“I’m sorry!” Seth called after me. “Hannah!”
I glanced wildly over my shoulder. Seth stared at me, his face ashen. I couldn’t shake the sensation of him hardening against me. My panic. The serrated edge of adrenaline.
Seth wasn’t chasing me, but I felt like he was. I kept running and looking back and colliding with shoppers.
And that terror—the thrill of it—oh, it almost felt good.
Chapter 26
MATT
I waited for Melanie at the end of the drive.
“The cabin is on your left,” I told her. “It’s your first left coming up the hill. You can’t miss it, and anyway, I’ll be standing at the end of the driveway.”
I went out too early to wait.
I wasn’t nervous or worried that Mel would bring a fleet of reporters. I should have been nervous and I should have been worried, but once I make up my mind about something, a steadiness comes to me like a cold needle in my arm.
I lit a cigarette and checked my watch. Mel lived in Iowa City. She packed and left yesterday, just hours after I called, and spent the night in Omaha. She called to say she was leaving Omaha around 9 A.M. my time. I Googled her route—an eight-and-a-half-hour drive to the cabin—which should put her on my doorstep at 5:30.
At 5:45 I was still standing in the cold, waiting. I’d smoked three cigarettes and was lighting a fourth when I heard tires on the snow. I walked onto the road to watch.
An electric blue Corolla crept up the hill toward me. I shielded my eyes against the headlights. It had to be Mel; after half an hour, not another car had come up the road.
She waved through the windshield—a thin wrist moving energetically.
I nodded and pointed to the driveway.
The sun sat at the edge of the mountains. Soon it would fall behind them. Excitement ghosted through me—this was when Hannah always arrived—and I tamped it down. This was not Hannah. This was Melanie, whom I’d invited to Colorado to chauffeur me around. “I can’t drive,” I explained, “but you can, and you need a job.”
And you know my secret, and I know yours. That was the subtext of our arrangement.
Mel didn’t require much coercing. After a few quick questions about logistics—“Where will I stay?” and “What happens when Hannah’s around?”—she agreed.
She emerged from the car laughing.
First I saw her head. She had brilliant red hair, which she wore in a wavy bob. Her eyes were large and luminous, and looked larger for her small face. She was small all over. Petite shoulders, a slim torso, slender legs. A pixie.
She came bouncing over to me, the furred hood of her coat bobbing.
I stepped backward and nearly fell into a snowbank.
“This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done!” she shouted.
On the phone, Melanie gave an impression of polish and poise. Before me stood a girlish and excitable waif.
“Then I feel sorry for you,” I murmured.
“Oh, stop it. What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”
I gave her a flat look. “Gee, Melanie, I dunno, that would be a close tie between acid and faking my own death.”
She beamed up at me.
I frowned down at her. “Look, how old are you anyway?”
“Twenty-two.” She arched a brow. “How old are you, old man?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Oh, dang.” She giggled. “Climbing the hill, old sport.”
Old sport? I cocked my head.
“Let me get your bag.”
“Bags,” she chimed.
Bags indeed. Two large, cheap suitcases and a duffel bag filled the trunk.
“Are you serious?” I hauled the suitcases to the front door. Mel brought the duffel. “I only need you for … a week or two, remember?”
Melanie hovered around the cabin. She ignored my remark and I dropped it. In truth, I had no idea how long I needed Mel, or how long I would want her around.
I paced behind the couch and watched her.
Unreal, to have another person in the cabin. And not Hannah, and not just any other person. The woman who published my book.