“Thank God they caught the guy,” Eric said.
They had watched the story of the murder suspect’s capture on the local news at five and six. The station was featuring the story in their promo for the news at ten. The crime had been so horrific, the capture of the suspect had the entire Twin Cities population breathing a collective sigh of relief, and clamoring for details at the same time. Had he known the couple? Had he killed before? How had he gained entry to their home? Could this happen to us?
The suspect had worked for a handyman service. Already the news on channel eleven had put together a companion piece on how commonly used household services like handyman services and carpet cleaners, and even home security companies, could be staffed by dangerous criminals.
Evi didn’t want to think about any of it. She had spent so much of her life feeling afraid, being in danger. The last two nights had reminded her: She didn’t want that emotion in the life she had now. She wanted to feel safe. Tonight she couldn’t remember what that felt like.
How fragile perfection was. Like a snowflake, beautiful and unique, and gone in the blink of an eye with the touch of a finger. Just days ago she had looked at her life and dared to believe that happiness could last. Tonight she felt the weight of dread on her shoulders.
“I don’t like that you could have met that guy,” Eric grumbled.
“I didn’t meet him,” Evi said. “I told you.”
“But you could have. The home visits scare me. You know that. Some of those girls know some rough customers.”
“And I would know more about that than you, wouldn’t I?”
“I know you do. I know you’re aware. I know you’re careful. But we both know none of that stops somebody else from doing something terrible. I just—”
Evi reached up and put a finger against his lips. “Can we not talk about this anymore tonight? I’m tired. You’re tired. I just want to sit here with you and relax and stare at the television.”
He smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “Yes, ma’am.”
They sat on their cushy couch with their stocking feet up on the big ottoman. Eric snuggled Evi into his side and used the remote control to cue up a show they both liked, which they had recorded while having their evening playtime/bath time/bedtime with their daughter. The first thing to come up when he pushed the Play button was the promo for the ten o’clock news, the photograph of Gordon Krauss briefly filling the screen.
Detective Liska had asked Evi if this man could be Jeremy Nilsen grown up and gone bad. She honestly couldn’t say. In twenty-five years her memory of him had faded to a blur. She remembered thinking he was handsome. He had a strong jaw and straight brows. His hair was brown. He was lean and athletic. Beyond that, she couldn’t recall. She’d known him for such a short time and then had never seen him again. She had become a different person, and the memories that belonged to the girl she was had been buried or thrown away. Better for both of them.
The man in the photograph Detective Liska had shown her, the one that kept popping up on the TV screen, was bearded and dirty-looking. When she studied his face, she saw an animal, something clever and hungry, and dangerous. Was that who Jeremy had become? If it was, how much of that was her fault?
“Earth to Evi. Earth to Evi. Come in, Evi!”
She snapped back into the moment, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You went away from me for a while there,” Eric said, looking into her eyes. “You had that ‘Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away’ look. Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry,” she said again—an old habit that never died: apologizing for everything. “I just drifted away for a minute.”
“Stay with me,” he murmured, kissing her cheek. “This is a happier place.”
“Yes,” she said, finding a smile for him.
She nearly jumped out of her skin as the phone on the end table rang. Eric picked it up and answered.
“Burke residence.”
Evi’s heart was in her throat, beating so fast she thought it might burst.
Eric looked perplexed. “Hello? Who is this?”
What was he hearing? Could he see the guilt on her face for not having told him about the call last night? Would he know by looking at her that she was keeping something from him? What would she say when he ended the call?
“Hello?” he said again, then shrugged and put the phone back in its cradle. “Wrong number, I guess.”
“What did they say?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m going to make some tea,” Evi said, popping up from the sofa. “Would you like some?”
“No, thanks, sweetie. Do you want me to get it?” he asked. “You still look pale to me.”