“Who?” she asks flatly.
“Um, an editor friend who I’ve known for years.”
I’m not sure why I don’t want to admit it was Alison. But my heart has begun to skitter like the plastic bag, which I see from the window is now on the move again.
“You were in publishing?”
“Yes—though, since Melanie’s death, I’ve only worked freelance.”
Another remark of Alison’s swims to the surface in my mind. She said she’d been sloppy with the rules more than once during that period years ago, meaning Mel might not have been the only lover who didn’t fit within the boundaries the Handlers established for their open marriage.
Could Morgan be someone she once got sloppy with? Surely professional colleagues of her husband would have been off-limits.
And there was another rule Alison admitted violating, one about overlap. Meaning she’d allowed herself two lovers during the same time frame.
There’s now a weird rumbling in my head, as if I’ve picked up the early sounds of a stampede of horses and if I don’t get out of the way, I’ll be knocked to the ground and dragged in their wake.
“Is everything okay?” Morgan asks, staring across the front seat at me.
Maybe she can tell, even in the dimness of the car, that the blood has drained from my face. All I know is that I don’t want to be sitting here anymore.
“I’m fine,” I say. “But—but I should let you go. I hate holding you up this way.”
“I said it’s not a problem.”
As I fumble for the door handle, Morgan reaches across me and grasps my right arm. I can feel the pressure through the sleeve of my coat.
“Don’t be crazy,” she says. “It’s deserted out there.”
She tightens her grip, and it takes all my strength to wrench my arm away.
“I don’tcare,” I exclaim. My fingers finally find the handle, and then I’m nearly hurling myself from the vehicle.
Within seconds, I’m at a full jog, moving across the blacktop toward the front of the lot and starting to gasp for air. There’s no taxi in sight.
God, where is he?I see a truck barrel down the road in front of me but nothing else.
I brace myself for the sound of Morgan’s car heading toward me. But what comes next is the double click from the car door opening. My breath freezes in my chest. Seconds later, I hear the scuff of boots on the blacktop. She’s following me on foot.
“Bree, what’s going on?” she calls out through the darkness. “Are you all right?”
I’m almost at the road, but there’s not a single car passing by. I fish desperately in my purse for my phone, finally grabbing it.
Then, almost out of nowhere, a white taxi rumbles into view and pulls up in front of the restaurant. I wave frantically at the driver, who nods when he sees me. I rush toward the car and yank the rear door open. Before diving in, I turn quickly back. Morgan is retreating to her car and is soon enveloped in darkness.
“Everything okay?” the driver asks, eyeing me in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, I just need to get back to the inn as soon as possible.”
Was I being totally irrational just now? Maybe I’m so distraught about Riley that I’m not thinking straight. But no, something feels very wrong, and I’m not sure exactly why. I have to make sense of what just happened and let Halligan know.
I quickly text Logan, my palms almost too sweaty to type.
Have you heard from Halligan?
not yet. whereAREyou?
On my way back. I’ll be there in thirty-five minutes.
