instead bearing the look of a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He’s got a lot to consider now that I’m back in his life.

Big decisions to make.

Life-changing, even.

A second later, I manage to find my new number on my humble Nokia and prattle it off. Merritt double-checks that she entered the correct one. God forbid she loses her ability to contact me. It’s not like I’m going anywhere anyway . . . this is only the beginning.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


MERRITT

“Where do we go from here?” I ask my pacing husband the second Lydia is gone.

Every time I look at him, all I envision is the controlled captivation in his eyes when he saw her tonight. While he tried to remain unreadable—likely for my benefit—I know him too well. There was something there. A flicker of longing, of wonderment. A piece of him left me in that moment and went straight to her.

Standing in the middle of our bedroom, Luca concentrates on an empty section of carpet by our dresser. I’m not sure he’s looked at me for two entire seconds since he walked through the door tonight. His rigid shoulders, stiff posture, and unusual wordlessness paint a portrait of a man bearing the weight of the world.

Kneading the tension from his jaw, he exhales. “I don’t know.”

He strips out of his clothes, tossing them aside without a second thought. Clearly he’s got more important things on his mind. Gripping the side of the bed, I bend to gather his dress shirt from the floor, releasing an audible groan.

But he doesn’t notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care.

For the bulk of our marriage, he’s been a man-with-a-plan. He sees a challenge, he conquers it. If he doesn’t have an answer for something, he knows where to find it.

This speechless side of him is concerning.