Chapter Thirty-one

Katie remembered how it had felt to wake up the day after her father died.

His death had been sudden and peaceful: a good death in many ways. He and her mother had both been home, her father reading in the armchair in the front room while her mother bustled about the apartment. They had been talking only minutes earlier. And then her mother had walked back through to the front room and found her husband unresponsive. He was still sitting just as she'd left him, with a book splayed open on the arm of the chair beside him, as though he'd put it down carefully there before deciding to take a nap. She called Katie while she waited for the ambulance, and even then, she still wasn't sure if he was just sleeping and if she might be bothering everyone for nothing.

That afternoon and evening had been too busy for Katie to take it in properly and for the grief to hit. It was a state she took to bed with her. When she had woken up the next day, there had been a moment when everything was normal. She was in her bed with Sam asleep beside her, and the morning light in the room was exactly as it always was. There had even been a few seconds spent drifting. But then her mind began prodding her. Something was different. Something was wrong. And then she remembered. The knowledge that her father was gone arrived as a horrible clench inside her chest, and it felt like the world suddenly upended around her. This was not how it was meant to be. Rather than emerging from a nightmare, she had somehow woken up in one instead.

She experienced a similar sensation when she woke up the morning after seeing the face at the kitchen window. The night's sleep had brought a degree of peace that remained for a few seconds before it was replaced by the nagging sensation that something was wrong. Then she remembered what had happened, and a feeling of dread ran through her and snapped her awake.

Someone had been watching the house.

She rolled over quickly.

Sam was there, lying with his back to her. She assumed he was asleep. Not a care in the world, she thought. She slipped quietly out from beneath the sheets. In the hallway, she leaned around Siena's door and saw that she was still asleep too. The whole house felt silent and safe. And yet a thrum of fear was running through her.

Because it wasn't.

Katie padded softly downstairs and made herself coffee.

Then she stood by the back window, staring out at the bedraggled garden.

The police had arrived quickly last night. Two officers—both male—had turned up within twenty minutes of her call, listened to her, and seemed to take the matter seriously. One had stayed with her in the kitchen, taking notes, while the other investigated the garden, a flashlight beam moving here and there in the rain, occasionally settling on something and pausing before moving on.

Her mother had insisted she not talk to the police about her brother, and she decided to leave him out of it for now. Regardless, they had been interested in the car that had been spotted at Siena's day care and said they'd follow up on that, which was something. There had been a sense of relief that her concerns weren't just being dismissed.

And then Sam had arrived home.

There had been relief at that too—at first. Obviously, he was surprised to find her in the kitchen, rocking a dozing Siena and talking to two uniformed police officers, but the fact he was back meant she wasn't going to be alone when they left. She explained what had happened, and the two officers repeated some of the things they'd said to her. But then something strange happened. Sam didn't appear as worried as he should have been. He nodded here and there, a serious expression on his face, but he didn't say much, and he didn't seem particularly alarmed either. When he saw the shattered wineglass, his gaze lingered on it for longer than she liked.

And she sensed the two officers picking up on that.

She registered the little glances between them. A slight shift in their body language and tone. Nothing overt. But she became aware that she was in a room with three men, and that they had all started taking their cues from one another rather than from her. While the officers had been treating her seriously before Sam got home, the dynamic had changed now. She felt anger rising inside her. It had been her this had happened to, and she who had called them, and yet it felt like she had suddenly become the least important person in the room.

By the time they left, she wasn't sure they were taking her seriously at all.

Afterward, Sam had listened to her without giving the impression he was hearing her. Any concern he had seemed muted and qualified, an underreaction to what she was telling him had happened. You don't believe me, she found herself thinking. But not saying out loud—not yet—because she couldn't quite accept it was true. In the end, she'd gone to bed. Sam had stayed up for a while. She had no idea what time he'd finally joined her.

She made another coffee now.

A few minutes later, she heard the telltale sound of movement overhead. Siena was up. At least that would occupy her for the next couple of hours. Katie got her dressed and downstairs, and then set about entertaining her for the morning while attempting to pretend everything was normal. And to Siena, of course, it was. She didn't mention the police at all; Katie wondered if she even remembered them coming. And while she knew she should be pleased Siena hadn't been scared by what happened, it felt like her daughter's reaction minimized it in the exact same way that Sam's had.

As though everything was fine.

Her husband emerged midmorning, bringing a cloud of tension downstairs with him. He looked like he'd actually been awake for a long time, pondering a difficult problem—more in sorrow than anger—and he and Katie barely glanced at each other. Without discussing the matter, they tag-teamed the childcare. He took over with Siena, while Katie went up to shower and dress, making sure she took her time doing both.

It was nearly lunchtime when they finally spoke.

Siena was in the front room, while Sam was in the kitchen, staring out the window the way she had first thing. Katie stood in the doorway and leaned against the frame. He had his back to her. It occurred to her that was often the case these days.

"You don't believe me, do you?" she said.

She found it hard to say the words out loud; it was almost shocking to give voice to them. But it was like he hadn't even heard her.

She leaned away from the doorframe and stepped into the kitchen.

"You actually don't care that we aren't safe."

"Oh God." He sighed. "That's exactly it. We are safe, Katie."

"You don't know that."

"What I care about is why you never feel like we are."

"Wow."

He turned slightly, side-on to her now.

"Can we not do this in front of Siena?" he said.

There was a pleading tone to his voice that she found insufferable. Once again, it was as though she was the one being unreasonable while he was having to work hard to pacify her.

"It's not in front of Siena," she said. "And can you not patronize me, please?"

"I'm honestly not meaning to."

"And yet honestly you are. Why would I make it up?"

"Jesus. I don't think you did."

"So you think I imagined it?" She laughed. "Yeah, that's actually worse."

"I think you're putting yourself under pressure that you shouldn't. Maybe without you even realizing it."

"Oh, really?"

He hesitated. Came to a decision.

"Okay," he said. "Let's do this, then, if that's what you want. Who's Nathaniel Leland?"

She opened her mouth to answer—but then shut it again. The question made no sense. How did Sam know about that? But then she looked at the chair by the kitchen table, saw her jacket from yesterday was still draped over the back, and remembered the news clipping.

The anger inside her intensified.

"You went through my pockets? How fucking dare you?"

She deliberately lowered her voice on the swear word, but it still caused Sam to turn round properly. He stared over her shoulder toward the front room, as though she'd screamed it in their daughter's face, and then he looked at Katie, angry himself now.

"What?" he said. "Are you actually blaming me for that? A minute ago you wanted me to care. What am I supposed to do? You don't talk to me anymore. And you lied to me, Katie."

"What?"

"I know you weren't at work yesterday. The school called."

Shit.

"Wow," she said. "At least you heard the phone over your music."

"Oh, well done." He pulled a face. "For what it's worth, I told them you were in bed."

"Thank you so much for the favor."

"You're welcome. So—where were you?"

"I'm surprised you don't already know, since apparently you're Sherlock fucking Holmes now."

"Who's Nathaniel Leland?"

She looked away to one side for a moment and then back at him again.

"Why didn't you tell me about the day care?" she said.

"What?"

"About the red car the children saw."

He stared at her, momentarily confused. Then he shook his head.

"Honestly? Because I knew you'd be like this."

"Like what?"

"Like this." He sounded like he wanted to laugh. "I mean, listen to yourself. You've already decided it was a red car. When the thing is—at least as far as I recall—nobody mentioned the color at all. But that's what you zero in on, isn't it? And that is exactly why I didn't tell you."

The anger inside her was almost too much now. She couldn't stand the way he was making himself seem so reasonable. So sensible. Especially because, yes, she'd slipped up there. But there was a lot he didn't know, wasn't there? She could have told him right now, but in the heat of an argument, giving up secrets felt like giving up ground.

"You should have told me," she said.

"Yeah, maybe. And perhaps I even would have done. But then there's all this stuff with Chris, and—"

"What?"

No swearing this time. No raised volume. But there was such ice in her voice—in just that one word—that it stopped her husband dead. He just stared at her for a few seconds, looking helpless.

"I know you, Katie," he said finally.

"Do you though?"

"Of course I do." His voice was much quieter now. "You worry too much. You jump at shadows. You're always scared that something terrible is going to happen. And I know why you—"

"No." She held up a hand. "We're not doing this."

She stepped across to the chair, grabbed her jacket from the back, and pulled it on. Sam just stood there looking helpless. He took a single step toward her, but the look on her face made him take it right back again.

"Katie, please," he said. "I know you blame yourself. But it wasn't—"

"We are not fucking doing this."

And then she turned around and headed straight for the front door.