Page 72 of The Girl from Widow Hills
I shook my head slowly. Unsure if he was here for the information or for me.
“I know I reacted the wrong way, and I can’t take it back. I just—wanted to see you. And tell you that.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just really shaken.” I took a deep breath. “I just found out that Sean Coleman sent me a letter, wanting to tell me something, before he died.”
“Oh. Oh God. Do you have any idea what?”
“No, but I’m actually about to head out. Hoping I’ll know more soon.”
“Sure. Okay. Do you want me to come? I mean, would it help if I was there?”
Bennett probably thought I was meeting with the police again. He was holding his breath, and I could see how badly he did not want to come. How uncomfortable he was, standing there, trying to figure out the right thing to do.
“No,” I said. “But thank you.”
“All right,” he said. “Well, you know how to reach me, Liv.”
He did not want to get pulled into this mess. Maybe he’d thought he could handle it, in theory. That he was a bigger person. But there was too much chaos here; too much even for Bennett to fix. Which was ironic, since he was trained in managing crises. He was good at the surrounding organization. At creating a simplicity and an action plan. But as much as we saw human beings reduced to checklists and spreadsheets in practice, there were no such predictable outcomes outside the hospital.
And, I realized, that was probably all Bennett ever wanted. A predictable existence that I would never give him.
AFTER BENNETT LEFT, Ithought back to Sean Coleman’s letter, telling me where he would be staying. That was a sure way to find out how long he’d been in town. And how long he could have been watching me.
The Highland Inn was on the outskirts of town, new but simple. It functioned less as a hub for activity related to the hospital and more as a waypoint for outdoor treks. It was the last stop before an empty stretch of road that eventually ended at the ski resorts. But there was easy access from there to tubing, rafting, and mountain biking. There was a campground a few miles away, at the head of the river, if you wanted to really rough it. Otherwise, Highland Inn was the best option.
It was dark by the time I pulled in. The lot was half-full, but there were no people in the lobby other than a single man in a suit behind the counter who pretended he didn’t see me when I walked in. The glass doors slid shut silently behind me as I walked to the desk.
He finally raised his eyes when I was standing directly in front of him. “Can I help you?” he asked with an accommodating smile.
“Yes,” I said, making sure my request sounded professional. “I’m looking for one of your guests.” I figured I’d start small, then try to expand—to find out how long he’d been staying here.
“Name?” he asked, hands poised over his keyboard.
“Coleman,” I said, “C-O—”
His hands dropped, and his smile disappeared. “Let me stop you right there. I’ve already told the rest of you people this, we’re not giving out any information—”
“Olivia?”
I turned around and saw Nathan Coleman walk through the same doors I’d just passed through.
“Hi,” I said, trying to catch my bearings. This receptionist had been implying that others were asking after Sean Coleman—probably media. He would’ve had to hand over any details to the police, but they’d probably warned him not to talk to the press, as they had to me.
“Were you looking for me?” Nathan asked.
“Yes,” I said. And then, turning to the receptionist, “Looks like I found him.”
The man’s face fell, and for a second it seemed that neither of us had known there was a different Coleman currently staying at the hotel.
As I walked toward Nathan, sirens started up in the distance, coming closer. I tensed, imagining police cars pulling into this lot. Nathan turned, too, so we were both looking through the glass doors as the ambulance went by, continuing on. Toward the campgrounds and the mountains beyond.
“I forget sometimes that there are emergencies happening every day,” Nathan said. “That people everywhere are getting the worst news of their lives. Or the best. Makes me feel a little better to remember.”
Like it was all a cycle and we were just a small part of it. “Me, too,” I said, though I’d never thought about it that way.
“There’s a café here in the hotel, just around the corner. The coffee is adequate, but the beer is better. Want to head there?”
“Sure,” I said, following him down the hall. “I wasn’t sure if you would still be in town. How long are you staying?”
