Exiting the boat onto the pier, I caught a flash of sandy hair with a touch of gray. Bile rose in my throat. The man’s back was broad shouldered, and his walk was confident, almost a swagger. The walk of a man who almost got away with it? I grabbed Sarah’s arm and wordlessly pointed. The man seemed to move faster, away from the pier and toward Harbor Drive. He was dressed in a red windbreaker and jeans and was holding hands with a woman. I motioned to Sarah to wait, that I’d be right back.
I stayed about twenty feet behind the couple as they crossed Harbor Drive, walking east on West Broadway. They stopped at a crosswalk, where he checked both directions, and from twenty feet away, I caught his profile. Is it him? I wasn’t sure. I followed them for three blocks as they talked and laughed, but I couldn’t make out the words. Once, the man put his arm around the woman and pulled her to him in a walking hug. I felt dizzy and paralyzed with fear, but knew I had to follow the couple to a possibly disastrous conclusion.
They stopped at Starbucks, and I stayed on the opposite corner. I didn’t want him to see me before I saw him. I couldn’t remember if Greg liked Starbucks. But what did that matter? Obviously, I didn’t know the real Greg anyway. When they emerged, heads bent low as they whispered to each other, I ducked back behind the corner to avoid being seen. When they turned right, I trailed behind them to a cell phone store. They clearly lived in the city. They were comfortable. They knew where Starbucks was and needed to grab a coffee before one of them got their cell phone repaired. Together. Had we ever done anything like that? I couldn’t remember. Those were the languid afternoons of childless couples.
I snuck up to the front door of the cell phone store and hovered off to the side, so I could still peek through the door. They stood at the counter for a while. When they turned to leave, I moved in front of the left door. They exited the right, and I stepped in front of them, blocking their path.
“Did you think I wouldn’t follow you?” I asked more forcefully than I had intended. I hadn’t even looked at his face; I couldn’t.
“I’m sorry. What?” His voice was a register deeper, alarmed but kind. I looked up. Green eyes instead of brown. His large nose, slightly crooked, had probably once been broken.
Greg’s nose has never been broken. “I’m… I’m sorry,” I stammered, stumbling backward.
Chapter 19
“I feel like such a fool.” I sat with my head in my hands, staring at the concrete floor of our hotel room balcony. Sarah topped off my glass from the bottle of Pinot Grigio she’d plunked on ice. I finished it off in two long gulps. “I’m apparently seeing him in crowds now. Am I crazy?”
Sarah was nonchalant about the whole event. “No, I think it’s being in this city. You want to find him.”
“Of course I want to find him. But you know what the weirdest part is?” The ground several floors below us seemed to waver, and I concentrated on the horizon, steadying my vision. I vaguely remember having heard that staring at an immovable point will stop sickness. I wasn’t sure if that would help being drunk, though. Maybe the tip was for seasickness. “I was convinced it was him. About a block into the chase, I really thought it was him. All these thoughts were going through my head. What I would say? Would I be angry? Would I act angry? What would I do? Would he come home with me?” I took a deep breath. “Did I want him to come home with me?”
“Would you?” Sarah asked.
“No.” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “There will never be Greg and Claire again. I realized that today. I could never get over this. I could never love him again. Trust him again. While I was following who I thought was Greg, not once did I feel sad. Or hopeful. It wasn’t like it was in Rochester. In New York, I was convinced I would somehow rescue him. I’m so fucking delusional.”
“But what about the girls?” Sarah asked, never one to shy away from the tough questions. “Could you do it for them?”
Could I? Could I bring Greg home and pretend to be a family again? Love him? I pictured him in our room, in our bed, and waited for the heaviness in my gut. The sadness of missing Greg didn’t come. The alcohol may have played a contributing role, but the only emotion I could put my finger on was anger. White-hot rage simmered behind my eyes, putting pressure on my skull. I shook my head. “No. I could have handled the cheating, or maybe the lying, and even maybe him just leaving me. But this? To put me through this? To put them through this, the unknown? No. Any love I had for Greg has been destroyed by his lies.”
“So what are you going to do now? Are you going to keep looking for him?”
“I can’t. I have to move on. This is making me crazy. Following him around the country. Retracing his steps. Looking for clues in his study, in our bank account and credit card bills. There are no clues. He doesn’t want to be found.”
“So you believe he ran away?”
“Do you?” I countered.