Adele approached the third parking level with a slight skip in her step. It had been more than two months since she’d last been abroad. Her stride felt sure-footed, and thought the parking structure was walled, it felt like there was a wind ruffling her hair. Roots could wait—now that the opportunity presented itself, she felt a sudden relief at the prospect of travel. A distraction from considering her time and place in life? Perhaps—or, perhaps, some people simply weren’t meant to stay put for too long.
She cleared her throat and adjusted her sleeves as a couple of colleagues maneuvered past her, through the sliding glass security door toward the metal detectors and posted guards. Adele nodded in greeting, but then moved toward the back of the parking structure where she’d parked her sedan.
And pulled up short.
Someone was standing by her car.
Her hand inched toward her service weapon on her hip, but her fingers froze as she recognized the curly-haired silhouette. He’d been working out; his arms were at least an inch larger than last she’d seen him, and his waist an inch smaller. She eyed him up and down, enjoying the view a moment before making her presence known.
“Angus?” she called out.
Her ex-boyfriend turned suddenly, blinking out at her. He no longer wore glasses either. Contacts? Lasik? His hair was longer than she remembered, and he had a new scar on his upper lip, barely visible.
“Oh, jeez, hey… Adele,” he said, clearing his throat. In the past, he often would call her by pet names, but now he pronounced her name exactly, as if fearful he might have forgotten it.
“What are you doing here?” she said without returning the greeting.
Angus shifted uncomfortably, leaning against the hood of her car. Adele eyed where he sat with a severe expression, and he coughed and quickly pushed off the car, raising his hands apologetically. “Oh, sorry—er, sorry,” he said, quickly. “I just… was just in the area, and I wanted to make sure that…”
“I got your messages.”
“Oh…” He trailed off. “Oh,” he repeated in a hurt voice.
Adele inhaled through her nose, trying to refocus and switch gears from thinking of murders in the Alps to an awkward ex-boyfriend. “Look, Angus, I wasn’t ignoring you—I was swamped. You wouldn’t believe the amount of paperwork they shoveled onto my desk.”
Angus nodded, still communicating a hurt look in his eyes. “I get it,” he said, slowly. He glanced out over the third level of the parking lot at the afternoon sky. Then he lifted a brown paper bag. “I brought you something—they had it at the store next to work. Well, actually, it was a few blocks down. Took me a few stores to find it… But, yeah, here you go.”
He gave a lopsided smile and pushed the paper bag toward her.
Reluctantly, Adele accepted the gift if only to calm him. She glanced in the bag, and part of her smile turned authentic. “Oh, Angus,” she said, in a soft, sad voice. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I remember it’s your favorite—right? You’d eat it every morning. I like chocolate cereal too, but, haha, never as much as you did.” He nodded toward the discount box of Chocapic cereal. “It’s from Germany right?”
She lowered the cereal, gripping the bag in the same hand that had strayed toward her hip when she’d first spotted him by her car. Angus, of course, knew about her triple citizenship—American on her father’s side, French on her mother’s, and German based on their family’s relocation. But while he knew it, it sometimes struck her how considerate Angus was. Sometimes too considerate, and sometimes, in her quiet opinion, to too many people. She knew it made her selfish, but there was something Adele liked about being the only one allowed into the softer side of her partner. Angus, on the other hand, was like a golden retriever—he would expose his belly to everyone. Growing up, Adele had always preferred pit bulls. Dependable, intelligent, and fiercely loyal to only one person.
“France,” she said.
“Come again?”
“The cereal, it’s from France. Never mind—thanks, Angus. But you didn’t come all this way to drop off a box of breakfast.”
He scratched the back of his head, tousling his curly hair. She could see the indents along his cheeks where he used to wear glasses, just barely, faint—perhaps simply from sun marks. They hinted at a history—a memory.
“I—I wanted to talk,” he said, cautiously. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking… And really taking some time…” He began to speak faster, louder, mustering up courage as if he’d rehearsed these words before.
Adele watched him patiently, quietly, allowing him to speak, but dreading what came next. Did he want to get back together? What was this about? Did she even want to know?
Roots. Roots were safe. Roots were reliable, dependable. Roots were home—somewhere to go back to.
Adele glanced out over the parking lot divide and studied the horizon, glimpsing the distant sky. A small, tiny voice—a part of her that she pretended wasn’t there—gave voice to its own opinion. Roots were restrictive. Roots were like chains. Roots kept you trapped.
“Look, Angus,” she said, cutting him off mid-sentence. “We can talk. I promise, we’ll talk. But now isn’t a good time.”
His face fell as she moved past him toward the car. She clicked the locks and tossed the paper bag with the Chocapic into the backseat. She turned and smiled apologetically, wincing. “I promise,” she repeated. “Soon. I’m heading out of town for work. After I’m back, okay?”
Angus paused, mouth half open. He really had always been nice to her. The look of hurt on his face made her feel a bit like she’d just kicked a puppy. She felt a clawing sense of guilt in her chest and desperately tried to suppress the emotion. She knew, looking at him, if she stayed longer she would change her mind. She would hear him out. And then… words had a way of convincing people. And Adele wasn’t sure she wanted to be convinced. Besides, he was the one who had broken up with her. Just because he’d sorted his shit out, didn’t mean she had too.
With quick motions, she stepped into her car, flashed another apologetic smile at her ex, and began to close the door. The haunting sense of loneliness, of guilt, of confusion chased her into the front seat and propelled the words from her mouth, “Later. I promise. I’m sorry, Angus. Really, I definitely want to talk. Just not right now. Is that okay?”
He nodded, a sad look in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Adele. I shouldn’t have come here, you’re right. Does next weekend work?”
She paused, then winced. “The job is going to take a while. It’s in Europe. I’ll let you know when I’m back. Really. I will.”
And with that, she gunned the engine and eased away from the spot, waving at Angus as she pulled out and turned down the row of parked cars. As she crawled out of the parking complex, she refused to look over her shoulder, and her eyes fixed on the trail ahead, avoiding any efforts to glance in the rearview mirror.
There was a killer in the Alps. Perhaps a serial killer. Two couples missing—two hundred miles apart. Priorities. She had to focus. Adele gripped the steering wheel, pushing thoughts of Angus from her mind and cataloging every item she would need to pack for the trip. As she drove, pulling out of the lot, she began to pick up speed, a smile stretching her cheeks.