Page 53 of Our Last Resort
Gabriel tells him of course.
The sounds of their voices shift. Harris must be walking toward the door, tucking away his notepad. Gabriel must be accompanying him, grabbing the door handle, preparing to let him out.
“One last thing,” Harris says, his voice more distant than it was a moment ago. “Did you interact with Sabrina Brenner? At any point during your stay?”
Gabriel is quiet for a couple of seconds. Then: “No. I don’t think I ever spoke to her.”
“Nothing at all? Not even a few words?”
“No.”
No?
I remember differently.
Day one of our vacation. The only interaction I recall between Gabriel and Sabrina. A vague memory, nothing I paid attention to at the time. But under the magnifying glass of Gabriel’s omission, the image comes into sharper focus.
We were at the pool. We’d just checked in at the Ara and were still working out our vacation routine. I forgot my book; Gabriel forgot his hat. I offered to get it for him, but he said no, that he would come with me to retrieve it.
On the way to the room, my phone chirped. I checked it and fell behind a few feet.
When I looked back up, Gabriel was talking to Sabrina.
He had just bumped into her, or she had just bumped into him. Either way, she was laughing. Smiling in a way that meant eitherDon’t worry about itorI’m so sorry. She brought her hand to Gabriel’s arm.
He smiled back. Eyes crinkling, a brightness in his facial expression that I could recognize even from a slight distance.
I hadn’t seen him smile like this in years. Not since he’d had a wife.
Sabrina patted Gabriel’s arm.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He put his hand on top of hers.
“No,” he said. “I think it was me.”
And then—maybe I imagined it, but I replay the scene in my head, and here it unfolds with the same blinding clarity—Gabriel gave Sabrina’s fingers a squeeze.
She didn’t startle. Didn’t jerk her arm back.
She raised her gaze to meet his. Her hand stayed on Gabriel’s arm, just his arm, but—the intimacy of it.
Sabrina waited until Gabriel’s grasp loosened, then slowly lowered her hand.
It was nothing. Two adults bumping into each other, a discreet apology.
But it feels memorable to me now. It feels, certainly, likeinteracting with Sabrina Brenner.Like exchanginga few words.
“Okay,” Harris says.
There’s the sound of a door opening. When Harris speaks again, his voice is no longer traveling through the glass pane, but from the other side of the suite.
“Twenty-nine, right?” he asks, and I can picture him pointing to the number engraved at the entrance.
Gabriel confirms.
“Good,” Harris says. “You’ll see me around. And if anything else comes up—I know where to find you.”
