Page 92 of What Happens at Nightfall

She could feel the tension of his chest beneath her cheek. “Our last fight—the reason she went running that day and got hit by a car—was because she had signed up as a speaker at a conference, just in that weird moment in summer 2021 when the world opened up and then closed down again. There’d been vaccines—but just for adults. The kids were too young. The adult vaccines were supposed to prevent transmission—and then they didn’t. I thought it was irresponsible. She told me I was sacrificing her on the altar of domesticity. I asked her why she couldn’t attend virtually. She asked me if I could do my job virtually.”

“She was a lawyer, right?” It seemed the safest question to ask.

“Environmental law. Making up for the lands her ancestors had ravaged, she said. She had a complicated relationship with her family history.” Adam let out a long breath that ruffled the hair on Jess’s head. “But, no. I don’t think she knew about the demon.”

Jess respected boundaries. That was how she had always preferred to view it. Kimmy’s version was that she shied away from intimacy. It would be so easy to accept the change of subject, let Adam keep his past to himself.

Jess slowly sat up, moving back far enough so that she could see his face. “It wasn’t your fault. Your wife getting hit by a car.”

“Wasn’t it?” Adam thrust his hands into his hair, making it stand up any which way. “We were both starting to lose it. We’d been cooped up with the kids for a year—school had been virtual—and Kate took the brunt of it because my job was there, on the spot, and hers was suddenly on a screen. She’d always been the one who left for the office. I was the one who could do emergency pickups and relieve the babysitter. And suddenly it all flipped and neither of us dealt with it well. We both said things—”

“It wasn’t like you pushed her into traffic. Was the driver drunk?”

“No, just reckless. Lots of previous violations. Driving without a license. He blew through a stop sign and barreled right into her.” Adam looked ruefully at Jess. “I’m angry—and guilty—and I don’t know how to stop being angry and guilty.”

“You do a good job of hiding it.”

“I deal with things I don’t want to deal with by pretending they aren’t there, but then they have a way of popping back out at me. This was also true of my middle school math homework,” he added wryly. “And you see? I’m doing it again. Trying to joke my way out of it.”

“As coping methods go,” said Jess, “that’s better than vodka or family-size bags of Doritos.”

“Don’t knock Doritos.” Adam buried his head in his hands. “I keep thinking, if I’d just been like, cool, go to your conference, you can isolate for two weeks when you get back, Kate would still be here. But at the time—I was furious she was going to go off and leave me to cope single-handed. Ironic, huh? Thanks to me, the kids don’t have her at all.”

He hadn’t, Jess noticed, said, I don’t have her at all. Just the kids.

“Thanks to that driver, not thanks to you,” she said firmly. Adam shook his head, his eyes closed. Jess poked him in the arm. “Hey. Your kids are great. You’re great with them.”

Adam cocked an eye at her. “Are you just saying that because I’m here with my shirt unbuttoned?”

“Stop fishing. I’m saying it because it’s true.” Although the unbuttoned shirt was a good look for him. Jess could understand why Kimmy’s friend had had a thing for Adam when he was open-shirted in Pirates of Penzance. She resisted the urge to slide her hand into the gap. “Watching you with your kids—you’re really good with them. I grew up in a one-parent household. I know it’s not easy.”

Adam stirred, turning to face her. “Was your dad in the picture?”

He was changing the topic, but Jess decided not to fight it. He’d shared his darkest moments and now it was her turn. “I don’t even know who he was. I don’t even know if my mom knows who he was. It was Berkeley in the eighties, she says, as if that explains everything.”

“Was your mom into . . .”

“Drugs and free love? I think she’s a generation late for that. Also, no. She barely even drinks. Just a sip of champagne to toast at gallery openings. She told me once that light and color are intoxicating enough—I think she actually means it. Mostly she lives on herbal teas with cutesy names. And cheese and crackers. We ate a lot of cheese and crackers.”

Jess could remember perching on one of the stools by the counter—their kitchen was too small for a table—munching leftover cheese cubes from a party platter while her mother washed handfuls of fresh cherry tomatoes from the local farmer’s market, swishing back and forth between the sink and the fridge with the swooshy sound her dresses always made.

Adam raised his brows. “That explains your fridge, then.”

“Hey.” Jess gave up and slid her hand into that tempting expanse of open shirt. “Not all of us have free-range chickens bestowed upon us.”

Adam leaned back with a sigh. “You want my chickens, you can have them.”

Jess glanced up at him. “Euphemism?”

“Not a euphemism. Sadly.” Adam removed Jess’s hand, planted a kiss on the palm, and hauled himself upright. “Not until we deal with this demon.”

“Back to work, then.” Jess watched as Adam tapped his phone awake. The results of their search were still up on the screen. “Here’s one casting out the demons in Jesus’s name. And here’s another one with a rabbi.”

“I don’t want to knock the power of prayer, but I’m a materialist at heart. Can’t we—I don’t know—burn sage or something?”

“I only have the powdered kind,” said Jess. “We could put it in bowls.”

Adam stifled a yawn. “Any plant we need, I can get for us. That’s not the issue. The issue is—”