Finn comes out of the downstairs guest room with a towel around his waist and a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. I sip my morning coffee and watch as he huffs down the hall, swearing under his breath. He goes to the master bedroom for a change of clothes. The police have asked him to come down and answer a few questions, and he’s absolutely livid.
He hasn’t spoken to me since I confronted him, and the childishness of that and the speed with which decades of marriage can disintegrate are appalling. He blames me for finding out rather than blaming himself for the sin. I don’t know why I always thought that if I caught him, he’d cry and beg me to stay. That we’d go into couples counseling and he’d change his ways, and maybe that would have happened if he was caught in a one-night stand that supposedly meant nothing, but the amount of evidence I presented him with—I guess he knows that there is nothing he can say to change it.
Not that he’d beg and cry for me. He’d be upset about the money he’d lose because of the prenup, but he’d pretend he was upset about losing me. I’ve woken up, and he can tell, so instead, he’s acting like a petulant child, and it actually tickles me to see him squirm.
I don’t think he’s a killer, though. No matter how shocking Paige’s evidence is, deep down I have to believe that he made a series of bad choices, just like he did with me. But ultimately, the money transfer, the texts, all of that was based on a stupid, drug-related relationship. I’ve realized that I don’t know him very well at all, so maybe I’m wrong, but I can’t let myself believe it.
I’m edgy and fidgety until he leaves the house. His presence is agitating, and the weight of all that is to come with divorce lawyers and legal battles is exhausting to even think about. So I try not to. I try to stay in the moment and take it in steps. They will question him; they will release him. He’ll blame me for all the humiliation. Then what? He goes to a hotel? Stop. I need to let it go right now. I dump the last bit of my coffee into the sink. I don’t need to be any more jittery. Then I put together breakfast to take out to Nicola.
A couple hours later, I’m stopped in my tracks by the ping of my phone and a text from Paige.
Get Nicola and Avery out of the house! Now! And all their things!
“Holy shit!” I mutter to myself, leaping up from my seat on the sofa and rushing to gather my coat and keys. I don’t ask why; I just spring into action.
Nicola jumps and clutches her chest when I barge into the guesthouse.
“I’m sorry! But there’s no time. We gotta go right now,” I say, running around the space, pushing baby clothes and toiletries into a pillowcase I tear off the pillow on the bed. Nicola doesn’t ask why. We just move.
“Hide in the back of the car, like before. I’ll get the rest,” I say, handing her the keys, and she nods and quickly picks up Avery and goes out to the car. I throw everything I see into the pillowcase and a few reusable bags I’d used to bring her food. Contact lenses, makeup, shoes, plastic baby books, even open water bottles and the dirty dishes in the sink. It can’t look like anyone has been here. I don’t know why I’m doing this, so I don’t know how much time I have, but the adrenaline fuels me, and I toss the bags into the back hatch next to Nicola and the baby.
“What’s happened?” she asks, once we are out of the space.
“I don’t know yet, but let’s go,” I say, covering her and the bags with fleece blankets and rushing to the driver’s side. I pull out carefully, and as soon as I make it off our street, I feel a flood of relief. I keep driving and call Paige.
“Paige,” I say when she answers.
“Are you out?” she says, urgently.
“Yes, we’re all in the car, and I’m driving. What the hell happened?”
“There’s a search warrant for your house.”
“What?” I ask. My chest tightens, and I feel suddenly light-headed.
“You should all come here. If they search the house, they’ll definitely search that mother-in-law unit and find her,” Paige says, but I cut her off.
“Wait. Back up. Why are they searching my house?”
“Finn,” she says. “They arrested him. He called to tell me because you won’t answer his calls.”
“He called you?”
“I’m pretty sure I was his last choice. He said as few words as possible and hung up on me, but ultimately, the message is to tell you to pick up the goddamn phone. But right now, Cor, just get out of there.”
“No. What—oh, my God. But...a warrant?”
“He said he didn’t know Caleb well. Caleb has never been in his car or house, but I guess with everything we gave them, they thought they had enough evidence to think Finn was lying, because they issued a search warrant for both house and car. Just get here. She can stay with me,” Paige says and hangs up.
There is just no way. This can’t be happening. He’s a total fraud, but not a murderer. I feel sick. I pull up behind Paige’s house. She opens the garage for me to pull in so we can get Nicola in through the attached door to the house without her being seen.
Once we’re all inside, Paige takes Avery and sits with her on the couch while we bring Nicola’s squashed belongings into the back guest bedroom. When we return to the living room, I’m surprised to see the way Paige seems to change around the baby. I know she lived for her son, but I didn’t know her when he was small, and she doesn’t exactly exude a maternal, nurturing side in general, so the way her face changes with Avery is remarkable. She looks like the woman I knew before Caleb died, and even in the midst of all of this crisis, it’s heartening to see, even for a minute.
“I don’t know when they’ll search, but you can’t take any chances.”
“Thank you,” Nicola says, obviously shaken.
“I would have come by earlier this morning, but the police had a few more questions. But that’s for you,” Paige says, nodding toward the kitchen. The tiny recording device is connected to a laptop on the kitchen table across the room.
