Chapter 32

TWO HOURS LATER, Reid returned to the flat. He could tell as soon as he opened the door that she was gone. The place felt empty, unbearably empty. On the kitchen counter he found the checkbook and credit cards he had given her, along with the cash he’d set out. A short note let him know that she had indeed gotten a room at the hotel, and she asked him to call when he felt he could. He ran his finger over the note slowly, lingering over her name as if she were someone he’d known a long time ago, then turned away from it.

He walked aimlessly through the flat, thinking of the hours he needed to survive until it was time to go to work in the morning, and ended up in the bedroom. She had made the bed, taken her big suitcase, and tidied everything. The shattered clock had been cleared away. She’d taken all of her things, erased every sign that she had been there for a few unbelievably wonderful days. He could have just imagined she’d been here, he thought. He wished that it had just been his imagination, that she’d never come, never told him.

In the bathroom he washed his face, trying to stop the raging pressure in his head. As he reached for a towel, he saw with an inexplicable relief that she had forgotten her nightgown. It still hung on a hook on the back of the bathroom door, waiting for her to float it over her head and cover her lovely body. He touched the soft fabric tentatively, as if it might disappear, and then buried his face the scent of her. He would know that scent anywhere: a mixture of her citrusy floral perfume and the sweet muskiness of her body’s own natural scent. He could be put blindfolded in front of hundreds of women and he would be able to pick out Anne just by that smell.

After taking the nightgown down, he got some paracetamol tablets from the cabinet. On the bottom shelf, between his deodorant and his shaving cream, sat a bottle of her perfume. He took it out, uncapped it, put it to his nose, and inhaled. Mechanically, he took the perfume and the nightgown with him on his way to get brandy to wash the tablets down. The golden liquid burned his throat as he swallowed it too fast, but he quickly poured another one. He suddenly thought of something and hurried to the bedroom.

He placed his brandy on the nightstand, opened the bottom drawer, and carefully put her nightgown and perfume inside. He pulled down the counterpane, exposing the sheets. Maybe he would be able to sleep if he could be surrounded by the scent of her.

But the sheets weren’t the ones they had had just made love on. He realized she must have changed them before she’d left. Not yet defeated, he went down the hall to the closet that held the washer and dryer. The sheets would still be there. He’d just put them back on.

When he opened the door, he heard the dryer turning. He was too late.

He took his glass back to the brandy decanter, filled it to the top, climbed the stairs to the loft, and turned on his computer. He’d been alone before. He could do it again. He’d get through this as he’d gotten through every other disaster in his life.

He’d work.