14
“Hi. Floyd. It’s Laurel. Laurel Mack.”
“Mrs. Mack.”
That soft transatlantic drawl, so lazy and dry.
“Or are you ams.?”
“I’m ams.,” she replies.
“Ms. Mack, then. How good to hear from you. I could not be more delighted.”
Laurel smiles. “Good.”
“Are we making a dinner plan?”
“Well, yes. I suppose. Unless...”
“There’s nounless. Unless you have a specificunlessin mind?”
She laughs. “No, I have nounlessin mind.”
“Good then,” he says. “How about Friday night?”
“Good,” she says, knowing without checking that she will be free. “Lovely.”
“Shall we go into town? See some bright lights? Or somewhere near me? Somewhere near you?”
“Bright lights sound good,” she says, her voice emerging breathlessly, almost girlishly.
“I was hoping you’d say that. You like Thai?”
“I love Thai.”
“Leave it with me then,” he says. “I’ll make us a booking somewhere. I’ll text you later with the details.”
“Wow, yes. You are...”
“Efficient?”
“Efficient. Yes. And...”
“Exciting?”
She laughs again. “That’s not what I was going to say.”
“No. But it’s true. I am a thrilling guy. Nonstop fun and adventures. That’s how I roll.”
“You’re funny.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll see you on Friday.”
“You will,” he says, “unless...”
Laurel has always taken care of her appearance. Even in the terrible early days of Ellie’s disappearance she would shower, choose clothes carefully, blot out the shadows under her eyes with pricey concealers, comb her hair until it shone. She had never let herself go. Herself was all she had left in those days.