Page 5

That makes me feel worse.

The front door is unlocked. That bothers me for one clean, ordinary second. Then I remember we left in a hurry.

Inside, the house is cool.

“Baxter?” I call. My voice sounds odd in the foyer. “Barret?”

Nothing.

Jessica steps in behind me, closing the door quietly. “Where do they usually hide?”

“They don’t hide.”

She gives me a look.

“They don’t hide from him,” I correct.

The dogs are miniature schnauzers, though Renny always called them our “noble sons” as if they were two disappointed European princes trapped in gray fur. Baxter is six, bossy, suspicious of balloons. Barret is four, too pretty for his own good and deeply committed to emotional blackmail.

They adore Renny.

Adored.

Jessica takes her sandals off near the door without asking.

“Where do the flowers go?”

“The back patio.”

I walk through the foyer, past the sitting room, the stairs, the long hallway with framed photos from trips and events and dinners where Renny is always mid-laugh and I am always looking at him as if waiting for my cue.

In the kitchen, there’s still a mug by the sink.

His mug.

I stop in the doorway, and Jessica nearly bumps into me.

“What?” she asks softly.

I nod toward it.

She sees it. Says nothing.

Good.

The patio doors look out over the pool and the beds along the back wall. Renny had already set out the empty ceramic pots this morning. He must have done it while I was upstairs changing shirts, before he said his stomach was still off.

I set the flat of geraniums on the island.

“I’ll do them later.”

Jessica looks toward the pots outside.

“Why don’t you sit down?”

“I can plant three geraniums.”

“I know you can.”