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Molly’s gaze drifted to the hallway and a slice of a barely visible wood-paneled door.
“What did you say was in the spare room?” she asked.
“I didn’t.”
Molly waited, expectant.
He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he said, “It’s locked.”
“It’s what?”
“I put a lot of stuff in there.”
“The same kind of stuff you deleted from my phone?”
Bishop sucked in a slow breath, nostrils flaring. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. There’s photos and souvenirs and about a million new novelty mugs for your collection. Just—stuff. So much stuff. We’ve been together a long time. Mols, I had to lock it up.”
“And where is the key?”
“Molly, please.” The desperation in his tone nearly toppled Molly over in her chair. But she didn’t back down.
“Please what? Trust you? I think you’re smart enough to see why that might be difficult.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know. I have no good options here.”
Molly’s molars ground together again. She didn’t know what to make of Bishop’s tenuous civility and questionable decisions. She was both too tired to fight him and too angry to forgive him.
Head trauma tiramisu almost at your door!
Alannah’s text sent Molly jumping from the bed where she’d been steadfastly avoiding Bishop all day. In an apartment bursting its proverbial banks with books and furniture, there were only so many places one could hide from one’s unfamiliar, mysterious, and frustrating husband.
In perhaps her favorite act of avoidance—avoiding the world, stress, and her own thoughts sometimes—Molly researched. She dug into dozens of news articles and Wikipedia pages from major events she’d missed. If she’d known where to find the supplies, she would have made herself flash cards. It was incomprehensible how much time passed every single day; how much stuff could happen inside all those vanishing seconds.
After tackling current events and pop culture, she read every medical journal she could get her hands on relating to trauma-induced memory loss. And after that, she read, reluctantly, her last text exchange with Bishop, sent late the night before she’d woken up with no memory of her life here.
Guess who toppled several dictionary-sized books on top of her head?
Don’t say you.
Are you okay?
All good. A little dizzy and my head’s a bit tender, but no blood or anything.
Are you sure?
Promise. I’m leaving in a few anyway, so don’t worry.
Still out with Bentley. I’ll be pretty late.
I won’t wait up. I’m exhausted.
We’ll sleep in.
Waffles?
Waffles.
Molly had never been so offended by the word waffle in her entire life, which made Alannah’s arrival a blessed distraction.
