Rafiq squeezed the cooling flesh of Javier’s hand. “I promise,” he whispered.
There were two funerals for Javier.
The first was at sunrise on the third day following his death, in the small chapel near the ranch. Fog clung to the gray stones of the old church and the interior was cold and damp. The priest, a gray-haired man, said mass in a plain cassock, the unfamiliar Spanish words rolling over Rafiq like a meditation. Javier had converted to Catholicism at the request of his beloved Consuela, and yet his whole life had been spent funneling money and support to the Muslim organization Hezbollah in his homeland. His entire existence was a carefully balanced commitment to two diametrically opposed causes.
How did you do it, old man?
Consie fussed in the pew next to him. Rafiq shifted the girl onto his lap, where she snuggled against his chest and went to sleep. He kissed the back of her head. His promise to Javier burned in his ears.
Despite the hour, the building was full to bursting with plainly dressed ranch hands, vineyard workers, and local shopkeepers. Rafiq was shocked at the turnout and touched by the sincerity of the people as he shook their hands following the mass. Nadine stood at his side, veiled in black but hauntingly beautiful at the same time.
The second mass, held at the Basilica in Ciudad Del Este, was for the elite — and they turned out in force. Mayors, politicians, police chiefs, military officers, anyone who was anyone from as far away as Buenos Aires was there, all saying the same thing to Rafiq: Whatever you need, just ask.
And then they were alone, just he and Nadine, in the massive ranch house. The children were with their nanny and the servants had all been given the night off.
They sat on the veranda as darkness fell, until the black of Nadine’s dress made her body disappear and all he could see of his wife was the pale moon of her face.
“Are you forgetting something?” she asked.
“What?”
“The cargo. You haven’t checked on the cargo today.”
Rafiq reached for her in the dark.
“Not today.”
CHAPTER 33
Liz sliced the packing tape on the last box.
Finally! Her favorite Chemex coffeepot was at the top of the box, swaddled in bubble wrap. She looked at the side of the box; the label said “books.” She let out a snort. So much for the government move.
She added the empty box to the pile by the door that needed to be flattened and taken downstairs to the recycling bin. Liz carefully placed the coffeepot on the counter next to the sink, amid the sea of cups and plates she had yet to put away. It occurred to her that James had always done the organizing whenever they moved… and he wasn’t here this time. She looked around the cluttered counters; this was all her responsibility now.
Be careful what you wish for, girl. It might come true.
She hadn’t really fallen out of love, she was just never really in love with James in the first place. She cared for him — that was the truth — but it was more like the way you cared for your brother.
Liz had begun looking into a transfer over six months ago, before she’d even decided she was leaving James. Almost as if she was creating an excuse to leave him. Her personnel officer had shown her some great assignments — Hawaii, Florida, DC — but she chose Minneapolis.
When she’d finally told James, he was… well, he was James. Kind, understanding, gentle, rational. And all of a sudden she was the one who was crying and emotional and all the things she wasn’t.
He’d held her in that way he had, with just the right amount of tightness around her shoulders, and she fit her face into the crook of his neck. At that moment, she knew she was leaving him for good. Not because he wasn’t right for her, but because he was too good for her. He deserved better than she was able to give him — than she’d ever be able to give him.
Liz left that night. She just threw a pile of clothes in a suitcase and drove until the sky grew light in the east and she could barely keep her eyes open. She pulled into a rest stop in Utah and slept for a few hours, then she drove some more.
She made it to Minneapolis on the morning of the second day, a Sunday. The city sweltered under a summer sun and the humidity clung to her skin when she left the car. The sign said Lake Calhoun, and a fair number of early morning runners were out on the paved trail around the lake. Somewhere on the car trip she’d switched into shorts and a T-shirt. She rooted through the trunk until she found a pair of running shoes and laced them on her feet.
The coffee and hot dog she’d gotten from a gas station in Iowa a few hours ago made a solid lump in her stomach, but she ignored it. As she found her pace among the runners, her breathing evened out and she broke into a free sweat.
The trail was paved, flat and fast. Liz ran hard, letting the grime of the last day’s ride in the car slicken on her skin. The trail split, and she followed the arrow that pointed to Lake Harriet.
When Liz returned to her BMW an hour later, she was drenched in sweat, had a stitch in her side, and was happier than she’d been in months.
She pulled a toiletry kit and a fresh change of light clothes from the trunk and headed across the street to a storefront labeled Calhoun Beach Athletic Club. The AC raised gooseflesh on her arms as she approached the desk. The kid behind the desk stood up, a smile on his face.
“Good morning, may I see your membership, please?’
Liz realized she looked like a wreck. “Good morning…” She focused on his nametag. “Aaron. I’m new in town and was hoping to use your shower.”
Aaron colored. “Sorry, ma’am, this is a members-only club—”
“Who can I talk to about getting a membership?”
Aaron glanced at the clock. “They don’t get in for another hour on Sundays, ma’am.”
Liz put out her hand. “I’m Liz, Aaron, and I’d like to buy a membership here — the most expensive membership you offer — but I need a shower first. I need one now. Can you help me out?”
“Well, if you’re a prospective member, I could give you a guest pass…”
“Now we’re talking, Aaron.”
Just as the run around Lake Calhoun had been somehow cleansing for her spirit, the shower did the same for her body. She let the warm water cascade over her as she scrubbed her skin clean — clean of her failed marriage, clean of the two-day drive, clean of the sweat from her run. Liz dressed in a light cotton blouse, a short print skirt, and sandals. As she stood in front of the mirror brushing her hair, her wedding ring glinted in the reflection. It was a plain gold band, the one she’d insisted that James give her. His plan had been a diamond-encrusted affair to match her massive engagement ring, but she’d put her foot down. Liz only wore two pieces of jewelry on her fingers: her Academy ring and the plain gold band.
She slipped off the wedding ring and left it in her toiletry kit.
On the walk back through the lobby, she noticed a bulletin board with a FOR RENT posting. Two-bedroom apartment, top floor, view of Lake Calhoun.
“What’s the address here, Aaron?”
Aaron had been eyeing her legs behind the desk and he gave a start when she called his name.
“Umm… 2750 Lake Street.”
Liz tapped the advertisement. “So this apartment is the top floor of this building?”
Aaron nodded. Liz pulled the page off the bulletin board. Aaron opened his mouth to stop her, but she held up a hand. “Relax, Aaron, it’s off the market. I just rented it.”