But my heart refuses to listen to the voice of reason, refuses to snuff out the first real spark it’s felt since the night Sadie vanished.
“May I help you?” the shopkeeper, a woman with a platinum pixie cut, asks.
“Just looking, thanks,” I say and, instead of continuing to do so, I walk back out into the sunshine, sweat prickling at my hairline.
Inside the car, I set the shopping tote on the passenger seat and lean forward, resting my forehead against the steering wheel. Then I stare back out at the town I once loved and now can’t seem to escape.
My pulse spikes when I pull the photo from my bag and stare at it for the hundredth time. And then I catch a movement in the rearview mirror.
A man with a black T-shirt, black jeans, and dark glasses is standing near a parked Mercedes across the street.
He looks like he’s staring at me, but he can’t be. I’m just imagining it. I’ve barely slept and exhaustion is making me see things.
Ignoring him, I start the engine and pull away from the curb, my eyes still on him in the mirror as he turns and walks in the opposite direction.
Still, my hands stay tight on the wheel as I drive back toward the apartment. I can’t stop checking the mirror too often as my foot presses harder on the gas.
Could that be the person who sent the photo?
I nearly run a red light and have to slam on the brakes to avoid clipping a delivery truck.
I pull over, my hands shaking so badly I have to grip my thighs until they stop.
When I finally make it back to the apartment, Gabriel is waiting for me. Scarlett is still not back from the gym.
Seeing that I’m rattled, my husband pulls me into his arms, and I cry into his chest—deep, ugly sobs that soak through his shirt. He just holds me, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other pressing firmly between my shoulder blades, grounding me.
When he pulls back, he gazes down into my face, his concern a deep frown between his eyebrows. “Are you okay, baby?”
“I don’t know. Do you really think the photo is fake? Deep down inside, do you really believe that?”
“I know it is,” he whispers.
He pulls out his phone and shows me the screen. “I sent a copy of it to a contact of mine. He knows his way aroundcomputers, and he said the photo is definitely fake. Here’s his email response.”
My legs give out and I sink onto the couch as I stare at the screen, the words swimming between the cracks of my vision. My brain refuses to process them for a long moment even as I reread the email.
Sorry, man, that photo is definitely photoshopped. Trust me.
“I’m so sorry.” Gabriel pushes the phone in his pocket. “I wanted to be wrong too.”
He wipes his eyes, but something in me stays rigid. The resolve doesn’t leave.
“If it’s fake,” I say slowly, “then why send it? Why now?”
Gabriel opens his mouth, then closes it. He can’t answer that question.
“Sadie is out there, Gabriel. I just feel it. Our baby didn’t drown that night.”
Gabriel still doesn’t respond.
I move to the window and stare out at the distant lights of the camp.
“I will find out what really happened. Even if it kills me.”
SEVEN
Scarlett sits on one of the balcony chairs, knees drawn to her chest, toes gripping the edge of the seat.
