Page 31

FLORENCE, ITALY

Ryan sits in the molded plastic seat at Peretola Airport, lost in his thoughts. The next flight to Heathrow is at eight. It cost 300 euros, so he used his credit card. He hates racking up debt. But he needs to do this. If she’s alive—which he cannot fully accept but cannot fully let go—he needs to find Pinky Man and make him tell the truth. Make him explain why she’s in danger, who are the dead men in the car, what really happened that night. He’s googled the name Peter Jones, the name in the B-and-B guest book. There’s a famous British entrepreneur with that name, but he looks nothing like Pinky Man. There’s also a department store in London called Peter Jones Partners. It’s obvious that Pinky Man is using a fake name, a ubiquitous one that isn’t internet-search friendly.

Ryan also googled the town of Lackford. It’s an English hamlet, population 270. A farming community outside larger Bury Saint Edmunds. The Wiki page shows an old church. The town has a website, but it hasn’t been updated in two years based on the date of the last entry.

There’s a pub on the outskirts called Black Ditches, so that seems like a good place to start. In a town of fewer than three hundred, someone’s going to know a man missing both pinky fingers if he lives there. He could’ve used a false address in the B-and-B guest book. But why would he? He wouldn’t think Ryan would track him there. Ryan supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

The airport’s overhead speaker blares. Like in U.S. terminals, it’s distorted and unintelligible. More so because the voice is in Italian. But he spots travelers who look British—don’t ask him why, he’s not sure, they just do—head to the line to board, so he follows.

The thoughts come again. What’s he doing? This is nuts. He should call the police, go to Rome.

But who would believe him?

Nora.Nora does.

Maybe his parents would believe. Maybe his lawyer. But there’s nothing they can do so far away. And the Kansas cops? Can they even be trusted? He remembers Pinky Man mentioning the sheriff in Leavenworth.

On the plane, he closes his eyes and hopes for some sleep. But no such luck. It’s too uncomfortable. There’s not enough leg room for someone five feet tall, much less his height.

A kid plops next to him. He’s about ten or eleven, Ryan guesses. His parents are wrangling three other younger kids. In an English accent, the kid’s mother says, “I hope you don’t mind?”

Ryan smiles.

The kid turns to him. “Are you American?”

Ryan gives him a look. “What gave it away?”

The kid shrugs. He guesses that’s just the way it is sometimes.

“I like America,” the boy says.

“Yeah? You’ve been?”

“California. We stayed in Hollywood.”

“Cool,” Ryan says. “Did you see any movie stars?”

“No. But we went to Hollywood Boulevard with all the stars on the sidewalk. And I got a picture with Spider-Man.”

The kid reaches for his small backpack. He retrieves a Polaroid that shows him standing next to one of those street performers who dress like superheroes and sell photos to tourists.

To be a kid, when life is so simple and your prized possession is a photo with a sweaty dude in a dirty Spider-Man costume.

The boy has large eyes and sucks on a piece of hard candy. He asks, “Why are you coming to England?”

To find the man who abducted my girlfriend. To find the man who ruined my life.

“Are you on holiday?” the boy adds.

“Something like that.”

“Where’s your family?” The kid looks around the cabin.

“My mom and dad are in the States. Have you heard of Kansas?”

He nods. “In the middle of the U.S.”

He’s bright, this kid.

“Are you married?” the boy asks.

Ryan chuckles. “Not yet. I’m still in school.”

The boy digests this.

“Girlfriend?”

“No, you?”

The kid blushes.

“I won’t tell,” Ryan says, smiling.

“A gentleman never does.”

It goes on like this with the kid for the entire flight. Ryan doesn’t mind. One of the other passengers huffs at the chatter and puts on large headphones of the noise-canceling variety. But Ryan realizes he needed this. Needed the purity of this boy. A reminder that there are bright spots in the world.

After Ryan has landed and gone through the usual airport nonsense, it’s late, the rental car companies are either closed or booked solid. Ryan searches for the cheapest nearby hotel he can find, and forty minutes later he’s in line with other weary-looking travelers at the Heathrow Holiday Inn Express.

Inside his room, he takes a shower—makes the water as hot as he can without scalding himself—and he cries. What’s he doing? He should be in Rome with his friends—with Nora—having the time of his life. He should’ve moved on by now. But he’s simply unable to get over that night.

It’s not just because he loved Alison. Though he did truly love her, they weren’t perfect like everybody thought. There is no such thing as a perfect couple. During their senior year, Ali had feelings for another guy, kissed him. It was a mistake, she said. And Ryan would’ve never found out about it if she hadn’t unburdened herself. When they got into arguments, as every couple does, he sometimes threw the indiscretion in her face. He’s not proud of it. But he forgave her. Even refused to know who the guy was, lest rage take over. Honestly, he understood Ali’s temptation. As the star of the basketball team, he’d had no shortage of opportunities. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to be with another girl. He and Ali were so young. And Ryan’s parents, with their obnoxious meant-to-be story, were, frankly, an oddity. That last night at Lovers’ Lane, Ryan wondered if it was a goodbye for a reason.

His phone pings with a text. He scans the device. Nora:

i take it you’re not coming to Rome

Ryan should text her, tell her that he’s tracked Pinky Man down, or at least that he’s in England. But he doesn’t want her doing something rash, flying here. And if he’s honest with himself, this sudden rush of memories about Alison makes his feelings for Nora seem almost like a betrayal. So, he responds the way everyone from his generation responds to a question they don’t want to answer: He ignores the text. Then he closes his eyes and hopes to fall asleep.