For a moment, the only sounds Jane heard were the roar of the jet engines and the rattle of suitcases, black rectangles on wheels, rolling side by side across the concrete pavement of the short-term lot at Logan Airport.
Her gray chiffon maid of honor dress was safely in Chicago, pre-teen Eli upstairs happy to cat-sit Coda. Wedding of the century in progress as planned, with Daniel telling her “he’d always suspected” about Gracie but that there was “more to love and fatherhood than DNA.” Gracie had sent Auntie Jane a selfie, her little arms wrapped around a smiling Melissa. Next to them was Lolly, Gracie’s white cat, who everyone agreed should be wherever Gracie was. Today was all about beginnings, not about endings. Which is why they ought to change the name of the parking lot.
“Terminal parking,” Jane said. “They should call it something else, you know?”
“Jane.” Jake’s suitcase wheels came to a halt.
She turned, wondering. “You forget something?”
“Thank you, you know? For showing me that Quik-Shot video?”
A car eased by. Jane stepped away, even though it couldn’t be anyone who’d care. But it might be they’d have to start hiding again. Maybe.
“That must have been a tough call for you.”
Jane rolled her suitcase to tap his. “Aw,” she said.
She paused, stepped back as another car trolled past them. The golden light of the afternoon spilled through the open sides of the parking lot, casting Jake’s face in half shadow. She and Jake would be away—together—for four whole days. They had so much to discuss, but she couldn’t do it right now. And who could predict the future? She’d wait. Tread lightly. She didn’t have to tell Jake everything. Right now, at least.
She gestured toward the elevator, pulled the handle of her roller bag. The two sets of wheels sounded again as they walked.
“I was at Channel 2 after the news conference, though,” she said, skipping the important part of that meeting. The part where Tyson had offered her the job. The part where she said she’d think about it. “I gave the tape back to Marsh Tyson. So if you want it again, you’re gonna have to subpoena it. Without mentioning me.” She poked his arm to remind him. “I know the station won’t give it to you.”
“Ow,” Jake said. “Turns out it wasn’t the tape we needed to clinch it. It was simply you saying ‘hyoo.’ That’s when I remembered what Brileen Finnerty had said in the greenroom. I’d never heard ‘Hugh’ before.”
Jane thought back, remembering when she’d first heard DeLuca yelling the name. When Bobby Land had latched on to her as his ticket to the big time.
“Poor Bobby Land.” She pushed the elevator button. “All he wanted was fame.”
“Well, you know,” Jake said, “if Bobby Land hadn’t bragged about what he saw, Hewlitt would have ignored him. If Hewlitt hadn’t trashed Land’s camera, we might not have been able to take him into custody. If it hadn’t been for Bobby Land, they might have gotten away with it.”
“So Bobby gets to be famous after all,” Jane said. “He’d have loved that. I’ll talk to his mother, maybe. Maybe do a story about him.”
She winced. Had Jake heard that? The elevator doors opened, and the two of them circled their luggage into the space. The silver doors closed them in, and Jane pushed the button for their floor. They were off, on a journey of family, and change, and reunion, and healing. Families were not always easy.
“So,” Jane began. She had one more question. She wasn’t sure whether Jake would answer, but she had to ask. Even though she wouldn’t be a reporter again until—well, she’d think about that when she got back. “Is there a City Hall surveillance tape of the Curley Park murder? Catherine Siskel cut off the news conference without answering. But did Dahlstrom or Siskel ever admit it existed?”
“So, this,” Jake said. He patted his jacket pockets, reached into the inside left.
Was he about to give her a tape? Or a DVD or something? Of what?
“You don’t have to give it to me now,” she said. They’d arrived. The elevator doors slid open, and they walked side by side into the light-filled expanse of the Logan terminal. “Over there,” she said, pointing past a chattering group of backpacking kids and a line of blue-suited flight attendants. “We need to check for the gate.”
But Jake wasn’t following her. She stopped, pivoted, turned back to him.
“‘You don’t have to give it to me now,’” he said, imitating her. He reached out, a look on his face she’d never seen before, and offered her a little white box tied with a light blue ribbon. “Jane Elizabeth Ryland? I think I do.”
“What—is it?” she asked, although as soon as she saw the box, she knew. Inside was her future. Their future. And here they were, surrounded by the hubbub of hundreds of others traveling their own journeys. Some arriving, some departing, some, like them, at the beginning. If they could make it work. Jake apparently thought they could. Did she? Could they?
“What is it?” Was all she could manage.
Jake leaned in close. Kissed her. Barely, briefly. “Well, why don’t you open it? What you see is what you get.”