And I do miss him.
Three dots instantly appear as he types his response.
Where are you?
At my house.
I hate lying to him, but he can’t ever know I was here. That I questioned his integrity. Quickly I start to slide hangers to the left and right, the same four or five flannels and T-shirts he rotates hanging from them. I open drawers and gently search behind his socks and boxer briefs. I move a stack of jeans and look behind it. Nothing.
I stand on my tiptoes and peer over the shelf with his baseball caps. I reach my hand up and feel the side of a box. I pull out a drawer and step on the edge, careful to not use all my weight so I don’t break it off its track. I slide the box toward me, and it tips over the edge and falls against my chest, knocking me off balance. It hits the hardwood floor with a thud.
I pull it open, and it’s just bunch of old T-shirts. I grab one and almost laugh at the absurdity of what I’m doing as I stare at the logo from a 5K from a couple of years ago. I breathe for the first time in what feels like minutes. Just shirts.
Beth will tell me I was nuts for coming over here. That I ransacked my boyfriend’s apartment for what? To prove to myself that not all men are liars? I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror on the wall. I do look a bit dazed. My hair is falling half out of its ponytail; my eyes have large bags under them. I wipe a smudge of mascara from my right lid. It’s time for me to stop listening to secondhand gossip and letting my mind take me to crazy places. I need to talk to Nick about the driver’s license. Let him give me his logical explanation. He more than deserves that.
I push the T-shirt back into the box, and my hand hits something that feels like a rubber strap of some kind. I pull it toward the top and remove the T-shirt above it, blinking several times at what’s dangling from my fingertips.
Dylan’s purse.
CHAPTER FORTY
JACKS—AFTER
I’m holding the same purse Officer Keoloha described when he told me the story of Dylan filing the police report. It’s a straw tote with a rubber handle and a bright-pink-and-green jeweled pineapple on the side.
I pull the purse open slowly, trying to make sense of why it’s here, in Nick’s closet. I squeeze a dried hibiscus flower between my fingers, picturing Dylan plucking it from a bush and smelling it. Or maybe James had picked it and given it to her, and she’d tucked it behind her ear? I find a banana lip balm and remove the cap and inhale it. There’s a map of the road to Hana folded neatly. Had she been following along as they drove? Guiding James to each viewpoint? And then I find her wallet. I hesitate before unsnapping the small turquoise billfold, praying there’s something inside of it that will explain everything. Because there has to be a reason her purse is here. I open it and see various cards—ATM, Vons, library. There’s also a five-dollar bill and a pay stub from the restaurant where she worked.
But there’s no driver’s license. No passport. No identification of any kind.
I think of her ID in my pocket. Was it once here, wedged between the grocery store card and the bank card?
I close the wallet and notice some tissue at the bottom of the bag. I unwrap the Kleenex, and I’m staring at something I’ve had in my hands more times than I can count.
A pregnancy test.
The only difference is hers was positive.
I stare at the jeweled pineapple on the side of the purse cradled in my arms—wanting to understand why it’s here in Nick’s walk-in closet.
The hairs on my arms stand on end again, and sweat trickles down my back. I keep thinking I hear a key in the lock.
I check my phone again, which I had set to silent mode. More texts from Nick.
Hey!
I tried calling you. Are you still at your place?
Hello?
Quickly I shove the box back up on the shelf. I remove James’s sweatshirt and wrap Dylan’s purse in it and hurry to the elevator, pushing the button over and over, but it won’t come.
My thoughts unfold one by one.
Nick has Dylan’s purse, which was stolen less than an hour before she died.
I take the stairs two at a time, lose my balance, and grab the handrail, the purse flying, its contents spilling.
He could only have her purse if he’d been the one to steal it.
I scoop up Dylan’s things, shove them back into the bag, and wrap it in the sweatshirt again, my hands shaking. Finally I’m in the parking garage standing next to my car. I push the button on my fob and hear the click of the doors unlocking.
Which means Nick was in Maui when they were. That he’d been inside their Jeep just before they died.
I gasp for air as the realization sinks in.
“Surprise,” Nick says from behind me, his breath on my neck.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
JACKS—AFTER
I freeze, squeezing the sweatshirt, the purse beneath it pressing into my ribs. “Nick . . . you scared the shit out of me—” I try to swivel around, but his lips are still pressed against the back of my neck, his arm around my shoulder.
He plants a light kiss on my cheek. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” he asks.
“Yes, even though I can’t exactly see you,” I say, his hot breath tickling my ear.
My mind is racing, the strap of the purse poking me. It won’t let me forget what I now know. That he was there. Inside their Jeep. Was he a stalker, a jilted lover who had spun out of control?
Or more?
I release a long breath. There has to be an explanation. Maybe Officer Keoloha didn’t mention that the purse was found. And maybe Nick has it because it was sent back to him because he had been still engaged to her. His touch feels like the Nick I know—the Nick who could never have lied to me. “That feels good,” I say, and he spins me around.
“I tried calling you about thirty minutes ago to let you know I got off work early . . . why didn’t you tell me you were here?”
“I . . .” I was so focused on not getting caught ransacking his place, I hadn’t decided what I’d do if I did. I feel my cheeks redden as I try to think of a reason. “I came here to surprise you actually. When you got off your shift. Funny, we were surprising each other!” I force a laugh.
“Well, it’s kismet then—us surprising each other. I decided something today, you know,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Oh? What’s that?”
“I’m a pretty lucky guy.” He smiles.
I smile back and take a deep breath. There’s going to be an explanation. There has to be.
“Hey, so where were you going just now? It looked like you were leaving.”
He furrows his brow.
I stare at him for a beat, searching his eyes, looking for the assurance that he’s not questioning me because he knows I was up to something. That it’s all in my head, and it’s my Nick I’m looking at. “I took the stairs to get a little cardio in,” I say, the sweatshirt feeling like a neon sign pointing toward my lie. “And I got hot while I was running—so I was about to throw this in my car,” I add. I hate drawing attention to James’s sweatshirt, but I can’t think of any other reason I’d be holding it.
“I’ve never seen that one before,” he says.
My heartbeat speeds up again. “I found it in the back of the closet today. I’d forgotten I had it.”
“You okay?” He squints at me.
I nod.
“Hey . . . let’s get out of here—go for a drive. There’s supposed to be a beautiful sunset tonight. I know a spot where we can watch it on the cliff in Newport Coast. It’ll be chilly, but you have that.” He motions toward the sweatshirt, and I think I see a flicker of something—doubt?—cross his face.
I hesitate, because I need time to think—to talk to Beth. To figure out how I’m going to explain why I have the purse. But I already told Nick I was surprising him.
“C’mon, let’s go. Gorgeous sunset. Me. What more could you ask for?”