I follow her to the door and hug her tight. “Thanks for coming over,” I tell her, and finally pull away. “You’re a real ride-or-die.”
We both realize what I just said and laugh. “It’s not funny but…”
“Once again, not my best phrasing,” I say, hugging her again before she turns to leave.
When she’s gone, I go into the bedroom to check on Luca. He’s exactly where I left him, but snoring even louder now. It’s my new favorite sound.
The house is quiet, and I look around for what I need to handle next. Crash. I know I need to text him again but worry that if I do it from my phone a second time, he’ll come by to check on Luca himself.If Luca is asleep when he gets here—fine, no problem. But these two have known each other since they were kids; there’s no way Luca will be able to talk to Crash yet and convince him that everything is normal. Luca doesn’t know his own birthday, his parents’ names, or where he was born. For this to work, I need Luca to text Crash directly and say that he’s contagious and taking a few days off.
The only problem is, I can’t find his phone.
My first thought is to look in my purse. Maybe in all the chaos I put it in there. Nope. I search the house, and remember he answered my call on the way home. He’d been on a run and had his phone with him.
I check the Find My iPhone app, and the last known location looks like it was somewhere on the freeway. It must’ve run out of juice on the drive to or from BioNEX, meaning it’s most likely still in my car.
One step outside and I realize I haven’t really taken time to inhale fresh air in two days. My quick to and from work was colored by stress and preoccupation; I barely noticed that it’s an incredibly beautiful day. Clear skies, the smell of salt and pine trees blowing in from the ocean. It’s the kind of day that, if it was a Sunday, Luca and I would be at the beach or out for a drive up the coast.
But that life might be over. Luca has no idea who I am.
He has no memory of our marriage.
And I have no idea whether his memory will ever come back. We’ve never tested the BioVIVE on a human. It wascrazyto do this; it was beyond irresponsible. What on earth was I thinking? His memory is gone now, but what could happen down the road?
What if he never gets better?
What if he does, and realizes we’re too different and I’m too much work or… just not enough? I don’t know what I would do.
Once I’m beside my car, staring at the spot where Luca lay slumped over and wrapped in a blanket, I’m hit with a wave of anguish so powerful I sink to my knees. I remember trying to move his lifeless body,remember the panic of the ride to the lab, how I was sure I was already too late and that it would be my fault. I remember how lifeless he was. Wondering whether I’d made the biggest mistake of my life by not running to a nearby house and banging on the door. Logically I know there wasn’t time, but my brain doesn’t have room for logic right now.
My whole body shakes with the force of my sobs. I’m scared and grief-stricken and wracked with guilt. I could have lost him forever. It was so reckless, what I did. I honestly cannot believe I did it.
But it worked.
Oh my God. It actually worked.
I know this isn’t the place to have a meltdown, but stopping doesn’t seem to be an option. Better out here than in the house, I think, not wanting Luca to see me falling apart; he already has too much to manage.
I suck in a jagged breath, swiping my hands across my eyes to get myself together. I check the trunk and the floor first for Luca’s phone; it could easily have fallen out. I feel around the cracks between the seats and the console. Annie’s guy must have come out here again in the night, because there’s nothing, not a smear of blood or a speck of dirt in my car. The only proof that anything even happened is the bag of Luca’s dirty clothes. I pull it out, rifling unsuccessfully through the pockets of his shorts, before sitting back on my heels.
I glance down toward the end of the street. “Did I lose it when I was moving his body?” I muse. “What the fuck?”
It is possibly the stupidest thing I have ever spoken aloud in my life, because from just behind me, a throat clears. Startled, I turn to find Betty Caldwell looking down at me holding a bag of my husband’s bloodstained clothes.
13EMERY
Mrs. Caldwell.” I stand, swiping the tears from my face before quickly rolling the plastic bag closed. Her eyes hawkishly track the movement. “D-do you need something?”
She blinks past me and into the car, surveying. Even though my pulse is racing, I know without having to look what she sees: absolutely nothing.
According to Annie, “Not even Dexter could find blood in there now.” Overtly unsettling but very much appreciated.
“Mrs. Caldwell?” I prompt. “Can I help you?”
She straightens and meets my gaze, and I notice that, as usual, she doesn’t insist I call her “Betty” the way she does with Luca. With her spine softened by age, she’s a few inches shorter than I am but has the piercing stare of a terrifying school principal. I’ve honestly never known what Luca finds so endearing about her.
“I was hoping to see Luca this morning,” she says. “He’s usually out by now.”
I wince in apology. “He isn’t feeling well, actually.”
