She was napping when I left, so she didn’t witness the five minutes I spent staring at the front door, debating if going to work today was smart.
It’s just another day,I told myself before eventually climbing into my truck and heading to the firehouse. The route from the cottage to work was muscle memory. I’d hardly spent any nights at my house in the past month, and I hoped to eventually never see the same street names and stop signs from my old neighborhood again.
Saying goodbye to the house is long overdue. It stopped being a home years ago, now more like a mausoleum. It isn’thealthy, and it shouldn’t have taken Kevin’s insight for me to realize that.
There’s no rest for the wicked, and the second I clock in, we’re inundated with calls, and Marcus is too busy to check in on me every minute like he usually does. I welcome the busy chatter in the truck and the joking around the kitchen.
It grounds me.
Keeps me distracted.
No one would know what today is, which is exactly how I need it to be.
It’s just another day.
Nineteen hours remain of my twenty-four shift when we get a call to a large fire at an abandoned lot of storage units.
On the ride over, all I can think is that it isn’t long until I’m back with Harriet, wrapped up in her rosy scent and gentle kisses. The perfect way to end a busy shift.
It’s just another day.
FIFTY-FOUR
HARRIET
Marcus surgesfrom his chair when I storm into his office. “Harriet. Are you okay?”
Since climbing into my car, I’ve worked on auto-pilot, mind racing through a thousand different scenarios as to why Warren didn’t tell me about Alison.
“I need to see Warren,” I say breathlessly, hands shaking.
“Sit first.” Marcus rounds the table and offers me a chair. “He isn’t here. They left for a call about twenty minutes ago. If something is wrong with you or the baby, I can get him back here ASAP.”
I shake my head, trying to catch my breath. I’d suspected he wasn’t here when my calls went straight to voicemail. “We’re both fine. I just really need to speak to him.”
He hands me a bottle of water from the mini-fridge next to his desk and sits in the chair opposite me. The plastic crinkles in my fist as I down the ice-cold contents.
Marcus is Warren’s oldest friend, his brother-in-law and closest confidant. Was he the best man at their wedding? Doeshe know why Warren kept Alison’s death a secret? Why, as Diana put it, is today so rough for him?
I know the answer to the last question and ask it aloud anyway.
“Today is the anniversary of Alison’s death?”
Marcus doesn’t flinch at my bluntness. “It is, yes.”
“I was performing at an anniversary lunch,” I start. “In between sets, I was on the phone with my friend, and we got talking about Warren. When the call ended, a guest approached me. She told me she worked with Alison.”
Confusion trickles into Marcus’s features. “Did she say anything else?”
I curl my lips over my teeth to stop them from shaking. “She told me about Alison.Shedid.”
Cold realization freezes over Marcus’s face. “Fuck. Fuck, Harriet?—”
“I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry for barging in like this.” I go to stand when Marcus lays a gentle hand on my forearm, stopping me.
“You should be here.” He curses under his breath again and rubs at his eyes aggressively. “He told me you knew about her.”
I swallow. “Only that they haven’t been together for eight years and she left him.” Embarrassment floods my face at how little I know about Warren’s past. Have I been naïve in not pressing him on certain topics, when, in reality, his closet is overflowing with skeletons?
