“Oh, not that again,” Christopher complains, starting the car with a sudden jolt that pushes me back into the seat.
“Sorry.”
I mouth the name silently, turning away so he won’t see my lips moving. As I see the town pass by through my window, I realize that I don’t even know where I am, where I’ve spent the past few days.
“Where are we?” I ask. “What town is this?”
He can’t suppress another sigh at my question, revealing that I should very well know where I am.
“Newport, Rhode Island,” he says.
“That is not my hometown,” I say, following an odd moment of clarity.
“Correct,” he says. “You’re from Barrington, Massachusetts.”
“Is that where we’re going?” I ask.
He presses his lips together, refusing to look at me. “No.”
“Where are we going? The police station?”
Again, he doesn’t respond right away, letting a few moments of tense silence pass before he deigns me with a rather cryptic response.
“We’re going somewhere where we can be alone,” he says, casting me a look from the side. “Just you and me, Liliane. Like it was always meant to be.”