Chapter 31: He left something for you

Bruno pulled the car over and picked up the phone from the road.

Cracked screen, dead battery. He turned it over once and set it on the back seat and looked at me.

"We're done for tonight," he said.

"Richard is still out there."

"Yes. And the investigators have units moving and a marina location and Luca working through the night." He held my gaze. "There is nothing more we do tonight that they can't do without us."

I opened my mouth.

He stopped me with a look.

"Phoebe. We've been running since Sunday morning. It's past midnight. Come on."

I sat back in the seat.

"You planned this," I said.

"I booked it this afternoon when you were talking to Sara," he said. "In case the night ran long."

"In case."

"I like to be prepared."

I looked at him.

He got out of the car and came around and opened my door and I got out and he took my hand and we walked inside.

The room was on the second floor. Small and warm, a window seat overlooking the quiet street below, a lamp casting a low light across the bed and the two chairs beside it and a tray on the table with a bottle of wine and two glasses that the hotel had left without being asked.

I sat on the edge of the bed and took my shoes off and looked at the wine.

Bruno poured two glasses and handed me one and sat in the chair nearest the window and loosened his tie for the first time all day and leaned back.

We drank without talking for a minute.

Outside the street was empty and still. A cat crossed under the lamplight below and disappeared into a doorway. Somewhere distant a church clock marked the half hour.

"Tell me something that has nothing to do with any of this," I said.

Bruno looked at me over his glass. "Like what?"

"Anything. Something ordinary."

He thought about it. "When I was twelve my father took me fishing every Saturday morning. Five in the morning, before the city woke up. We never caught anything significant but we went every week for three years."

"Did you like it?"

"I liked the quiet," he said. "Everything else in my father's life was loud. Work, people, decisions. Saturday mornings on that boat were the only time I ever saw him just sit."

"What happened to the boat?"

"He sold it when the business got difficult," Bruno said. "I always thought he sold the wrong thing."

I looked at him across the room. The lamp made everything warm and close and the wine was good and outside the city was finally doing something like sleeping.

"I used to paint," I said. "Before Richard. I had a small studio space I rented with two other women. We went every Thursday evening and painted badly and drank wine and nobody cared how the work turned out."

"What happened to it?"

"Richard thought it was a waste of money. I let the space go." I turned my glass in my hands. "I haven't painted since."

"You should go back to it."

"I know," I said. "I'm going to."

Bruno stood and came to sit beside me on the edge of the bed and took the glass from my hand and set it on the nightstand beside his and turned to look at me properly.

"Lisbon," he said. "I want to find you a studio there. Even for a week. Even if you just sit in it and look at the walls."

I looked at him. "You want to find me a studio."

"You said you want something true," he said. "Painting badly on a Thursday was true."

Something moved in my chest that had no name yet but felt like it was growing into one.

I leaned forward and kissed him slowly and he kissed me back and his hand came to my face and the lamp threw its warm light across the room and the street outside was quiet and the wine was on the nightstand and none of the night's damage was gone but it was far enough away for now.

He pulled back and looked at me.

"Sleep," he said.

"You're very bossy about sleep."

"And food," he said. "And sleep. Yes."

I smiled at him.

He reached over and tucked my hair back from my face the way he had been doing since the hotel room during the worst of it, like a habit he had picked up without noticing.

"What are you thinking?" he said.

"That this is the first night in weeks where nothing is actively on fire," I said.

"Nothing is on fire right now."

"I know. That's what I mean."

He looked at me in the dark. "You don't know what to do with quiet."

"I'm learning," I said.

He smiled. I could feel it more than see it.

"You're doing well," he said.

"Thank you. Very encouraging."

He laughed looking at me and I felt it more than heard it too, the warmth of it against my hair, and I thought about the version of myself three weeks ago sitting on the kitchen floor of the OliveFalls apartment at two in the morning convinced that the only way through was alone and fast and without trusting anyone.

That version of me would not recognize this room.

"Bruno," I said.

"Yes."

"When we get back from Lisbon." I looked at the ceiling. "I don't want to go back to living separately."

He was quiet for a moment.

"No?" he said.

"No." I turned my head to look at him. "I spent twelve years in a house that never felt like mine. I spent three weeks in an apartment I chose in a hurry just to have somewhere to land." I paused. "I want to choose somewhere properly. With someone I actually want to come home to."

Bruno was quiet long enough that I felt the beginning of uncertainty.

Then he said, "I looked at a building last week."

I lifted my head. "You looked at a building."

"Two floors. Good light. A room that could be a studio." He met my eyes. "I didn't say anything because I didn't want to get ahead of myself."

"You booked a hotel room this afternoon in case the night ran long," I said.

"That's practical planning."

"And looking at buildings isn't?"

He looked at me steadily. "I wanted to make sure you were going to say yes first."

I looked at him for a long moment.

"Yes," I said.

He pulled me closer and I put my head back on his shoulder and the room was warm and dark and outside the city breathed its quiet nighttime breath and for the first time in longer than I could measure I fell asleep without listening for anything.

Then my phone lit up on the nightstand.

He reached over and turned the lamp off and the room went soft and dark and he lay down beside me and I put my head against his shoulder and he put his arm around me and outside the church clock marked the hour and neither of us moved.

My phone lit up on the nightstand.

A message from an unknown number

"The marina was empty, he was already gone but he left something for you."