Page 34 of Provoked

All such thoughts of finding a path through the forest dissipate into thin air the next day. The forest is about to burst into flames. I know this when Fred shows up at my front door promptly at seven a.m. and simply holds his phone out. I watch first in bemusement and then mounting anger as a prominent newscaster known for her bio pics and exposés teases an upcoming special. One featuring Margot, who has apparently ‘sought refuge’ in South America, to avoid imminent threats at home. To ensure her safety, she’s decided to spill all her secrets.

Margot doesn’t have any secrets, but I can guess she’s got a plethora of fiction ready to hand. “Can you get an advanced copy?” I ask Fred quietly. We both know how bad this is. Thank God Ingrid is on the other side of the country.

“Working on it, but they’re being extremely tightlipped. It airs Thursday, so a couple of days isn’t going to buy us much.”

I shake my head in agreement. “No, but it would be something. Guess I’d better order in some food while the door is still relatively clear.”

Fred’s lips twitch. “Not a bad idea. I’m going to stay out of the area so I can continue to navigate. I’ll text you with the code if anything comes up.”

I nod again absent-mindedly. “Any update from the boys in blue out in Montana? They washing their hands now that she’s on foreign soil?”

Fred growls with frustration. “Not much they can do. Even if she were here, they only have enough to bring her in forquestioning, not arrest her. Running like she did doesn’t help her case, but it’s hardly going to convict her. I’m afraid your case has been filed under ‘Only when there’s nothing else to do’. Although I did hear that they tipped off the feds, so at least there’s a flag on her passport if she ever tries to re-enter. But based on her actions so far, if she did, she’d hardly use her real name and documents.”

We both frown in shared commiseration at the futility of bringing her to justice. She’s found a new way to cause damage through the media that’s harder to prosecute, but just as lethal. I’m glad Ingrid is well out of it. Fred and I say goodbye and I set about the business of settling into my old life. It doesn’t seem as effortless and comfortable as it used to…

I’d hoped to get back to my book on the three-hour flight from Denver to Vancouver, but for better or worse I was seated next to an inquisitive toddler desperate to escape her mother’s lap for more interesting people. The good news is she wasn’t crying or screaming. The less good news was that she was also desperately charming. Even the emergency procedures card was an excuse to play peek-a-boo. I gave up on the book and entertained both of us with a nonsense conversation where I asked her questions and she answered in babble.

Collecting my luggage from the carousel, I head to the car rental area. Thankfully, I’d booked ahead, so the car is ready for me in a nearby lot. Now I just have to navigate driving in kilometers instead of miles for half an hour or so until I cross the border. I make sure I have my passport and the car paperwork handy, grab a mocha as a reward for making it this far, and start off.

Other than the wait at the border, it’s quick and painless. In no time, I’m pulling into Rose’s driveway and admiring the scenery. It’s so different from Montana! But just as charming and I can see it suits Rose. I grab my purse and head to the front door, where I knock softly. Rose pulls it open instantly and sweeps me into a fierce hug.

“Good thing I was watching for you. Not even an elephant could have heard that knock,” she remarks cheerfully.

“I didn’t want to wake the baby,” I whisper.

Rose laughs. “Nothing wakes her, I swear. I think she might be one hundred percent Aiden’s baby. I just carried her.”

She sweeps me into the house and up the stairs. I notice she does keep her voice down though as she shows me into the stunning nursery and points into the bassinet where there’s an even more charming bundle wrapped in aqua. “Meet your goddaughter Aurora,” she whispers with a grin.

Aurora makes a squishy face in her sleep, and we both laugh quietly before slipping out again. I can’t wait to hold her, but not so bad I want to wake her up.

Rose drags me down to the kitchen and pulls a pitcher of pink lemonade out of the fridge. “Now tell me everything about Justin,” she commands, leading the way over to a cozy sitting area nestled between bookshelves.

I shrug. “Like what? We’re technically married. He still hasn’t truly fucked me and he doesn’t want to leave New York.”

“Oh.” Rose frowns. “That doesn’t sound like a happy ending I would write.”

I smirk. “No. But then it’s my story and we know my stuff always fizzled in the middle. Maybe you can help me edit.”

Rose looks doubtful, and I suppose I can’t blame her. “I’m worried about you, Ing. You’ve had your heart set on the impossible for as long as I’ve known you. I know you said you were willing to move on, but… well, it wasn’t very convincing.”

I nod. It’s true, but not for lack of trying. “He has stopped yelling, so there’s that.”

Rose actually perks up. “Really? That’s very positive.”

I’m not so sure.

Even less so when Rose’s husband Aiden gets home. He’s gracious but reserved. Watching him with Rose and baby Rory as she’s already being called, I can see that there aren’t any true barriers between them. And Rose is comfortable being herself. I bite my lip, mulling this over as Rose and I tidy the kitchen. Aiden frowned over that, his protective instincts rising to the surface, but Rose shooed him off to spend time with the baby. I noticed he wasn’t at all reluctant about that.

“I can’t believe I was ever worried that he might be emotionally detached,” Rose whispers with a grin and an eye roll. “At this rate, he’s going to be sobbing on the floor when she starts kindergarten.”

I gape at her. That’s what, five years away? But I can totally see it. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Aiden making silly faces at the baby. She’s way too young to respond to that, isn’t she? On the other hand, she’s not screaming so…all good, I guess. And I can’t for the life of me picture Justin and me in this scenario. Not just the baby, because I don’t feel any great yearning in that direction, but the general domesticity. The ease with each other. All of that is missing.

Sighing heavily as I slide the last fork into the dishwasher and close the lid, I head to the sink to wash my hands.

Rose interjects quietly, “What’s the matter, Ing?”

I shake my head, not wanting to dump on her happiness.

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