Lonely Path Page 14
“Does it?” he pressed.
“No.”
The single word hung on the air.
He pulled over to the curb and turned on the flashers. “If I could undo what I did to you, Eliza, I would. But I can’t. And Virgil Lavoire and Claude Ripple can’t undo their actions. But all three of us can do better going forward.”
She put her hand over his. “Listen, I’m not enlightened enough to forgive them. But I do forgive you. Truly.”
His eyes crinkled and he smiled. “Thank you.”
After a long moment, he hit the trunk release. “I don’t want you to miss your flight,” he said. Then he exited the car and met her on the curb with her bag.
She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. One thing she’d never forgotten about Bodhi was how complete and enveloping his hugs were. After a moment, she kissed his cheek.
“Come visit me in Louisiana. Fred and I will show you the town.”
“I’d like that. And I’d like to meet Fred.”
She turned and headed into the terminal. She could feel his eyes on her back as the automatic doors closed behind her.
After checking in, she found a seat and pulled out her cell phone. Fred answered on the third ring.
“I’m checked in. My flight leaves in two hours,” she told him.
“Good. I was afraid you might’ve taken off with that Buddhist fellow.” His tone was jokey but she sensed the underlying worry.
“Never.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ll pick you up at the airport. Let’s grab dinner on our way back to town and you can tell me all about how you and your pal averted the Canadian zombie apocalypse.”
She laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Good. How’s Cleo’s Oyster House sound?”
The specter of paralytic shellfish poisoning loomed in her mind. She shuddered. “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s grab a couple of burgers from the Judice Inn.”
“See now, woman, that’s why I love you. After a whole week eating fancy French food, you want a great big juicy burger. Get yourself home so I can show you just how much I love you. I’ve been lonely without you.”
“I’m on my way,” she promised.
Chapter Forty-One
Sunday morning
Old Quebec
The hotel seemed empty to Bodhi, which was curious. The pathologists had mainly departed, true. But they’d been quickly replaced by vacationing families, the first wave of marketing professionals arriving for a conference of their own, and, according to Tim the valet, a pair of celebrity lovebirds trailed by an entourage of staff and a gaggle of photographers.
Despite the bustle and activity, Bodhi felt an emptiness. He nodded a greeting to the concierge and walked through the grand doors out onto the plaza. A final walk through the old walled city might reconnect him to the place and its people.
He started by strolling along Dufferin Terrace. As he stood at the edge of the boardwalk and stared down at the river below, he realized that he was lonely. He hadn’t experienced loneliness in many years. The emptiness was coming from within. He missed Eliza.
He allowed this startling fact to sink into his bones. Then he continued along the terrace until he reached the Promenade des Gouverneurs and climbed up to the Plains of Abraham. He followed a walking trail toward the fort, stopping at a park bench to sit and think.
It was natural to feel Eliza’s absence. They had a history, after all—they’d been lovers years ago. And they’d just spent several days working closely together, under dangerous, adrenaline-producing circumstances. Was that all this was? Or was this yearning something more?
Holding that question in his mind, he resumed his walk, crossing the grassy plains and passing through the arched stone gate into the walled city at Porte Saint-Louis. As he wound his way through the narrow, history-steeped streets, his thoughts returned to Eliza.
She was happy. She had a partner in her police detective friend, and he was glad for that for her. He wished her happiness and peace. And yet …
As he followed the city walls to the descent to Lower Town the truth settled in his heart. He desired what she had. Not with her, not anymore. But a true friend to walk through life with, to share a meal and a bed with.
After years of solitude and celibacy, he now sought, not enlightenment or peace, but connection. The feeling knocked him off-balance. It was, after all, a sea change.
He U-turned abruptly and dodged a stroller-pushing mother with an apologetic smile. He retraced his steps uphill and came to a stop in front of the grand facade of the Basilica-Cathedral of Notre Dame.
He stood back and stared up at the towering cross, not at all sure why he’d backtracked to the church. He considered stepping inside. He’d learned in his travels that, for him, a cathedral, a synagogue, or a mosque could stand in for a temple to the Buddha. It wasn’t the building or the specific iconography on the walls that served as a balm to his soul, but the atmosphere of quiet contemplation.
He stepped forward and was jostled by a man hurrying past him.
“Excusez-moi, je suis désolé,” the man murmured an apology in rapid French as he kept walking. He turned into a gate and entered a courtyard next door to the cathedral.
Bodhi read the sign posted on the gate’s wall. The sprawling campus was home to the historic Quebec Seminary. A thought bloomed in his mind.
He turned away from the church and removed his phone from his pocket. He had a better idea than slipping into a church pew for a few minutes.
He dialed a number in rural Illinois and listened patiently as it rang three times.
“Roshi, this is Bodhi King. May I come and stay for a while?”
Author’s Note
You may be wondering, could a drug like Solo (which doesn’t actually exist, thank goodness!) really turn a person into a zombie?
While I hope to never find out if zombification like I wrote about could occur, my fictional designer drug, Solo, was inspired by real-life science and real-life events. I’ll spare you the links to the mounds and mounds of peer-reviewed scientific studies into saxitoxin and tetrodoxin poisoning (and treatment thereof) that littered my office while I researched this book.
Slightly more entertaining is this Harper’s magazine blog excerpt from an article wherein a reporter is told that zombies do exist in Haiti, and they often work in offices, filling out spreadsheets. This 2011 excerpt references the work of Wade Davis in the 1980s, which was later discredited and turned into a Wes Craven horror movie. And, here’s another blog post that includes an excerpt of Davis’s work.
Not remotely entertaining, but utterly fascinating (to me, at least), is this case from the 1980s about a tainted designer drug that caused several users to become “frozen.” More about that case here.
The challenging landscape facing prosecutors and coroners dealing with synthetic (or designer) drugs in North America is also sadly real. Black market chemists stay one step ahead of the law by tweaking their drug compositions whenever the regulations outlaw the current chemical makeup. Stories about that are here and here.
The ever-evolving drugs create puzzles for public health and law enforcement officials struggling to identify the cause of death in overdoses and prevent future tragedies, as discussed here.
And on a final, less creepy real-life note, Silence Restaurant is an homage to a fantastic restaurant in Toronto that was called Signs. I dined there with my family during a visit to Canada during the summer of 2016. Sadly, Signs closed permanently on December 31, 2016; but my oldest son can still sign “chocolate cake,” so its legacy lives on!
Thank You!
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About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Melissa F. Miller was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Although life and love led her to Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, D.C., and, ultimately, South Central Pennsylvania, she secretly still considers Pittsburgh home.
In college, she majored in English literature with concentrations in creative writing poetry and medieval literature and was STUNNED, upon graduation, to learn that there’s not exactly a job market for such a degree. After working as an editor for several years, she returned to school to earn a law degree. She was that annoying girl who loved class and always raised her hand. She practiced law for fifteen years, including a stint as a clerk for a federal judge, nearly a decade as an attorney at major international law firms, and several years running a two-person law firm with her lawyer husband.
Now, powered by coffee, she writes legal thrillers and homeschools her three children. When she’s not writing, and sometimes when she is, Melissa travels around the country in an RV with her husband, her kids, and her cat.
Connect with me:
www.melissafmiller.com
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to everyone involved in the production of this book—in particular, my phenomenal editing and design team.