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“I don’t know,” she told them. Was there no end to the things she didn’t know?
The officers jotted everything down and said they’d pay Matt a visit. They brought up the possibility of her taking out a restraining order against him.
“Can I do that?” she asked.
“I’d certainly look into it,” the older of the two officers advised, promising to drive by the house at intervals throughout the night.
Chloe watched as the men returned to their patrol car, then locked the door, fighting the urge to call Paige, beg her to come over and spend the night. “Sure,” Chloe admonished herself, doing a quick check of the downstairs rooms before returning to the second floor. “Put your best friend’s life in danger, why don’t you?”
She checked on the kids and was gratified to find them sleeping soundly. “Thank you, God,” she whispered, turning off the lights in her bedroom and peeking through the closed curtains onto the empty street below.
She’d been against the move to Cambridge when Matt first suggested it, wanting to remain in Boston proper. But Matt had been adamant that such a move would be great for their marriage, as well as for their children. He’d argued that Cambridge, home to both Harvard and MIT, was one of the most sought-after housing markets in the northeast US and that due to decreasing land space and escalating prices, they’d make a killing, financially, when they did decide to sell. He’d promised that if she was unhappy, they’d move back to the city.
Just another one of the promises he’d broken over the years.
Chloe lay down on top of her bed and closed her eyes, doubting she’d sleep. But seconds later, she found herself wandering through a crowded street fair, trying to keep a wad of pink cotton candy from sticking to her hair. “Look, Mommy,” Sasha squealed from somewhere beside her. “A clown!” Chloe looked up to see a faceless man running toward her. “Out of the way, bitch,” he shouted, knocking her to the ground.
The phone rang.
Chloe bolted up in bed. She grabbed the phone, bringing it to her ear without speaking.
“Chloe?” a man shouted. “Chloe, are you there?”
“Matt?”
“What the hell are you trying to pull now?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“The police were just here. You told them I’ve been harassing you, that you think I’m some sort of serial killer…?”
“I never said that.” Chloe tried to explain the events of the evening, but Matt wouldn’t listen.
“For your information, I’ve been with clients the whole goddamn night,” he interrupted, “going back and forth with offers, busting my ass trying to make a living to support my children and my crazy-ass wife. I’ve got half a dozen people willing to vouch for me, happy to swear I never left their side, and that the only phone calls I made tonight were business-related. I come home, exhausted, to find the police at my door, asking me questions about some girl named Tiffany Sleight!”
“Someone’s been calling me, threatening me,” she explained again.
“And you automatically assumed it was me?”
“I didn’t know what to think.”
“Well, if you think you have trouble now, just wait till I—”
Chloe reached down and pulled the phone plug out of the wall before Matt could say another word. Then she burst into tears.
“Mommy?” Sasha said from the doorway, Josh appearing behind her.
“Oh, sweeties. I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”
“Was that another wrong number?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Sasha ran toward the bed, climbing in beside Chloe. “I’m scared. Can I sleep with you?”
In response, Chloe pulled down the bedspread and beckoned Sasha underneath the covers. “You, too,” she told her son, who was hovering in the doorway. She watched him push one reluctant foot in front of the other, allowing himself to be coaxed into her bed.
“You should call Daddy,” he told her.
