He Moved His Lover In I Moved My Money Out Chapter 14
Three months later, Boston had finally turned warm.
I pushed my mentor, fresh out of rehab, through the bright terminal at Logan Airport.
We were headed to Portland, Oregon.
My new architecture firm was already registered there. The office, the house, the first round of projects—everything was in place. Everything I was leaving behind was staying behind.
My mentor patted my hand. “Ready?”
“I’ve been ready.”
I was just about to push her toward the gate when I felt a pair of eyes on me.
When I turned, I saw Graham standing outside the glass wall of the terminal.
He had lost so much weight he was almost gaunt. His coat hung off him, loose and empty, his cheeks sunken, his face drained with the gray exhaustion of illness. The old arrogance he once wore—the certainty that everything was under his control—had vanished completely.
He didn’t come inside.
He didn’t dare come closer.
He just stood there, beyond the cold glass and the flow of passing travelers, staring at me without blinking.
His eyes were red. His lips trembled.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I looked at him through the glass and answered.
At first, all I heard was restrained breathing, then his voice came through, hoarse to the point of breaking.
“Nora…”