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I shake my head. “Sorry. I interrupted you. Go ahead.” She doesn’t double back and ask for an explanation. She’s determined to say whatever she started.

“I just get excited to see you because you’re easy to be with. You do just about everything I want to do, even when I know you never would’ve without me dragging you along. You make me feel safe. And… I haven’t felt that way in a long time.” She swallows. “Not since Emma’s father died. And having her back here reminds me of what I lost. And I get so scared she blames me for what happened to her. I thought she’d be better off.”

The bagels pop out of the toaster. We both startle. I’m about to ask what happened to Emma when Rachel’s phone rings. So I focus on spreading cream cheese on the bagels.

Rachel squeals. “Yes! We are so going to be there.” She jumps up from her chair with barely contained excitement. “We’re having Margarita-Monday!” She twirls around and runs out of the kitchen and shouts from the stairs, “I have to get ready. And we need to go shopping!”

Rachel’s friend, Heidi, is just as excitable. I thought Rachel was a lot of energy—two of them is overstimulating. I have a hard time figuring out who to listen to and whose directions to follow. They prepare at least four different flavors of margaritas while I play cards with a couple of guys. They all work at the same restaurant together, and it’s closed on Mondays. Heidi called to convince Rachel to take a day off work, inviting her over to play poker and drink.

Heidi and her boyfriend, Lyle, live north, closer to Hartford. According to one of the many stories told, the two women worked at a bar together while Rachel searched for something more permanent in Connecticut. It’s hard to follow where she was before this. She’s lived in a lot of places these past five years. Or traveled to them. I can’t really keep up.

The guys don’t say much. I wouldn’t even know their names if Heidi and Rachel hadn’t introduced them. But they have no problem taking my money and don’t like it very much when I start taking theirs.

Let’s go out!” Rachel declares, bubbly and full of energy after rewriting the definition of day-drinking. More like all-day-drinking. I opt to help Heidi clean up. She made us enchiladas with beans and rice for dinner. The guys are outside on the porch smoking. Rachel twirls around to a song I don’t recognize. Whatever it is, it has a lot of tambourine in the mix.

“Where do you want to go?” Heidi asks, drying the casserole dish.

“Fat Matty’s,” Rachel says. “I bet they have a killer band tonight.”

“Monday?” Heidi doesn’t look convinced.

“It’s Monday?” Rachel deflates.

I laugh. “All day.”

“Work tomorrow,” she groans. “So we have to go back, don’t we?” I nod. She’s saddened by this.

I pull her in for a hug. “You’ll be alright.”

“How long have you two been together?” Heidi asks.

I release Rachel and stuff my hands into my back pockets. “It’s—”

“Not long,” Rachel interrupts, her arms still wrapped around me. She smiles brightly up at me like she’s innocent. Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing.

I run into my house and rush to the front window. The curtains are drawn. I peek between the heavy champagne drapes. News vans and reporters crowd the front lawn, their cameras aimed at our house.

“You didn’t talk to them, did you?” my mother asks.

I spin around. “What are they doing here? Is this because of Jonathan?”

She releases a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately.”

“Are you serious? Do they not have any sense of decency after what he went through?”

“It’s news,” Mom says sadly. “It caught local attention, then went national.”

“Where is he?” I march toward the stairs.

“With your father, giving a statement.”

“He did that already.”

I redirect my steps toward the back door, prepared to drive down to the station. My heart, my gut, every part of me really, tells me to protect him. Even when I know there’s nothing I can do. I have to try.

Before I can take more than a step, Mom takes hold of my arm. “Sweetie, they’re trying to understand what happened.”

“They need to leave him alone.” My voice breaks despite the anger behind my words. “He needs to heal.”