Snowfall at Willow Lake. Сьюзен Виггс

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      She taped a label on a plastic shipping box. Her personal possessions took up remarkably little space. The apartment had come furnished, so all she really had was her wardrobe, a few books, framed pictures of her kids. Looking around, she suddenly felt less sure of herself. This was a different sort of fear from being taken hostage. What if she failed? What if it was too late?

      She took the portrait down from a shelf and studied their faces. “When Greg and I divorced, I begged them to live here with me,” she said. “I wish we could have made that work.”

      “They scarcely gave it a chance,” Tariq reminded her.

      She remembered the two miserable weeks, her kids in a high-rise looking out over the Dutch flatlands, where the rain never quite stopped altogether. The sun hadn’t come out, not once. “I saw no reason to prolong the inevitable,” she said. “Nor did I want to sacrifice even more of their happiness so I could have this career. They wanted to go with their father. It was really a no-brainer. On the one hand there was me, rushing off to court in a foreign country. And then there was Greg, who decided to go all Andy-of-Mayberry—”

      “Andy of who?”

      “One of America’s biggest TV icons. He’s a single dad, actually, on an old classic show. He lives in a small American town and takes his kid fishing and has this idyllic, picture-perfect life in a town where autumn leaves always seem to be falling and it never, ever rains. No wonder Max and Daisy wanted to stay with their dad.” She carefully and methodically folded a sweater, lining up the seams of the sleeves just so.

      “What about what you wanted?” Tariq challenged her.

      “Right after the divorce, I was so confused I didn’t even know what I wanted. You remember what a mess I was. The divorce made me question everything about myself, especially my parenting. I didn’t exactly have the world’s best role models, you’ll recall. I finally have a clear idea of what I want, and that’s what this is about. I’m giving myself a second chance to do better.” She folded three more sweaters. Where she was going, she would need them.

      “But why there? Why that town in the wilderness?”

      “My kids are there. I also need to deal with the fact that my ex is living happily ever after with a woman who is my polar opposite.”

      He gave a fatalistic shrug. “It happens.”

      “You’re a big help.”

      “You don’t want my help. You want to go prostrate yourself on an altar of shame and flagellate yourself until you’re bloody. And, by the way, I know a few blokes who would pay to see such a thing.”

      “Don’t be obnoxious.” She finished filling a section of her garment bag. “You’re going to get your dream job because I’m leaving,” she told him.

      “I’d rather have you,” he said simply, opening his arms.

      “You’re not obnoxious,” she said as he closed her into a hug. “You’re the best. You’re the one person I’m going to miss, desperately.”

      “I know.”

      She pressed her cheek to the soft Scottish cashmere of his sweater. “I’m scared,” she whispered, thinking about what awaited her in Avalon—the failed marriage to Greg and her inadequate mothering.

      “I don’t blame you, Petal.” He stroked her hair in a soothing gesture. “I’d be scared of a small town in America, too. I keep thinking about plaid hunting jackets and open-bed lorries on gigantic tires.”

      She pulled back, gently slapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

      But it might be, she conceded. She was no expert, having always lived in big, bustling cities—Seattle, Boston, Tokyo, New York, The Hague. She had no idea how she would manage in a town like Avalon. But she had to get back to her family. She felt a keen sense of mission about it, the way she used to feel about an important case. She needed to reclaim the things she had lost to her career. She needed to find a new direction for her life.

      “I haven’t said anything to them yet. Just that I’m fine and I’ll be coming home. They don’t know I’m staying.”

      “You are mad. Certifiable.” Tariq started to pitch in, folding trousers and stacking them precisely in the oversize Louis Vuitton bag.

      “If I tell them I’m moving to Avalon, they’ll think something’s wrong.”

      “Something is wrong. You’ve lost your mind.”

      “No, listen, I do have a plan. Some friends of mine from New York—the Wilsons—have a lake house they only use in the summer. They’ve offered it to me for the entire winter. So I have a place to live.”

      “In Mayberry.”

      “Avalon, but that’s the idea.”

      “And do … what, exactly? You need to reconnect with your kids. I get that. Is that a full-time occupation?”

      She zipped her jewelry into a side pocket of her case. The small pouch of tasteful baubles made her remember the conversation with Brooks Fordham that night about her refusal to own anything produced by exploitation of labor. “I don’t know,” she said to Tariq. “I’ve never done it before.”

      “And why would you even want this?” he asked her without a hint of irony.

      “Because I’ve never had it,” she replied. “Because being part of a community has never happened to me and I think it’s about time. Because underneath this legal robot you see, I have a heart.”

      She and Tariq went to the tiny nook of the main room, which served as her study. This, too, was devoid of personal items except her laptop and a corkboard to which she’d pinned a few items. “My rogues’ gallery,” she told Tariq. “And it’s all yours now.”

      The faces of the warlords had been her motivation for the past two years. The plan was to prosecute each one in turn at the International Criminal Court. The people on her corkboard represented the very worst of humankind—men who practiced child conscription, sexual torture, slavery. She took down each picture in turn, making a small ceremony of handing them to Tariq.

      “That’s it, then,” she said, slipping the laptop into its case. “You’re going to do great things.”

      “And you’re walking away from doing great things.”

      She shook her head. “I walked away from my marriage and family. I can’t ever go back to the marriage, but my family still needs me.” She thought they did, anyway. She hoped. They had certainly taught themselves to get along without her. Maybe the truth was that she needed them.

      “I’ve never seen you run away from anything,” Tariq said. “This isn’t like you.”

      “Oh, it’s exactly like me. When it comes СКАЧАТЬ