Page 61 of The Apparent Trap

“Yes, it’s so lame that a sleep medicine works on you. How embarrassing.”

He rolls his eyes, but I can see the flicker of amusement in the clench of his jaw. “Carmen won’t know he took it. So when she gets back to their room, he’s going to be passed out.”

“And you think preventing them one night from . . . doing whatever they do . . .” I say, shuddering at that thought. “You think that’s a big win? I hate to break it to you, Lee, but that ship has almost certainly sailed, as gross as the thought is.”

He shakes his head. “Any reminder that he’s old and tired is a good one. She’s going to come back to the room in not too long—I’m just going to talk to her for a few minutes about today and tell her how much I appreciate her professionalism with me and tell her I think it went well—” It’s hard for me not to be a little touched, imagining that conversation. Maybe it should be slightly less heartwarming since it’s part of a scheme, but I can tell from the way his voice cracks a bit that the sentiment is entirely genuine. He must’ve noticed as much as I did how natural it all was today. “Anyway, it’s not that late, and he wasn’t even doing anything today. She knows intellectually that he’s old, but every time she can get a stark reminder of that is good.”

I have to admit, it’s not a bad point. It has been an almost impossible needle to thread to make those reminders without actually hurting anyone in the process. We’re terrible conspirators because we’re not actually willing to go out on any dangerous limbs—our targets are too precious to us. It’s almost comically pathetic how little we’ve been able to achieve.

“It’s not the worst plan,” I admit.

I’m confused when Lee’s face goes serious. “I wouldn’t do anything that put your dad at risk,” he says, surprising me.

And maybe even more surprising is the realization of how much I trust him. “I actually . . . know that,” I reply, and relief crosses Lee’s expression.

“It just seemed like a good opportunity. I know you wanted this trip to go well, and you didn’t want to make any schemey plans, and I totally respect that. But it doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying something.”

There’s guilt in his eyes now, as though he’s worried I’m going to be mad he’s continuing this plan of ours, even though we really haven’t talked about it since Thanksgiving, other than those brief text messages. I cringe thinking about what Georgia’s planning on doing. If he’s feeling guilty over even the idea that I would think he’d hurt my dad, I should be drowning in it for potentially giving my friend the go-ahead to embarrass and fluster his daughter on national television.

“No, you did the right thing,” I finally say.

“Thanks,” he replies, looking more grateful than I deserve. “I should probably get over there,” he says, motioning to the door. “I don’t want Carmen to think I’m not coming.”

“I’m glad,” I blurt out, and he looks at me, confused. “Not that you don’t want Carmen to think you’re not coming.” I chuckle, realizing I let my mouth get ahead of my brain again. “I’m glad you feel like things went well today. With Carmen. I’m really glad, for you.”

His expression softens, my bumbling apparently not misconstruing the genuineness of how much I really am rooting for him.

He looks like he wants to say something, but he swallows, stopping himself. It makes my stomach drop, the way he’s looking at me.

I’ve tried so hard all day to not think about last night. About this morning. About how good it felt to hold him. But it’s hard not to let it all come rushing back when he’s looking at me like I’m something tender to him.

“Thanks . . .” he starts. But then he straightens, clearly deciding to keep not acknowledging whatever is swirling between us. And the moment is over. “I’ll see you later.”

I nod, knowing it’s all better left unsaid.

But I can’t help but feel disappointed as he walks out the door into the night.

Chapter 19

I hear Lee come back in half an hour later, but I pretend to be asleep.

After he left, I decided that even though I want to know how his chat with Carmen went, after last night and this morning, I can’t add to my confusion by having any more emotional conversations. So the easiest course of action was to brush my teeth, turn off the lights, and hop into bed. Avoidance, the most mature way to deal with anything.

But the joke was on me because that course of action assumed I’d be able to fall asleep. I should’ve known the entire day would take over my mind the minute I stopped moving. And unlike at home—where an engrossing documentary is usually the key to get my focus off anything hard—here I’d gotten into bed in the hopes of the long day making sleep inevitable.

Hence, committing to the “pretend to be asleep” bit.

He seemingly gets the memo, though, because when he comes back to the room, he keeps the lights off, climbs up the ladder, and slips onto his cot. The only sound left is the cadence of his breathing.

I try and match it, a metronome to help me finally get some rest. It doesn’t do much. I drift in and out of sleep as the night goes on, memories and moments converging as I toss and turn.

So I’m still half awake, then, when the phone chirps at around 2:00 a.m.

“Hello?” I whisper.

“God kväll.” Good evening in Swedish, I’ve learned. “You asked to be woken up if there was a chance of northern lights,” the voice on the other end of the phone says. “And momentarily it should be prime viewing. You can see it inside through the glass roof above your beds, or you can go up to your roof deck. But if you decide to go up, please dress accordingly. The temperature is negative nine Celsius, or around sixteen degrees Fahrenheit.”

I hang up and look over at Lee. He doesn’t seem surprised to be awake either.