“You hoped he’d leave me alone? You knew that was never going to happen. You were going to keep an eye on him. You should’ve checked on my house. He might still be alive.”
We’re staring at each other. Her face is flushed and I realize what I’ve just said. I’ve placed the blame at her feet, and I don’t know why. I just know I didn’t want Andrew dead, and that might be the most terrifying thought of all. I’m remembering the night of the accident, the pills in my hand, and then getting that phone call from my brother. My first thought had been dizzying relief. Andrew was alive. I’ve never admitted that to anyone. Not even myself.
Her face changes, turns harder, and I see the cop side of her. “Whatever happened to Andrew,” she says, “he brought it upon himself. Just remember that.”
The door closes behind her and I’m left looking around the barren room thinking about what she said. I know she’s right, but I’ve never heard her talk like that. Like this was personal. I still don’t understand why she didn’t drive by my house—she’d done it every other time. But what does it matter now? She probably wouldn’t have seen him hiding inside anyway.
He brought it upon himself.
“Why haven’t they closed the case yet?” I say to Marcus. “It’s been almost a week. I feel like they know something they aren’t telling me.” We’re sitting at a corner table at the Muddy Bean, having spent the day looking at rentals for Sophie and me.
The café is crowded, people clustered at tables or in the leather chairs, surfing their laptops and iPads, their heads close together in conversation. Normally I love the scent of roasted coffee beans and fresh baked goods, but today the air smells too sweet, cloying. “I drove by the house yesterday and there’s still yellow crime scene tape across the front.
“It takes time,” he says. “They have to wait for autopsy results and follow up on every detail, and the coroner has to make the final ruling, but it’s just protocol.”
“I want to move on with our lives.” Mostly I want to stop waking up in the middle of the night thinking about Andrew. I want to still be angry—furious—at him, but instead I’m being haunted by memories of our early days, how sweet he had been. Then I remember how tender he was to Sophie when she was a baby and I can almost grab on to the anger again, especially when I see her drifting around the house, sadness exuding from her like a perfume. How could he do this? He’s broken her heart all over again and I don’t know how to put her back together.
Marcus reaches over and holds my hand. “I know it’s frustrating. This will be over soon. I promise. Then Sophie and you can begin to heal.” His hand is warm on top of mine, his fingertip pressing against my pulse. I wonder if he can feel it racing, then calming at his touch.
“Thanks for letting us stay at your place.”
“Of course, and don’t rush into signing any rental agreements. You can stay as long as you need. Timing is everything.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Our eyes meet. We’re sitting here, holding hands, but I don’t know what any of it means. I don’t know what I want it to mean. It just feels comforting.
He gives my hand another squeeze and reaches for his coffee mug, takes a sip. “How do think Sophie is doing? She seems really quiet.”
“I know.” Somehow it seems even worse that he’s noticed. “The only person she wants to talk to is Jared. They never stop texting. He was waiting outside school this morning when I dropped her off.” I pause, remembering that moment, how he took her backpack from her and tossed it over his shoulder, then put his arm around her lower back and pulled her close. “I should be relieved that she has someone in her life who can support her, and he seems to be treating her well, but something about the way he was holding her this morning … it felt protective.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Maybe protective is the wrong word. It was more possessive, you know?”
“Hmm. I can see why that might make you nervous.”
I grip the handle on my mug as I gather my thoughts. “Maybe I’m being paranoid because I’m worried she’ll fall into the same kind of relationship I had with Andrew. Or I’m worried about how she’s handling Andrew’s death and I’m fixating on this instead.”
“Good diagnosis,” he says. “But it’s okay to listen to your instincts about Jared. They might be trying to tell you something.”
I look up and meet his eyes. “He was watching my car drive away. He didn’t look at the school, or the other kids, or even Sophie. He was watching me.”
Marcus frowns. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“He calls me by my first name, and he has this aura about him … I can’t describe it, but it’s almost too confident, bordering on arrogant.”
“You said his parents are wealthy, right? Do they work a lot?”
“The father, definitely. They leave him on his own all the time.”