Page 103 of Gone Tonight
But my fingers refuse to move.
I briefly close my eyes and do what I’ve done for the past twenty-four years whenever terror or despair or grief overtake me: I visualize Catherine. I see her as a little girl, reaching up to hold my hand as we walk to the bus stop. I see her as she is right now, her long hair blowing in the wind streaming in through the open car window.
I hold the images of her in my mind as I press the green button to connect the call.
James answers midway through the first ring.
“Ava?”
His voice is lower and deeper than I remember. Hearing it sends a shock wave through me.
“Hi, James.” My voice sounds different, too. It’s higher and tighter than usual. Hopefully James will mistake the fear threading through it for excitement.
I hear James exhale. “I had to be sure it was really you.”
I’ve reached the parking lot. The Cadillac is twenty yards away. I move toward it as I launch into the lines I’ve rehearsed in my mind.
“I’ve been waiting so long, James. Every single day I thought about you. Every night I fell asleep dreaming about you.”
My words are completely truthful but not in the way James will interpret them.
“That night we were supposed to meet—I got held up at home,” I continue. I’m on the verge of tears now, but I don’t quash the emotion in my voice. It should work to my advantage. “I’m so sorry. I still can’t believe you were caught because I was late.”
“What happened?”
I can’t sound too rehearsed.
“My mom—she was awake when I went back to pack. She started yelling at me—you know how she used to get.… I finally had to lock myself in my bedroom and climb out the window. I was coming to meet you when I saw the cop car at the restaurant and I just—I guess I freaked out. I didn’t know what to do—I just kept driving. I’m so sorry.”
There’s a long pause. My hands tremble while I await James’s response.
Then James says, “I knew something like that happened.”
He believes me. This is actually going to work.
I try to imagine where James is right now. He might be in a no-name motel, or maybe he’s in a car already parked near the spot where we’re supposed to meet.
“Where do you live now?” James asks, like we’re acquaintances getting caught up at a reunion.
I give the answer I’ve crafted in the hopes of pleasing him. “California, but the moment I heard you’d been granted parole, I caught a plane to Maryland.”
If James asks for more details, I can provide them. I’ve created a complete backstory for myself that’s fully fictional.
“I’ve rented a car and I just checked out of a Holiday Inn near Annapolis,” I say.
The city I’ve named is about an hour south of our meeting place in Towson. I deliberately cited a location in the opposite direction that Catherine is traveling.
I unlock the Cadillac and climb in and slam the door, hoping James recognizes the sound for what it is. “I’m getting in my car to come to you now.”
“God, Ava… I can’t believe I’m going see you after all these years.”
“This time nothing will keep us apart. I better go, James. I don’t want to get pulled over for using a cell phone while I’m driving.”
I start the engine. The more details James can confirm that corroborate my story, the less likely he’ll be able to question things he can’t confirm.
“Of course… just one more thing?”
James’s voice is calm and warm, but ice runs through my veins.
