Jack was gone when Randa woke up. It was their second day back in Barton, and they had barely spoken in the last forty-eight hours. She didn’t know what to make of it, except that they were both paralyzed by the giant “What now?” hanging over them.
She was on her second cup of coffee when the door opened and he entered. She watched in silence as he hung his jacket on the back of the desk chair and finally looked up to face her.
“Where’ve you been?” She tried not to sound accusatory, but was pretty sure she’d failed.
“Cathy’s grave,” he said, quietly.
“Was that a smart idea?”
“What do you mean?”
“The cops might have it staked out. I’m not sure what they’d make of you being there.”
“I don’t care what they make of it,” he said. He didn’t sound angry, or resigned. It was merely a statement. Before she had time to analyze it, he made it irrelevant with “I’ve been thinking.”
Nothing good ever came from a conversation that started with “I’ve been thinking.” Randa braced herself. “And?”
“We don’t really know each other,” he said. “And I don’t know who I am, apart from . . .” He stopped. Neither of them had been willing, yet, to say the word “demon” without Michael in the room.
“It’s a lot,” Randa agreed. She’d been thinking, too. If she admitted she believed in a demon, wouldn’t she then have to admit she believed in God?
“What we should do, if we’re going to be adults about it, is return to our lives and figure it out independently.”
He was right, Randa knew. Maybe, in a few years, they could get in touch and give it another shot. For now, everything was too close and too chaotic. Maybe Michael would spend some time with Jack and the two of them could figure out how to deal with the aftermath of . . . whatever. She was not really a part of this. She had interjected herself. It was time to go away and leave it to the people who were actually involved.
“Okay, then,” she said. You can do this. Don’t fall apart. “I’m going to go to the hotel and pack, Then I’ll take a cab back to my rental car. . .”
She was half-waiting for him to stop her, but he was completely stoic.
She opened the door and he said nothing as she started out. Then, without even realizing what she was doing, she stepped back inside and slammed the door behind her.
“I hate this plan!” she barked at him.
“Oh?” he said.
“We’re a couple. Even if we’ve only been one for a week. And after what we’ve been through, that week should count for three years. You don’t get to unilaterally dictate the future.”
Jack stared at her for a moment, then cracked a tiny smile. “I didn’t say we had to do it. I just said it would be the ‘adult thing’ to do. You’re the one heading out the door.”
“Never mind that. What’s Plan B?”
“It’s your turn to have a plan.”
“How about I stay here indefinitely and we figure out a better ‘grown-up’ plan?”
He laughed, then reached out and pulled her into his arms. They stood there for a long moment. Finally he spoke. “Your plan is better.”
Was it? Randa wondered. There was no maturity to it. No logic. Only hope. But something had shifted, and hope no longer felt like a punishable offense.