Page 48 of Close Your Eyes and Count to 10

She mingled a bit, congratulated the winner, consoled someone who’d turned an ankle and was on crutches at the party. Then she’d wandered outside by herself to listen to the waves.

“You overpronate,” he said to her, coming up and handing her a glass of white wine she didn’t order. She’d been standing at the edge of the hotel pool deck, looking out at the Gulf of Mexico. Something about his smile. She took the glass.

“Oh?” she said. First thought about Miller:What an arrogant jerk.But in an amusing way.

“Yeah,” he said, coming to lean on the railing beside her. “You turn your right foot out just a little when you run.”

Because every woman loves a mansplainer.

“I know whatoverpronatemeans.”

He regarded her, offered a nod. “It slows you down and will likely lead to injury. You’re young, but if you like to run and want to keep doing it, I’d see a physical therapist.”

“Let me guess. You’re a physical therapist.”

He laughed at that, a warm, generous sound that made her want to laugh, too.

“No,” he said. “I’m a biotech engineer. I design prosthetics. So I know a few things about how the body works. Plus, I have my own overpronation to contend with, and the resulting injury from ignoring it.”

They spent the rest of that night together, just talking about his work,about what she wanted to do with her life. Did he know she was unformed? Unmoored? She wondered about that later. Did he somehow sense that she was looking for direction, that she wasn’t secure on her own path in life? Maybe it was just her youth, ten years younger than Miller, that told him the story about Adele. Her parents had bankrolled six months. “Find yourself,” her father had urged. “Travel. Do the things you love, let them lead you now, while you’re young and free. Once you get into the thick of it, work, family, life, it’s harder to change course.”Thatfind yourselffund was running out.

The next thing she knew she was engaged to Miller, working at his company in human resources. She was good at it; it checked a box. She was helping people find meaningful work, counseling them when they struggled. Then she and Miller were married. Then she was pregnant with Violet. Miller wanted her to stay home for a year; she’d wanted that, too. Then there was Blake. Then she was corporate wife, full-time mom, hosting events, running charity auctions, sitting in car lines. The years ticked by.

“Was this what you wanted?” her father had asked during a visit. It was a gentle query, not a judgment. Though, it felt like one.

“What could be better than this?” her mother put in. “Look at her life.”

The big house, the beautiful cars, the boat, the private school. She was blessed. Privileged. She knew that; it would be ungrateful to complain about anything. She was too busy to worry for long about whether or not there could have been something else for her. She told Miller what her dad had said.

“You’re young,” Miller said. “There’s time for you to figure out another chapter when the kids are older.”

That made sense. She saw so many people they knew struggle with two big careers and multiple kids. Marriages imploded under the strain; the kids were the collateral damage. She and Miller, their roles were clearly defined. He ran his company;she ran their life. It worked until it didn’t. Until he grew dark and started to pull away, subtly at first. Then disappearing on sudden trips, sleeping at the office, withdrawn, preoccupied at home with her and even the kids.

She thought maybe he was having an affair.

Then one night, he didn’t come home from work when she expected him, didn’t call to say he’d be late. She couldn’t reach him. She still remembered that creeping knowledge that something was horribly wrong as she watched the kids sleep. She sat in the dim hallway outside their rooms, calling and calling him. Over and over.

The next morning the FBI raided his office and their house.

She never saw her husband again.

She couldn’t go there, to that moment when she felt like she’d built her life on quicksand and had no idea how she was going to get herself and the kids out as she sank and suffocated.

Never let them grab you by the throat.Another Millerism, as she’d come to think of it. Things that he saidbefore, that meant one thing, that might have seemed funny or ironic or wise. But that seemed to mean something else entirelyafter.

She had that feeling now, of the air being squeezed from her, as the rest of the group seemed to take the violence and drama in stride and go about their business: pitching tents, and setting up the command center, starting the fire as the air seemed to grow cooler, damper. Only Wild Cody wore an expression that matched her concern, a kind of curious frown, as he expertly and quickly set up his small tent. He turned to look at her, and she blushed to be caught staring. But he just flashed her an enigmatic smile and disappeared into his tent.

Another Millerism:Always take the time to examine your options.

What were her choices now?

The strange woman, the armed men, and their altercation with Maverick took the supposed game to another level. She’d come here to play hide and seek, to win money. Not to risk her life,leaving her kids with no one. She stared at the last ominous text. It seemed to pulse on her screen.

She could quit, get a ride back to the airport, where she’d book a flight home.

But then she remembered her maxed-out credit cards. The rent. The back taxes she still owed from the games Miller had played with the IRS. Her meager paycheck barely covered their monthly expenses. She had almost no savings. The slim earnings from the sale of their big house after the IRS garnished some of it, and she discovered Miller had borrowed against it, was almost gone. Every month she had less money, not more. There was college coming for both kids. Her own future to consider.

She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t face another failure. It seemed Extreme, or maybe circumstances, had her by the throat. There were no options. Only to play and win.

---