The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight(34)

“Dad,” she says quietly, and from where he’s standing beside her, he moves his head just the tiniest bit, his smile unchanging.

“Yeah?” he asks through his teeth.

Charlotte’s eyes slide over in Hadley’s direction, then back to the camera.

“I have to go.”

Dad looks over at her this time and the photographer straightens with a frown and says, “You’ll have to stay still.”

“Just a minute,” he tells her, holding up a finger. To Hadley, he says, “Go where?”

Everyone is looking at her now: the florist, who’s trying to keep the bouquets from wilting; the rest of the bridesmaids, observing the family shoot from the sidelines; the photographer’s assistant, with her clipboard. Someone’s baby lets out a sharp cry, and from atop the statue the pigeons take flight. Everyone is looking, but Hadley doesn’t care. Because the possibility that Oliver—who spent half the flight listening to her complain about this wedding like it was a tragedy of epic proportions—might be preparing for his father’s funeral at this very moment is almost too much to bear.

Nobody here will understand; she knows that much is true. She’s not even sure she understands herself. Yet there’s an urgency to the decision, a kind of slow and desperate momentum. Each time she closes her eyes, he’s there again: Oliver telling her the story of the night-light, his eyes distant and his voice hollow.

“It’s just…” she begins, then trails off again. “There’s something I need to do.”

Dad raises both hands and looks around, clearly unable to fathom what this might be. “Now?” he asks, his voice tight. “What could you possibly have to do at this exact moment? In London?”

Charlotte is watching them, her mouth open.

“Please, Dad,” she says, her voice soft. “It’s important.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think…”

But she’s already backing away. “I swear I’ll be back for the reception,” she says. “And I’ll have my phone.”

“Where are you even going?”

“I’ll be fine,” she says, still moving backward, though this is clearly not the answer her dad was looking for. She gives a little wave as she reaches the door to the church. Everyone is still eyeing her as if she’s lost her mind, and maybe she has, but she needs to know for sure. She grabs the handle and braves one last glance back at Dad, who looks furious. His hands are on his hips, his forehead creased. She waves again and then steps inside, letting the door close behind her.

The stillness of the church comes as a shock, and Hadley stands there with her back against the cool stone of the wall, waiting for someone—Dad or Charlotte, the wedding planner or a posse of bridesmaids—to come after her. But nobody does, and she suspects this isn’t because Dad understands. How could he? It’s far more likely that he just doesn’t remember how to be this kind of parent anymore. It’s one thing to be the guy who calls on Christmas; it’s another to have to discipline your teenage daughter in front of everyone you know, especially when you’re no longer quite sure of the rules.

Hadley feels guilty for taking advantage of him like this, especially on his wedding day, but it’s like the lens has shifted; her focus is now clear.

All she wants is to get to Oliver.

Downstairs, she hurries to the classroom where she left her bags. As she walks past the mirror she catches a glimpse of herself, looking young and pale and so very uncertain, and she feels her resolve start to crumble. Maybe she’s jumping to conclusions. Maybe she’s wrong about Oliver’s dad. She has no idea where she’s going, and there’s a good possibility that her own father won’t ever forgive her for this.

But when she reaches for her purse the napkin with Oliver’s drawing flutters to the floor, and she finds herself smiling as she stoops to pick it up, running her thumb across the little duck with sneakers and a baseball cap.

Maybe this is a mistake.

But there’s still no place else she’d rather be right now.

11

9:00 AM Eastern Standard Time

2:00 PM Greenwich Mean Time

Hadley is already out the door and across the street, the church bells tolling two o’clock in her wake, before she realizes she has no idea where she’s going. An enormous red bus races past and, surprised, she stumbles backward a few steps before taking off after it. Even without her suitcase—which she left in the church—she’s still too slow, and by the time she makes it around the corner, the bus has already pulled away again.

Panting, she stoops to squint at the bus map that’s plastered at the stop behind a thick pane of glass, though it turns out to be little more than a mystifying tangle of colored lines and unfamiliar names. She bites her lip as she studies it, thinking there must be a better way to crack this code, when she finally spots Paddington in the upper left-hand corner.

It doesn’t look all that far, but then, it’s hard to get a feel for the scale of the thing, and for all Hadley knows, it’s just as likely to be miles away as blocks. There’s not enough detail to pick out any landmarks, and she still has no clue what she’ll do once she gets there; the only thing she remembers Oliver saying about the church is that there’s a statue of Mary out front and that he and his brothers used to get in trouble for climbing it. She glances at the map again. How many churches could there be in such a small patch of London? How many statues?