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“Why don’t you trust me?” I asked. “It really hurts.” On one level I understood his distrust. I was different. But it had nothing to do with him, and it didn’t have anything to do with our marriage. Still, he honestly believed I was cheating on him. Did he think I was cheating with Samantha’s husband? That was almost funny. Patrick was the last man I’d be interested in. He was very good-looking, so maybe that bothered Keith. But he was also pompous and patronizing. I’d never met anyone who tried so hard to prove what a good person he was. It felt like he constantly needed our approval. It wasn’t anything I could say to Samantha. It would crush her.

“You won’t answer a simple question about what you did this morning when I was right here, believing you were sleeping beside me.”

“If you were asleep, you weren’t believing anything. Your mind was in a state of suspension.”

“I can feel it when you’re not there.”

I took another sip of tea, wondering if he would ever stop asking these questions.

“How long did you sit outside listening to the quiet?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. And I didn’t see Patrick. I came back to bed by four thirty or so.”

“I think Patrick is perfectly fine. He’s deliberately staying away. He left that pack for us to find, so we’ll panic that the killer made good on that note. We’ll call the sheriff and be forced to explain everything. All the things that have nothing to do with us. Patrick will return home in perfect condition, but we’ll be harassed for weeks, if not longer. Our lives will be torn apart. He’s probably watching the house to see when they arrive.”

I laughed. “I don’t think he’s that manipulative.”

“He’s consumed by what he wants, getting it no matter what.”

“He’ll be back soon. Samantha said Jordan isn’t around either. Maybe he’s talking to her. Maybe she’s showing him some of the trails.” I picked up my mug and took a sip of cold tea.

“If you’re so sure he’ll be back soon, I’m asking you again. Did you talk to him this morning?”

“I already said no.”

He sat on the foot of the bed. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling fan. “I know you’re lying to me about something, Em. I’m not an idiot.”

“I know you’re not.”

“I have proof that you’ve lied to me.”

“Proof? What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I have proof.”

“What is it?”

He stood and walked to the door. He put his fingers on the handle. “I want you to be straight with me. I’m not telling you until you do that.” He opened the door and walked out of the room, closing it firmly behind him.

THIRTY-THREE

SAMANTHA

I was curled on the couch like a catatonic mental health patient, tapping my bare foot on the edge of the cushion, unable to stop its jittery movement. Right now, I hated being alone with my thoughts, but at the same time, I’d been relieved when Emily and Keith left the room. Probably to talk about Patrick without upsetting me.

The tea she’d brought me was still close to the rim of the mug. I didn’t want tea. I wanted Patrick. I didn’t want reassuring words that sounded like someone was trying to cheer me up, trying to make me think she knew for a fact that my husband would walk through the doorway in time for dinner.

I stretched out my legs, but felt strangely exposed. I pulled them up close to me again and rested my chin on my knees.

“Have you heard from him?”

Keith’s voice, directly behind me, so close I could feel the heat of his breath on the bare skin of my arms, made me startle. My leg shot out and my foot just missed kicking the mug.

“No.”

He walked around the couch and sat on the armchair to my right. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. His expression suggested this was a serious conversation. He also looked annoyed, but I had no idea why. How can you be annoyed with a man who disappeared? Who might be in danger, or…

I straightened my other leg and sat up, meeting his gaze.