Chapter 197 Where the Road Leads
Chapter 197 Where the Road Leads
The car was quiet.
The heater kept running, spreading William's woody cologne through the cabin, the base notes carrying a faint trace of tobacco.
The leather seat still held the warmth from where he'd been sitting.
He started the engine. The screen lit up, then dimmed.
"Where to?" His voice was rough, worn down by a sleepless night.
"Doesn't matter." I turned to look out the window as the street scene slid steadily past. "Just drive."
He didn't ask again.
The car moved smoothly out of the city, heading east along the riverbank.
The half-open window let in gusts of river air, cool and damp, tossing the loose strands of hair across my forehead, pressing them against my cheek, then blowing them away again.
The trees lining the road shifted gradually from ginkgos to plane trees, their leaves caught between yellow and green.
A few birds skimmed low over the water, their wings catching the midday sun in brief flashes of silver.
He drove for over twenty minutes before pulling to a stop at the edge of an open lot along the river.
It wasn't much of a park, just a wide stretch of bare ground.
He cut the engine, pulled the handbrake, unclipped his seatbelt, and got out.
I followed, walked around the front of the car, and came to stand beside him at the railing along the riverbank.
Midday light fell across the water, breaking into countless small glints on the surface.
The view stretched wide across the river. On the far bank, a cluster of high-rises rose at uneven intervals against the sky.
On the bridge in the distance, traffic moved in a steady stream, the vehicles tiny as shifting dots.
A cargo ship passed slowly beneath the bridge, leaving a long white wake behind it. The trail spread and widened, then dissolved into the gray-blue of the river.
The wind off the river was strong.
It kept lifting the hood of his sweatshirt and dropping it again. He paid no attention, resting one hand on the railing, fingers loose and relaxed.
We stood in silence for a long time.
"When you signed," he said, breaking it first, his voice partly swallowed by the wind, "did you cry?"
"No." I said. "I signed quickly."
"And after?"
"I cried the whole night."
I turned to look at him.
He knew who had taken that divorce agreement.
This was the first time he had ever avoided the subject of Ryan in front of me.
The river wind kept moving around us.
"I'm sorry."
He said it quietly, his voice so low it was nearly lost in the wind.
The corner of my mouth lifted in a faint, self-mocking smile.
"You owe me too much for one apology to cover it."
"But it's all in the past. I've never been one to dwell."
He said nothing.
He lit a cigarette for himself.
The wind carried the faint smell of smoke through the space between us, then swept it away.
"William."
I turned to face him directly, reaching up to pull my scarf back into place. "There's something I need to say to you."
"Go ahead." He turned to face me too.
We were standing close. I could clearly see a faint line at the corner of his left eye, something I had never noticed before.
He looked down at me, his dark brown eyes ringed with the faintest trace of amber. The way he watched me was still and unreadable.
It had been a long time since I'd looked at him this carefully.
"I still have feelings for you."
He went still.
His brow drew together slightly. His lips parted, then closed without a word.
The wind pushed the hair across his forehead, and I suddenly saw, clearly, how tired and worn he had become.
"But I'm exhausted."
My voice was steady, flat, like I was stating something I had turned over in my mind many times. "I kept waiting for you to untangle yourself from everything, to come to me free and clear, to choose me without reservation. But the waiting used up everything I had."
We looked at each other. The wind lifted the collar of his sweatshirt, showing the edge of the white T-shirt underneath.
His throat moved slowly.
"I'm no longer sure I can wait for that day. So I'm leaving. A different city, a different way of living. I need time to figure out whether what I feel for you is love, or just a habit I've built up over the years, or simply the refusal to let go."
I was done.
The cargo ship had long since disappeared downriver, leaving only a faint trail that was almost gone.
The sound of traffic on the bridge drifted over in broken pieces, cut apart by the wind.
William was quiet for a long time. The wind had completely undone his hair.
Finally he spoke. "Go, then."
Two words, light as nothing, without a ripple of feeling behind them.
"Whenever it gets to be too much, you can come back."
He paused briefly, then looked away from me, out toward the gray-blue river.
"I have no one to fall back on," he said, his voice low, the end of the sentence mostly taken by the wind. "I won't go down easily."
"Everything with the Marie family and the Jordan family, I'll handle it all."
I stayed quiet. He didn't say anything more.
This was the most peaceful time we had spent together in all the years we'd been tangled up with each other.
Every other time we met, it had come down to arguments, suspicion, and hurting each other.
"Take care of yourself. Get some rest. Don't forget your medication."
I caught sight of the burn scar on his wrist, and something in me softened against my will.
William paused, raised his hand and looked at the scar, then gave a short, self-deprecating smile. "Staying sharp has always been a luxury. It will only get harder from now on."
A long silence passed before he finally asked, "Do you really have to go?"
It was the first time I had ever seen something open and unguarded in his eyes—a plain, undisguised plea, a deep loneliness, a quiet grief.
I didn't answer.
"Eleanor. Will you come back?"
All his composure fell away. What showed through was real.
I still said nothing.
I turned and walked back to the car.
Outside the window, he lit another cigarette.
I watched him for a moment, then looked away, opened the door, and sat down in the passenger seat.
The car was still warm inside. Whatever warmth he had left in the seat was long gone, carried off by the river wind. Only the faint smell of wood and tobacco remained, still hanging in the air.
I pushed the seat back slightly, leaned against the headrest, and slowly closed my eyes.
Three or four minutes later, the driver's door opened and shut.
The car shifted slightly.
He sat down, pulled on his seatbelt. The buckle clicked into place.
He started the engine, turned the car around, and headed back the way we came.
I kept my eyes closed. Light and shadow moved across the window. When the car entered a tunnel, the interior sensor light came on briefly, then went out.
The shift between light and dark felt like a silent countdown.
"William."
"Yeah."
"My flight is booked for next Monday."
He didn't respond right away.
The car came to a smooth stop at a red light. The engine hummed steadily beneath us.
"What time?" he asked.
"Don't worry about that. Just knowing which day is enough. You don't need to see me off."
The light turned green.
He pressed the accelerator. The car moved through the intersection.
"Okay," he said.