Now

"Please, sit," I say, gesturing to the chairs in our kitchen breakfast nook. I'm trying to act normal, even though dread is bubbling up in my stomach from a deep well within.

When Josh didn't come back, at first I didn't panic, even when he didn't answer my texts. We had parted angry. He probably needed more time. Then, Monday morning, my calls went straight to voicemail. Maybe his phone died. Or had he blocked me? From there, the floodgates of worst-case scenarios burst open. What if I never saw him again? What if our angry goodbyes were our last? By Tuesday, I knew something terrible had happened, even if that terrible thing was him leaving me of his own free will. That's when I filed the missing person report. The past twenty-four hours since I filed might as well have been an eternity, but now that law enforcement is here, I don't feel ready. What's worse? The limbo of dread, or its cruel resolution?

I turn my back on the sheriff and his deputy while I settle Annaleigh in her high chair, strap her in, and hand her a soft spoon to entertain herself with. There's a long, almost human whine from Captain, who has settled into a good-boy position by his empty bowls.

"Don't mind me, I just need to get Captain's food," I say as Annaleigh bangs the spoon on her tray. This earns total silence from the men. I give them a small glance. The sheriff's gaze is downright piercing. But his deputy's is different. A mixture of wonder, curiosity...and lust. I know I'm beautiful, according to Western human standards. And sometimes that makes me happy—almost viciously happy, like my beauty is some kind of revenge. You can hate me, but you'll still want me. But a lot of the time, it makes everything so much more complicated. The spot at the back of my head itches again. I force myself to ignore it.

"Can I get you coffee? Water?" I say as I head to the fridge for the Tupperware of wet dog food, both sick with the delay and desperate for another minute of not knowing.

"Water's fine," says the deputy as I dish a wet slop of pink into Captain's bowl.

Sheriff Mitchell tips his chair back. "Big dog. Saint Bernard?"

"Bernese," I correct as Captain sets to.

"Is that homemade?" says the sheriff. I automatically hear the question behind the question. Do you care that much about your dog? Are you capable of caring? There are always layers. Or maybe there aren't, and I'm just paranoid.

"From my neighbor." I seal the container and return it to the fridge, next to the containers of pureed baby food.

"Which neighbor?"

"Bob, next door."

"You two friendly?"

I make my tone light. "He moved in last year. Just after us. I...brought him banana bread." I don't mention that, even though Bob was home, he didn't open the door when I showed up with the still-warm loaf. I had to leave it on the porch. I thought about dropping off cookies the following week; Josh told me to cut my losses. "He, um, runs a meat processing plant. He brought this by Sunday. I think it was a kind of...late housewarming gift."

"Pretty damn late," says the sheriff.

"I guess," I say faintly. Why do I feel like I'm incriminating myself with everything I say? Leftover anxiety from being in the public eye, I remind myself as I pour two glasses of water. The glasses rattle like teeth as I set them before the men, then sit in the third chair, between them, trembling hands tucked between my legs. My heart and head are pounding out Be careful in a continuous loop that makes it hard to think.

"Adams?" says Sheriff Mitchell, looking to his deputy.

"Yes. Right. Ma'am, we've found your husband's car. It rolled off the highway into the woods about two hours west of here. A few miles from Belmont Ridge County Park."

Thunder crashes through my senses. "And Josh?"

"At this point, unknown." The deputy has the grace to at least look concerned. "Has he made contact in any way, ma'am?"

Sheriff Mitchell leans farther back in his chair, putting all the weight on the back two legs. His eyes rove about as if he suspects I'm hiding Josh somewhere—or pieces of him.

"No." I swallow.

Annaleigh starts her loud, new litany as she bangs her spoon. "Ma-ma-ma-ma."

"We're searching the woods where the car was found," continues Deputy Adams, whipping out a little notepad. "Some of the folks out there are organizing a search party. We've also called nearby hospitals. Nothing yet. You said he was on a hiking trip. Do you know where he was spending the night?"

"I...don't know. He packed a tent." I lick my lips. "He said he was meeting Andy on Sunday, though. Andy Wekstein."

"Andy Wekstein of WekTech?" Deputy Adams's eyebrows go to his hairline.

I nod.

"Hiking date?" Adams looks skeptical, as if the man who designed me and the man who sleeps with me would not be natural friends.

He's not wrong.

"Breakfast date," I say.

"Where?"

"A diner, I think?"

"The two of them get along?"

"They're friendly." A white lie, but why bring drama to Andy's door?

"So Mr. Wekstein may have been the last person to see your husband," says Adams, scribbling on his notepad.

"No. Josh didn't show."

I know this from Andy, because he was the second person I called Monday morning, after my calls to Josh went to voicemail.

"Hey, Andy," I said. "Josh didn't come home last night. No need to panic, but...you met him for breakfast yesterday, right? Did he mention when he was coming home?"

"He never showed," Andy said. "Sorry, I should have told you right away, but... I didn't want to cause any more tension between the two of you." And without missing a beat, "Are you okay, though? Tell me what you need and I'm there."

"Nothing!" I said, not wanting to alarm Andy further, even adding a laugh for good measure, even though my brain was spinning in a panicked carousel of questions. "It's probably fine. It's possible he said it was a two-day trip? I had a lot of wine Saturday night! Some of which you contributed, ha ha. It's all a little fuzzy."

Not a little, a lot fuzzy. Even the things I can remember feel sheer rather than substantive. Impressions, ghost-lights, floaters that skit away when I try to look straight at them.

I've rarely been drunk in my short time alive. It figures that the one night I went to town on a bottle of wine would be the night it's most important for me to remember. The last time I saw Josh.

"How often were his trips?" says Adams.

"He's been on two. Before this one, I mean. Since we got married." I look between the men. "Do you have any leads?"

"One or two," says Sheriff Mitchell so casually that he can't expect me to believe him. "But in the meantime, I do have a few...personal questions for you."

"Okay."

"Where've you been, since he left on Saturday?"

"Here. At home. I mean, also at the grocery store. And... CVS. For infant Tylenol. Um—how much detail do you want?" I'll drown him in detail, as long as I can skim past the problematic area of Saturday night.

"If needed, could you give a complete account of your movements over the past four days?"

"I...think so."

"One of the neighbors reported hearing a woman shriek at two in the morning," says Mitchell. "This would have been Saturday night."

"Sunday morning, sir," corrects Adams.

I shrug despite the shivery crawl up my spine. "I was sleeping." The instant the words leave my mouth I realize how pretend they must sound, even though it's true. The wine knocked me out. "But the woods..." I gesture vaguely to the back window. "Maybe it was a fox?"

Deputy Adams nods as he addresses his boss. "The cry of a fox does sound like a woman being brutally murdered. Or..." His cheeks go pink. "This is the old Royce Sullivan site, sir. They say that the murdered women wander the woods, shrieking—the ones they never, er, fully...found. They can't rest until they find their missing limbs."

"When did your husband last communicate with you?" says Mitchell, ignoring his deputy.

"Sunday morning," I say without hesitation, trying to dispel the idea of the ghosts of Sullivan's victims creeping through the trees. Sunday is solid ground. "He texted."

"May I see?"

I grab my phone, unlock it, find the message. It's from five o'clock Sunday morning.

Morning babe! Reception's spotty here so...love you.

I didn't respond until six thirty, with a kissy emoji and a simple Good morning and good luck!

I show it to the sheriff, keeping control of the phone, taking care that the previous messages in the thread aren't visible.

"You and Josh have trouble at home?" he says, squinting at the screen.

"Trouble?" I allow my brow to wrinkle even as I quickly remove my phone. If he demanded I scroll up just one more message... "You mean the vandalism?"

There's a dead silence. Even Annaleigh is quiet now, gumming her spoon, drool running down her chubby chin.

"I think what the sheriff means," says Adams, "is that unfortunately, ma'am, during these kinds of cases in which spouses are involved, we—"

"Start the car, Adams," interrupts Mitchell.

Adams flushes. For a second, he looks like he's going to say something, then he nods at his superior, mutters "ma'am," and walks out.

The sheriff stands slowly, all height and hubris, stretching out his back, just like last time he was here. Taking his time, like some twisted show of power. Each second alone with him feels like torture. He rolls his right shoulder, then his left.

"So the search party is today?" I say, finally caving to the pressure of his silence.

"That's right. Neighbors are meeting at the crash site this afternoon. Will we see you there?"

I look at Annaleigh, then back at him. Belmont Ridge is two hours away. "I...don't know if I can. The baby..."

He gives me a knowing smile, like I've just checked a box. "No one expected you to."

"I want my husband back," I say. The words come out too passionate, like it's an act, even though I'm feeling it so strongly.

With a ghost of a smile on his lips, Mitchell turns and walks out of the kitchen.

"Is that it?" I challenge, walking after him, leaving Annaleigh in her high chair.

"For now." At the front door, he faces me. His voice is matter-of-fact. "You want to know what I think?"

I'm too choked with rage to grace him with an answer.

He doffs his hat. "I think you killed him."

There's a shriek from the kitchen. "Ba-ba! Ma-ma-ma!"

He grins. "Cute baby."