The Last Equation of Isaac Severy(38)

Alex fed the KitKat into his mustache and munched his way down the hall, stopping several paces before the door to stare at the number scribbled there. “This was one of the first hotels I tried. Never thought to look above the first floor.”

Hazel struggled to think clearly, but that last cocktail was still impairing her brain.

He turned and examined her face. “I should have known Isaac would entrust his work to someone like you.”

Hazel wasn’t sure how to respond to this, but she tried her best to adopt a poker face. “Is that what you think? That he left his work to someone ludicrous like me?”

“Yes, not a number person. Makes sense, actually.”

“What’s the big attraction to his work, anyway?” she asked.

He crumpled the candy wrapper. “Why do you buy a new album from your favorite band? Or book by your favorite author? I’m a fan, and I can’t just leave it sitting in a room.”

“I can’t let you in there. I sort of promised.”

“Do you even know what’s in there, Hazel?”

“Do you?”

“I know the language.”

“Well, I may be a not-number person,” she said icily, “but I’ll figure it out.”

Alex looked back at the penciled numerals and closed his eyes for several seconds, as if 137 were the solution for which he was inventing an equation. When he opened his eyes again, he said, “I’ll leave, if that’s what you want. Last wishes of my grandfather and all. Sorry, our grandfather—almost forgot.” His cheeks colored, which on someone so outwardly proud struck Hazel as poignant. Was there ever a truer sign of emotion than blood hurrying to the surface of the skin?

She pushed her hand into her suit pocket, where the uneaten Reese’s was becoming pliant. “It’s probably best you go,” she forced herself to say. “You can’t tell anyone about this, either.”

“Of course.” He nodded gravely and backed away. “So what’ll you do with it? Oh, never mind. Tell me years from now, when I no longer care.” He turned and headed toward the elevator. “I’ll see you around, then.”

Doubtful. Didn’t he live in Europe?

As the distance between them grew, Hazel realized she didn’t want him to go; she was, in fact, desperate for an ally. She’d never crack that password alone. But it wasn’t just that she needed help—there was something about Alex that felt safe, like having a part of Isaac with her again. Hazel turned and touched the card to the reader until it blinked green. When she stepped inside, she didn’t close the door. Instead, she threw it wide open and looked back into the hall.

Alex spun around and smiled. She wondered how many things he got people to do for him because of that smile.

“You’re brilliant, Hazel. Truly.” He walked back down the carpet and stopped just short of the threshold. He held her gaze for a second. Then, eyes moving past her into the dark beyond, he stepped trancelike into the room.





–?13?–


The Old Spot


Gregory had abandoned his surveillance of Tom early that night so that he and Goldie could take their son trick-or-treating. But as much as he adored his time with Lewis—and nearly cried when he saw the little bear suit Goldie had sewn for him, complete with furry brown ears and a tail—he struggled to be present with his family. Whenever Gregory’s mind wandered to Tom or to his other preoccupation (the woman he very much wanted to see), he would bring his focus back to his son, who shyly held out a plastic pumpkin at every door, accepting with renewed surprise the treats that were dropped into it. Hazel’s rubber fish had turned out to be a fitting present, and Lewis would growl like a grizzly and tear into it every time a door opened.

Goldie had wanted Hazel to join the festive chaos of the evening, but when she didn’t answer her phone, Gregory suggested that she’d likely gone to Fritz’s party and to leave her be. But privately he wondered why his sister was still in town. Her lingering presence made him nervous, and he couldn’t be entirely confident in his plans for Tom until she was safely away. He would call her tomorrow, he decided. He would escort her to the airport again if he had to.

When it began to drizzle, he and Goldie took their son home. Lewis’s sugar high kept him up way past his bedtime, but when he was finally asleep, Gregory began to plot the rest of his evening. He took one last look at his sleeping son, who still clutched the hide of his bear costume, and felt a stab of self-hatred at the idea of what he was about to do. As he shut the bedroom door, the feeling diminished. It was lucky that his wife was turning in early—she had run around most of the day making last-minute adjustments to Lewis’s costume, and was now complaining how exhausted she was. He wouldn’t have to make some stock excuse about a work emergency; he could slip quietly out of the house and be back before morning.

As he lingered in the hallway, waiting for Goldie to switch off their bedroom light, his phone vibrated with a text:

Can we do another night?

Gregory closed his eyes, fighting back the urge to call her right then. Instead, he replied that he needed to see her now, that this was not negotiable, that they had waited long enough. Wasn’t she the one who had said “I need to see you,” not three days before? He’d come to her if necessary, disrupt her entire evening. But as soon as he resorted to this threat, he regretted it: I’m sorry, my love. I’m just desperate to see you. Can you get away for an hour?