25. Laura

I didn't sleep last night. How could I? How could I close my eyes and fall into a dream knowing what I had done? Within a matter of hours, I went from consoling Susan and telling her we'd find Emma, that her daughter would return to her, to knowing she never would. Brian lays beside me, under the covers, sleeping on and off. He won't tell me what happened. He said he wasn't even sure what all happened yet. He said he needed to know more before he could tell me. Then he said the less I knew, the better. I don't believe it, and I don't think I can live with a half-truth. A half-truth is just a whole lie.

Brian told me we had to get rid of Emma's body. That there was no other way. Telling the police would destroy us. He swears he didn't do anything, that he hadn't harmed her. That he never would. But why not just go to the police then? I asked him that same question a dozen-plus times. And each time I asked, the words became quieter, losing their conviction. Finally, I went along with it. I'm not sure why I did. Maybe I was in shock. Maybe I feared discovering what my husband is capable of. Or maybe I care for him too much. So, I went through the motions. I had to hide one thing or lose everything. By the time we were done, it was the wee hours of the morning, three a.m. or so. No one's awake at that time unless you work third shift or you're up to no good.

I glance over at the clock on my nightstand. The numbers are bold and red as they should be. Life is a countdown, but it doesn't end at zero. Sometimes the destination is twelve, like Emma; or forty, like my father; or fifteen, like my sister.

It's a little after nine in the morning. Footsteps clamor through the house, so I know the kids are up. It should just be a normal Sunday. But it's not, and I don't think I'll ever have a normal day again. Brian shifts, turning over from one side to the other, facing me now. I crane my neck toward him. His eyes are closed, sleep gathering at the corners of them. He's rested somewhat well, and I don't know how he managed that. We've been married for sixteen years, and I thought we knew everything about one another. Now, I'm not so sure. The man I fell in love with would never ask me to help him get rid of a body, and I never thought I'd agree to a request like that. But my family is too important to me, and if I lost Brian, it would all fall apart.

"Mom," Beth calls from the other side of our bedroom door.

Brian stirs. His eyes shoot open. They're green with yellow flecks. I used to get lost in them, but now I'm just lost.

"Hey." His voice is hoarse, just above a whisper. His large hand emerges from beneath the covers, finding mine. He holds it, squeezing three times. It means I love you. I don't squeeze back. Not because I don't love him but because I don't love him in this moment. I stare into those eyes, wondering what they witnessed. What did they see that backed him into a corner where the only thing he could do was the wrong thing? Or his hand, the one that mine is engulfed in. What did it do?

"Are you okay?" he asks.

He knows the answer, but he wants me to lie to him, and I can't do that right now.

"I don't know what I am," I say.

"Laura, we did what we had to do."

That's what he keeps saying.

Yesterday I saw him as the man I fell madly in love with two decades before. But now I notice changes from when I met him, the kind you don't notice when you spend every day with a person, the subtle vicissitudes: The gray hairs stippled throughout his full beard and mustache. The small dark spots spattered across his skin from too much time spent in the sun. The faded scar on his forehead that disappears into his hairline, four or so inches in length. I remember the day he got it. We were out on a walk when the kids were young. They were on bicycles, all of them equipped with training wheels except for Beth's. She had just learned how to ride without them—not well, but well enough. She was weaving in and out of the center of the road, which doesn't matter in a place the size of the Grove. But a car came along. Someone from out of town. Someone who didn't respect the speed limit in a small community. We were all laughing and chatting and didn't notice the car. But Brian did, almost too late. He pushed Beth out of the way and took the hit like any parent would. His head cracked against the windshield. Blood poured from the wound, trickling down his face in a steady stream. I remember him saying he was fine as he crawled to a crying Beth with scuffed-up knees. He didn't care about his own well-being. He only cared about hers. It took thirty-six stitches to close the wound. And even when it did, it left behind a scar that served as a reminder of the type of man he is. One that would do anything to protect the people he loves most. I cling to that reminder in this moment. Because it's all I have.

"Mom," Beth yells again.

"What is it, Beth?" Brian answers for me.

"Can I go with Lucas to search for Emma?"

Brian lets out a heavy sigh. What will we tell our children when she never returns? Will we keep searching? Will we pretend to have hope when we know there is none? There's no right answer. Because you can't give a correct answer to a wrong question.

"Yeah, but be careful and make sure you're home for lunch," he says.

"Thanks, Dad." Her footsteps pound down the hallway, growing quieter as she moves through the house. The front door slams closed, startling me.

"Should we really have Beth out looking for...?" I can't say her name out loud.

"It'd be odd if we didn't let her help. Don't you think that would raise suspicions?" He looks at me, staring into my eyes, and I wonder how I look to him. His thumb slides back and forth, grazing over the top of my hand. His touch used to be comforting but now it feels like a needle dragging across my skin, perforating it.

"I don't know. It just feels wrong having her search for someone she'll never find."

He presses his lips together. "I know. But there's nothing we can do now."

"We could tell Susan and Eddie the truth."

"We can't. It's too late. We got rid of her body. That's a felony," he explains, but he doesn't explain enough, like why we had to hide it in the first place.

"I still don't understand. Why couldn't we just call the police?"

Brian exhales deeply, and I think maybe he just might exhale the truth too. "Laura, please stop asking me that."

His eyes search mine, but there's nothing for him to find. I'm not the one hiding secrets—well, at least not from him... yet.

"Can't you just tell me? I know you said it's better that I don't know. But that can't be true." My mouth is so dry it feels like I swallowed sand. But maybe that's how guilt tastes when you have to swallow it—grainy, flavorless, bitter.

"I can't. You just have to trust me. We did the right thing for us."

If you have to qualify right with a pronoun, then it's not right.

"You do believe me?" he asks.

I pull my hand from his. "I don't have a choice."

His brows knit together and a sliver of his green eyes disappear behind his lids. We've both done a bad thing. It binds us to one another, more than any other connection we've ever had—more than this house we built together, more than our marriage, and more than our children. He and I share the darkest of secrets.

"Brian, when you love someone as much as I love you, you believe them. You always believe them," I say.

He smiles warmly, and his thumb grazes over my hand again. It feels like a razor blade, but I don't wince.

It doesn't matter if I trust him. It only matters that he thinks I trust him.