For a split second he wondered if she would say yes, that’s exactly what she would do. That she would never be stupid enough to risk her life to help him when she didn’t love him anymore.
She raised her head and looked in his eyes. “If you get caught, Seamus will kill you.”
It was all the answer he needed.
He smiled. “So I won’t get caught.”
13
Bridget closed her laptop and dropped her head in her hands, fighting the exhaustion that threatened to push her into sleep in BRIC’s dingy offices. She’d barely slept the night before, the meeting with Nolan and Will running through her mind.
She should have fought Nolan harder, was still kicking herself even though she knew it wouldn’t have done any good. She’d recognized the look in his eyes, the one that said he’d made up his mind, that it didn’t matter how dumb or ill-advised anyone thought he was, he was going to do what he was going to do. Attempting to change his mind would have been a waste of breath.
Still, she should have tried.
She got up and walked through the darkened offices to Sheridan’s cubicle. Bending to the bottom drawer of her desk, she pulled out the bottle of vodka and a glass, poured herself a drink, and replaced the bottle before walking back to her own desk. Sheridan wouldn’t mind, but Bridget would offer to buy the next bottle.
She sat back in her chair and took a long drink, relishing the burn of it in the back of her throat.
She was being stupid. Her work was finished for the night. She should be on her way home. She’d avoided being alone with her mother since their conversation earlier in the week. She wasn’t ready to answer the question about her work with Seamus, about whether it was fair to herself, and she definitely wasn’t ready to talk about the brochure her mother had found in Owen’s room. The thought of it was a sucker punch, one that vacuumed all the air out of Bridget’s lungs.
Her brother wanted to die. Maybe not now, but eventually. He wanted to go to a clinic in Switzerland where they would give him medicine that would put him to sleep, take him away from them forever.
She knew her mother was right: it was Owen’s decision. As hard as they tried, they would never really know what he was going through, what it felt like to be trapped inside his failing body.
And it would get worse. Eventually he wouldn’t be able to swallow or breathe, machines would have to do that work for him while his mind stayed sharp and aware. He would know what was happening to him, he just wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.
She couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand any of it. There was no right answer. No answer that didn’t leave her hollowed out.
She finished the drink and tucked the glass in her top drawer. She would wash it tomorrow. She suddenly wanted to be outside, to feel the pavement under feet, see the lights of the city, more festive than usual because of the approaching holidays, twinkling against the blackness of night.
She gathered her things and picked up her bag, then headed for the exit.
Walking helped, and she kept going when she hit her car two blocks away, letting her feet carry her onto the next block and the next. She passed through the rundown area housing BRIC’s offices and continued downtown, past shop windows decorated with falling leaves and snow, the mannequins wearing coats and boots.
She’d forgotten her scarf, but the cold air cleared her head. She felt awake.
Next week she would sit down with her family and have Thanksgiving. There would be turkey and all the usual food. Her dad would try to help, but her mother would eventually say he was underfoot and kick him out of the kitchen. He’d end up in the living room, watching TV with Owen while she and her mom finished the food.
Would it be the last Thanksgiving they would spend with Owen? She tried to imagine it. Tried to see them all in the little house without her brother’s lopsided smile and wicked sense of humor that was still in evidence.
She couldn’t. Didn’t want to.
She pushed the thought of it away and wondered instead how Nolan would spend the holiday. Did he have a girlfriend? Would they dress up and eat dinner with her family in an old house in Back Bay? Or would they go to his mother’s house on Beacon Hill where Moira Adams would smile approvingly at the woman Nolan had chosen?
Bridget suddenly missed him with a fierceness that threatened to double her over. She didn’t want him to look at someone else the way he’d always looked at her, didn’t want him to stroke someone else’s hair as she went to sleep or kiss someone else’s head when they watched movies on the sofa.
She blinked and realized the ground was covered in a fine sheen of white glitter. When she looked up, flurries were falling from the sky. She kept her face turned up, watched the snow pinwheel from the inky blackness above the city like a gift from the god she thought had forsaken them.
She felt all alone in the world, the city hushed and vacant, abandoned and condemned.
Her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her through the empty streets until she looked up to find herself outside a steel and glass building on Franklin Street: Millennium Tower.
It was where Nolan lived.
She couldn’t remember how she knew it was true. Had Will told her? One of his many attempts at pushing her and Nolan back together when Bridget had been pretending she was over him? That she wasn’t hungry for news of him?
She reached for the glass door and pulled it open, then stepped into a luxurious lobby with creamy marble floors. A plush, modern sitting room with a white leather sofa and chairs stood to her left, illuminated by sleek table lamps that bathed the sitting area in a cozy glow.