As he talks, my mind wanders. Ben makes me feel calm and safe and beautiful.This is the type of guy I want to be with.I find myself picturing a life with him: indie warehouse concerts, photography exhibits, conversations about space and time and the meaning of life. I wonder if someday he’d invite me to Singapore to meet his family. I hope his dad’s okay.
—
I wake upin the middle of the night, my heart thundering in my chest, and for a moment, I forget where I am. As my eyes adjust, I take in the large windows, the painting on the wall, two muted blocksof color. I must have fallen asleep on the couch while Ben was talking, because he’s draped a blanket over me.
Suddenly, everything rushes back—the investigation, Marta. Unable to fall back asleep, I rise from the couch and tiptoe upstairs to his bedroom. “Ben?” I whisper into the dark loft.
He stirs. Lifts his head. “Hey. Come here.” He lifts the covers forme.
I slip under the covers and hesitate for a moment, not sure if this is too much. It’s been a long time since we slept in the same bed, and even then, I’d never quite gotten used to it. But he reaches for me, and I fit myself against his warm body. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight, and I fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart.
The next morning, Ben kisses me on the cheek before he leaves for the airport. “If you need anything, just text. I’m here. I’ll keep my phone on the whole flight so you can reach me if anything happens.”
I look at him, wishing he could stay. “I’ll be fine.”
“Take care of yourself.” He gives my arm one last squeeze before walking out the door.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Maya
August 2023
The dark road sweeps by.passing headlights. and my foot presses harder on the pedal. I’m driving at breakneck speed across the countryside, all four windows rolled down and the radio blasting.
I was finally ready to tell Nate everything, but he wasn’t picking up. He texted me that AJ had picked them up and they were going to stay over at his place for the night. I didn’t want to go home without him and Dani there, so not knowing what else to do, I took Nate’s car, and I drove. And drove and drove.
My mind has been spinning with horrible thoughts. That Nate, my own husband, the person who has been by my side for the last ten years, with whom I share a last name, a home, and achild,may have killed Matthew. Yes, I wanted the man dead, but not by my husband’s hand.
This nightmare has spiraled out of control, and it’s all because of me, because I couldn’t be honest with the people closest to me.
A horn honks, and I swerve back into my lane.Shit.It’s dark, almost midnight, and I have no idea where I am. My eyelids are heavy, and I should pull over.
My phone rings with another call from Detective Gary—but I grab the phone and silence it. Throw it into the backseat. I need a break. Some time to think. All the thoughts buzzing around my skull are driving me insane. I wish I could hit pause on the world for a moment and take a long, much-needed rest. Nate and Dani are gone,and I’m a suspect in a murder investigation. I’d laugh at the absurdity of it all if it weren’t so horribly real.
—
Outside the window,a neon sign floats past that readsSurly Goat Tavern.That’ll have to do.
I pull into the gravel parking lot and take in the ramshackle building with a tired American flag next to the door, the pickup truck with the dent in the bumper and a sticker with a gun on it. This is normally not the kind of place I’d go anywhere near, but I need something, anything, to distract me from my current situation.
Heads turn when I enter, but I’m too tired to care. The bar smells of sour beer and mildew, of sweat and cigarette smoke. A jukebox plays a sad rock ballad, and a man with a long gray beard and leather jacket with an American flag on the back sits at the bar drinking a glass of dark liquor.
The bartender, a curvy woman in her thirties wearing hoop earrings, her greasy blond hair with dark roots, gives me a once-over.
When I sit down at the bar, she looks up. “Oh, honey, you look like you could use a drink.”
I sigh, barely able to lift my head, and try my best to meet her eyes without bursting into tears. “Thank you.”
“What do you drink?” she asks, filling up a beer.
I shrug, the decision too difficult right now. “Honestly, anything.”
She fills a shot glass with whiskey and sets it in front of me. I reach for it. The whiskey burns my throat. Without waiting for a response, she fills it up again.
I stare at the glass—I probably shouldn’t—but feeling reckless, I pick up the glass and gulp it down.
The bartender leans on her elbows. “I’m Missi—with ani,not ay—likeMississippi.”
