Carson says, “Months?”
“It’s the courts. You know how that goes.”
We’re strolling aimlessly through the outlet mall the hotel’s attached to. With its skylights, cream walls, forest-green railings, apple-green columns and the colorful geometric patterns on its ceramic-tile floors, it could be anywhere in America, except there aren’t enough fat people. It’s early yet and only moderately busy, meaning we can have a conversation without worrying about being interrupted or overheard or drawing any attention.
“Tell the Princess yet?”
“Not yet.” And I’m feeling guilty about that. She’s probably still sure that Geisman’s going to come through for us. I’m on the fence, wondering if the what-would-Jesus-do line was over the top. But Carson and I need to get our waterfowl aligned so I’m ready when Julie starts asking her first thousand questions.
“Gonna?”
“Well, yeah, I have to. I thought we should talk first.”
She nods. I can’t say why exactly, but I get that she’s a little pleased by that. “Getting in the house’ll be easy. Old woman may not even lock the door. Old people don’t sleep hard, though. She may hear us coming in or going up the stairs.”
“I got up and down without anybody noticing.”
“Geisman and the old woman were talking. So was the nurse. It’s different.”
As usual, she’s right. “So what’s the plan?”
Carson glances at me, then cracks a tiny smile. “You said it already. Go in the front, up the stairs, drop the picture, leave. Not hard. Maybe wait for a windy night so there’s noise outside.” She messes with her phone for a short while. “Supposed to be a storm coming in late Friday, early Saturday. Snow, wind gusts. That should make some noise, cover our tracks. No moon on Friday.”
In other words, get ready to go tomorrow night. I wasn’t expecting to move quite this fast. But then again, why wait?
Well, maybe because we did the breaking-and-entering thing less than two weeks ago and my heart rate is just now getting back to normal.
Carson stows her phone in her back pocket and shoves her hands in her front pockets. “One thing. Princess goes home now.”
“Now? Why?”
I get a glance that’s colder than the air outside. “She almost fucked up everything in Portsmouth. Not giving her a chance to do it again. We’re done with her. Time for her to go.”
“That’s… abrupt.”
“Too bad.”
“But, well, she’ll want to stick around for when we plant Dorotea in the house.”
“Too bad. She’s got no part in it. Won’t risk her fucking up again.”
I’d always thought we’d have more time to… to what? Wind things down? Run off to Vegas together? Get into a huge fight so we won’t mind going our very separate ways?
Carson watches me for a while with her head cocked. “What’d you think was gonna happen when we’re done?” It almost sounds like she’s interested.
I’ve been so into the moment that I haven’t thought about the end game. Has Julie? “You know that scene at the end of Casablanca? Rick and Ilsa at the airport?”
“You’re Ilsa?”
Nice. “Just saying—it’s the best breakup scene ever.” We walk a ways. “I’ll miss her.”
She sighs. “You in love with her?”
More walking. More thinking. I hadn’t planned to have this talk with Carson. “Right now, it’s enough to be around someone I like who can hold me at night. That’s the best. You can’t buy that.”
Carson slowly shakes her head. “Gotta learn to keep it light. A weekend. Fun and done. Women like that too, you know. You’ll tear yourself up, getting attached like this.”
That sounds like the voice of experience. “I’m not built that way.”
We walk for a while. Carson finally says, “I’ll tell her. I’ll be the bad guy.”
I didn’t expect that. I thought she’d rub my face in it, like she did before. “No. I need to. I owe it to her to tell her face-to-face. We’re grown-ups. We’ll… deal.”
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.