Dear Josh,
The paper did a story on us today. An “it’s almost the five-year anniversary” piece. Mostly about me, because, as I’ve told you before, your death created a bit of a stir in my life. The reporter had called and asked for a comment, but I said no. There was nothing to be said. So they created a world that wasn’t entirely true, about how we used to have fights and how we used to make up. It was ridiculous, and I couldn’t finish the article. Several parents took their kids out of school, something Linda shouldn’t have to deal with, but there you have it. Even now, five years later, your disappearance is making waves.
I think back to the night you went missing, when Arlo and I looked everywhere for you, when we came back to the house and found your blood, how the police grilled me, and I want to give up. I want to believe like everyone else. No one but me has had any doubts about your death. I am the only one who ever thought you could still be alive.
But Josh, this is killing me. Slowly, yes, but every day without you is like the cut of a knife across my skin. What is it they say—death by a thousand cuts? That’s what this feels like.
I am training for a marathon. Every step I take is in your memory, your honor. It’s either that or join you.
Always,
Aubrey
CHAPTER 62
Aubrey
Today
It was 8:55 p.m. when she got to the train station. The parking lot was its usual chaos, and Aubrey quickly saw Josh’s logic in sending her there. It would be harder to find them here than in the airport, with its long security lines making them sitting ducks for cameras and cops alike.
She should call Tyler. Tell him what she was doing. So he wouldn’t worry. Wouldn’t be looking. And Chase . . .
And then she saw Josh, and all thoughts of others disappeared.
He hadn’t seen her, and he was pacing. God, she’d recognize his walk anywhere. It was something about the cock of his hips, the way they stayed somewhat still while his arms moved. He looked like a caged lion, a gunslinger, someone whose movements were never to excess. In addition to being varsity football, he was a swimmer, which was why his arms moved more than his hips. Years in the pool, off-season training, served to make his body and his gait very distinctive.
Just like Chase.
Chase doesn’t exist anymore. There is only Josh.
He turned and saw her, and his face lit up in a smile. It wasn’t Josh’s face, not exactly, but it was his smile. She saw the years in that smile. She knew it was home. She was home.
The minute he saw her, his gait widened. His walk changed. She watched in fascination—he’d been doing it so she could spot him more easily, and now he went back to some sort of different stepping, so he’d disguised his most recognizable feature yet again.
She was impressed. It must have taken so much time to make all this work. His face, his voice, his walk.
But his face. His face was altered, somehow. Her Josh, but not her Josh. With the coloring, he looked oddly similar to Chase.
Chase, but not Chase.
Josh, but not Josh.
When she reached him, he handed her a ticket. “Follow me,” he said, then walked away. There was no grand reunion, no kissing and hugging and crying. She waited a moment, then followed. He headed toward the northbound trains. A heartbeat later, he grabbed her hand and changed directions, down a staircase. She followed him, confused, but realized quickly that he was throwing whoever might be on their trail off yet again.
When they were at the bottom of the stairs, out of sight, only then did he reach for her, pull her into his arms, and hold her tight. It felt so good, so right. She fit with him like she’d never fit with another.
This wasn’t happening. This had to be a dream. The meds had kicked in fully, and she felt their warm buzz.
It was all real. It was happening. He was back.
“Josh—” she started, but he shushed her.
“There will be plenty of time to talk later. I need to get us out of here.”
She understood. He needed to keep all of his senses about him to keep them safe.
She glanced around, taking in all the details. She’d read enough spy novels to know some of the tradecraft tricks, so she did her best to be subtle, glancing in the reflection of the parked train windows for people looking their way, looking for newspapers upside down in a signal or chalk marks on the station walls they passed.
She saw nothing.
He led her out the side entrance and up to Charlotte Avenue, where they caught a cab east toward the airport. Josh had the cabbie drop them off in the long-term parking lot. As the cab left, he took her hand again and they jogged to the short-term lot. After a moment, he veered off, back to the main parking lot. There was a black SUV in a slot. Josh pulled the keys from his pocket and gave them to her.
“You drive.”
He climbed in the backseat.
“Where am I going?”