Free Sixty Days and Counting by Kim Stanley Robinson Page B

friend told him that you had disappeared, and this guy said that he knew where you probably were.”
    “Oh my God.” Her hand flew to her mouth. Another body response common to all. She peered around him again up the driveway.
    “So, I wanted to see if he was right,” Frank continued, “and I wanted to warn you if he was. And I wanted to see you, anyway.”
    “Yes.” They held hands, then hugged again. Squeezed hard. Frank felt the fear and isolation in her.
    “So.” He pulled back and looked at her. “Maybe you should move.”
    “Yeah. I guess so. Possibly. But—well, first tell me everything you can. Especially about how this person found me. Here, come on up. Let’s get inside.” She led him by the hand, back up the garden path to the house.
    She entered it by way of the sun porch door. The sun porch was separated from the living room by diamond-paned windows above a wainscoting. An old vacation home, Frank saw, handmade, scrupulously clean, with old furniture, and paintings on every wall that appeared to be the work of a single enthusiast. The view of the lake seemed the main attraction to Frank.
    Caroline gestured around her. “I first visited my friend Mary here when we were six.”
    “Man.”
    “But we haven’t been in touch for years, and Ed never knew about her. I never told him. In fact, I can’t quite imagine how your friend’s friend tracked down the association.”
    “He said you called a number of an old roommate, and this was her place.”
    She frowned. “That’s true.”
    “So, that’s how he tracked this place down. And if he could, so could your ex, presumably. And besides,” he added sharply, surprising them both, “why did you tell me that he was your boss?”
    Silence as she stared at him. He explained: “My friend’s friend said you were actually your husband’s boss. So I wanted to know.”
    She glanced away, mouth tight for just an instant.
    “Come on,” she said, and led him through the living room to the kitchen.
    There she opened the refrigerator and got out a pitcher of iced tea. “Have a seat,” she said, indicating the kitchen table.
    “Maybe I should move my van into the driveway,” Frank remembered. “I didn’t want to shock you by driving in, and I left it out on the road.”
    “That was nice. Yeah, go move it in. At least for now.”
    He did so, his mind racing. It was definitely foolish of her to remain exposed like this. Probably they should be leaving immediately.
    He reentered the kitchen to find her sitting at the table before two glasses of iced tea, looking down at the lake. His Caroline. He sat down across from her, took a drink.
    She looked at him across the table. “I was not Ed’s boss,” she said. “He was reassigned to another program. When I first came to the office, I was part of his team. I was working for him. But when the futures market program was established I was put in charge of it, and I reported to some people outside our office. Ed kept doing his own surveillance, and his group used what we were documenting, when they thought it would help them. That’s the way it was when you and I met. Then he moved again, like I told you, over to Homeland Security.”
    She took a sip of her drink, met his eye again. “I never lied to you, Frank. I never have and I never will. I’ve had enough of that kind of thing. More than you’ll ever know. I can’t stand it anymore.”
    “Good,” Frank said, feeling awkward. “But tell me—I mean, this is another thing I’ve really wondered about, that I’ve never remembered to ask you—what were you doing on that boat during the big flood, on the Potomac?”
    Surprised, she said, “That’s Ed’s boat. I was going up to get him off Roosevelt Island.”
    “That was quite a time to be out on the river.”
    “Yes, it was. But he was helping some folks at the marina get their boats off, and we had already taken a few down to below Alexandria, and on one of the trips he stayed behind to help