“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I’ll be there soon. I’m coming right home.”
“Coming from where?” he demands. “She said you dropped her off at my sister’s and that Elodie Blevins picked her up? Why wasn’t she in school today? Why was your phone off?”
I hang up. I have to, because tears are starting to fill my eyes and that’s not acceptable. I can’t cry. Not when Collette needs me, and there are alibis to come up with, and murderers to blackmail, and brothers to keep alive. I can’t have emotion. I can’t be weak. There’s simply too much to do.
Eleven
So many times when Waylen and I have fought over my night job, the scene has been the same. We argue. Sometimes we yell, and sometimes we don’t, but I’m always the one to come home late. There’s the fading aroma of dinner, and the gentle hush of Collette’s white noise machine as she sleeps. There’s one light on, in the kitchen, where he’s waiting for me to come and talk it out. Always talking. I’ve told so many lies at that kitchen table. I’ve said whatever will get us back to normal. And Waylen, whether or not he believes me, accepts my words because he wants the same thing.
But tonight, when I come home, there are no lights. There’s no evidence that there’s been dinner. Collette bull-rushes me so hard that I almost fall over. Her gold hair is a flash of lightning in the darkness. Her tears soak into my shirt.
I can’t see Waylen in the living room, but I know he’s there. I know that they both sat up for hours waiting for me.
I kiss the top of Collette’s head. “Go get into bed, and I’ll come see you after I talk to Dad.”
“Will you promise to wake me up if I fall asleep?”
“I promise,” I say.
She gives me one more squeeze, and she nods. “Will you tell me where you were?”
I smooth the hair out of her face. “Working late on a client. It’s out in the valley where there’s no cell service. I must have forgotten to tell you guys.”
She stiffens as she draws away. Just barely, I can see her face lit up by a streetlamp through the window. A mix of disappointment and anger. She doesn’t believe me.
Only after she’s gone upstairs and closed her bedroom door does Waylen speak. “You were with him.”
Anyone eavesdropping would think he was a husband accusing his wife of seeing an old lover after she’d promised the affair had ended. Wouldn’t it be simpler if that were the truth.
From here, at least, things are familiar. Waylen saying he can’t do this anymore, me saying I have to, and him wondering why. It all leads to the same conclusion, which is that he can’t bear to lose me, and so he concedes.
He asks why I brought Collette to his sister’s, if she was in any danger. I tell him no. And now that I know Bertram was only chasing me down to have that weird little picnic chat, I’m confident that this is the truth. Waylen would accuse me of losing my instincts for being so sure Bertramdoesn’t mean me harm. I’m always cautious and I never let my guard down. But the more I speak to Bertram, the more I’m convinced that he is just hopelessly out of touch. He’s been rich and reclusive for so long, he doesn’t remember how to interact with people.
Erin said little about his personality. I didn’t press for more details because I could hear in her voice how much she hates him. Even before he stole Budgie from her, he was the golden child of the family, and her resentment is clear. Her feelings toward him are fair, but part of being a good spy is forming a picture based on the evidence presented. And evidently, Bertram is pretty weird.
When my phone buzzes in my pocket, Waylen glances at it as though it’s a loaded gun. He’s waiting to see what I’m going to do. That phone is at the heart of our marriage, the thing that tethers us and the thing that has the power to destroy everything we’ve built.
Sometimes I think it’s inevitable—that destruction.
“I’m going to check on Collette,” I say. It’s the only way to end this for now. I can’t sit here anymore in the dark, feeling the heat and the weight of his love for me. There are too many strings attached to it, and the more I struggle, the more they tighten around me.
Waylen is afraid he’ll say the wrong thing and that I’ll leave. I’m afraid he’ll say the right things and that I’ll stay.
I lie with Collette until she falls asleep, clinging to my shirt the way she did as a toddler.
Only once I’m sure she’s really asleep do I check my phone. There are several notes from Elodie asking if I’m okay, to send a signal if I need anything, if I’ve heard from Mr. X. But her latest, sent just twenty minutes ago, says:
Really hope you’re alive, because I’ve been working on something big.
I text back:
Proof he stole the app idea?
Her reply:
Better!
My reply:
