They eyed each other.
“Well, I’m glad you think I’m pretty, anyway,” Caitlin said.
“Come on, you know I do. It’s just… you.” He gestured at the broken door. “All this. It’s a lot.”
“Yeah.” Caitlin sighed. “Yeah. It is.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
They waited in the driveway for a taxi after the board-up men finished securing the door to Caitlin’s condo. They’d left the porch light on, and now it lit a sheet of plywood. Michelle had Danny’s ruck, Caitlin her small wheeled suitcase and Troy, a gym bag.
“I can drive the rental over,” Michelle had said, but Caitlin rapidly shook her head.
“I don’t think you should be driving,” she said. “If you could see your face in a mirror right now…”
Funny, she’d thought she felt calm. She took a few deep breaths, drew in the scent of damp eucalyptus.
“I wish we weren’t getting these damn exams,” Caitlin said. “I’m of a mind to skip the whole thing and just check into the Hyatt.”
“It’s best we go along with it,” Troy said.
Michelle wasn’t planning on having an exam. She hadn’t been drugged, and the cops had all the physical evidence from her they needed. What would be the point?
A few neighbors stood outside their townhouses in the dark, watching the scene. They’d had quite a show earlier, Michelle thought.
Caitlin smiled in their general direction. “If this whole thing gets out in the press, and I’m guessing it will, how do you think we should handle it?” she asked Troy.
“I think we stick with an attack by a nut job. Not comment at all unless we have to. But we might as well get these tests done, just in case it comes up. We should have all the evidence we can on our side.” He glanced sideways at Michelle. “In case.”
“Maybe we could use it as a pivot, you know, say something about how it points to the need for more mental-health funding in communities.”
Michelle could hear the enthusiasm in Caitlin’s voice, the part of her that could make those speeches, that knew how to reach out and hook people, and enjoyed it.
Troy laughed a little and gave Caitlin’s shoulder a tentative squeeze. “I like the way you think.”
Michelle wondered what would happen to them. She hoped they’d make it. After all that Caitlin had been through, having her life upended a second time and still be willing to fight back… Whatever her partnership with Troy turned out to be, maybe they could find some strength and comfort in each other.
They’d need it.
I did what I could, she thought.
Caitlin suddenly turned to Michelle, as though she’d picked up on her attention.
“I guess I should thank you.” She still sounded more angry than thankful. “I guess you could’ve just… let things take their course, and you didn’t. Why is that?”
Why wouldn’t Caitlin wonder? She had no reason to trust anything that Michelle had done, or might do.
Funny, how much it hurt being thought of that way.
“I didn’t want to go along with these people,” Michelle said. “I never did. I still know what’s right, and what isn’t.”
Maybe she knew better now than she used to.
“I’ll give you an email address,” she said. “If something comes up… I don’t know if I can help. But I’ll try.”
Caitlin seemed to study her. Michelle couldn’t tell what sort of conclusions she might have reached.
“I guess there’s nothing I can do to help you,” Caitlin said.
“I doubt it.”
Michelle fished around in her hobo for something to write on. Her hands closed on a business card at the bottom of her purse. She pulled it out. It was a card for Evergreen: the abstract redwood silhouette, the woodblock letters. She stared at it for a long moment, then carefully printed the email address she’d given to Maggie.
“Here,” she said. “I hope… I hope you won’t need it. But if there’s anything…” She shrugged helplessly and held out the card.
Caitlin stared at her for a long moment. Then she took the card. She held it close to her chest and nodded.
“What are you going to do, Michelle?” she asked.
Michelle smiled tightly. “I’m going to disappear.”
She took a taxi to Mission Valley and checked into the Motel 6. She debated about what name to use and decided on Emily. If the case against “Jeff” had been dropped, no one should be looking for her any more, should they? No one in law enforcement, anyway.
Gary would still be looking. If he didn’t already know where she was.
But she didn’t want to use the new passport. If she and Danny had any hope of really disappearing, she couldn’t risk being Meredith Evelyn Jackson, not yet.
She paid cash for the room. No sense making it any easier for Gary to find her.
Lying in bed, she thought about tomorrow, about what she was leaving behind her. The loose ends.
One of them was Evergreen.
Evergreen was hers. Her creation. Her responsibility.
Was there anything she could do to leave it the right way?
With the DEA out of the picture, maybe the restaurant could remain open, if Helen and the staff wanted to keep running it. She’d already cut her own salary in half when this whole thing started so she could bump up Helen and Joseph and Guillermo’s pay. She could take herself off the books altogether, just draw a small percentage as a return on her investment, have Derek set that up so she’d still have money to send for her father’s care and her nephew’s college fund. All it would take was an email now and then, wouldn’t it? That wouldn’t be too much of a risk.
Be real, she told herself. It was tempting to think that something she’d created might go on without her, at least for a little while. But she had a long way to travel between here and some form of refuge, if there even was such a place.
Gary wouldn’t give up so easily.
Danny called at 6:15 a.m.
“I’m still a few hours out,” he said. “Can you meet me at nine a.m. at the border crossing in San Ysidro? There’s a trolley that takes you right to it.”
“I’ll be there.”
“You okay? You sound a little rough.”
She laughed. “I’m fine. It was a rough night.”
“It’s good to hear your voice, Em.”
“It’s good to hear you too. I’ll see you soon.”
A taxi took her to Santa Fe Depot, the train and trolley station downtown. It looked to be a beautiful day, but most of them were here.
She drew in a deep breath, the air scented with brine from the harbor.
You can do this, she told herself.
She walked through the broad archway of the station entrance, flanked by Spanish-style towers that were topped with yellow and blue tiled domes.
The hall was an arched building with lines of copper chandeliers above, darkened wooden benches below. The station was close to one hundred years old; she’d read that when she was doing her research. The benches were mostly occupied; other people milled around the souvenir and snack counter, lingered by the arched exits onto the platform.
7:50 a.m. A busy morning.
The Amtrak counter was at the north end. Four people waited in line to buy tickets.
There’s plenty of time, she told herself. The train didn’t leave until 8:20.
Fifteen minutes later it was her turn.
“One to Los Angeles,” she said. “Reserved coach is fine.” She counted out fifty dollars.
“May I see some ID?”
This is it, she thought. It will either work, or it won’t.
She slid Emily’s license across the counter.
The clerk, a middle-aged black woman, held up the license, glanced at Michelle. Typed at her terminal. A printer whirred and clattered.
“Here you go, Ms. Carmichael,” the clerk said with a smile, the ticket in her outstretched hand. “Enjoy your trip.”