Praise for Michele Campbell

‘Rides its rising tide of terror to a finale that blanched my knuckles. An exceptionally suspenseful thriller’

A. J. Finn

‘A gripping page-turner … will suit fans of Liane Moriarty’

HELLO!

‘A page-turning whodunnit that will speak to anyone who’s ever had a frenemy’

Ruth Ware

‘A gripping, tangled web of a novel – it pulls you in and doesn’t let you go.

I loved it!’

Shari Lapena

‘Secrets and scandals in an ivy league setting.’

What could be more riveting?’

Tess Gerritsen

‘A skilful and addictive story of friendship, betrayal and ultimately love… will keep you turning the pages until its dramatic end’

B A Paris

‘A brilliantly layered, utterly compelling, clever mystery story that crackles with poisoned friendships and dirty secrets… Twisted, shocking and sharply observed… has blockbuster movie written all over it!’

Samantha King

‘Readers will … be drawn into the novel’s intricate exploration of divided loyalties and the brittleness of trust’

Publishers Weekly

MICHELE CAMPBELL is a graduate of Harvard University and Stanford Law School. She worked at a prestigious Manhattan law firm before spending eight years fighting crime in NYC as a federal prosecutor. Her debut novel It’s Always the Husband was a Sunday Times top ten bestseller.

Also by Michele Campbell

It’s Always the Husband

She Was the Quiet One

A Stranger on the Beach

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Michele Rebecca Martinez Campbell 2020

Michele Campbell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © September 2020 ISBN: 9780008430689

Version 2020-08-13

Note to Readers

This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:

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 Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008430672

For Jennifer Enderlin

When you run with the wolves, don’t trip.

—PROVERB

Contents

Cover

Praise

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Acknowledgments

Extract

About the Publisher

1

NINA’S DIARY

July 4

I’m writing this to raise an alarm in the event of my untimely death. This is hard to admit, even to myself, let alone to the world. My husband is planning to kill me. For obvious reasons. He’s in love with someone else. And he wants my money.

I’m sitting in my office in the tower room at Windswept as I write. I look out over the ocean. The waves pound the beach as dark clouds sweep in from the east. A storm is coming. This house belonged to my first husband, Edward. On the day we met, I was twenty-three, working in an art gallery, barely scraping by. Edward was fifty and one of the wealthiest men in New York. People said I was a gold-digger. But they were wrong. Edward might not have been the perfect husband, but I loved him. When he got sick, I nursed him. When he died, I grieved him. A year later, I met someone else and fell in love. And I married again.

That was Connor, my second husband. On the night we met, he was thirty. I was fifty and one of the wealthiest women in New York. Connor didn’t have a penny. People took that to mean he could only be after my money. I didn’t see it that way. People had been wrong about me. I assumed they were wrong about him, too.

But they were right.

I just finished meeting with the private investigator, and I’m writing this with tears in my eyes. A photograph sits before me on the desk, incontrovertible proof that the two of them are together—and have been for a very long time. I don’t know how far it goes, or what they’re capable of, but I fear the worst. As Connor well knows, we have an airtight prenup. The prenup says he gets nothing if he cheats. I can divorce him and throw him out on the street. Everything I gave him—the cars, the clothes, the expensive watches, that boat he loves so much, the jet—I can take away. And I will. He knows I will. How far would he go to prevent that from happening? I hope I’m being alarmist, but I fear he’d go to extremes.

I’d throw him out right this minute, but I’m expecting three hundred guests. I’ll be holding my annual Fourth of July gala tonight, here at Windswept. It was at that very same party two years ago that I first saw Connor. Infatuation at first sight. I should have slept with him and left it at that, but I’m too much of a romantic. Or just a fool. Well, I won’t be foolish tonight. I’ll be extremely careful. As soon as my guests leave, as the fireworks fade from the sky over the ocean, I’ll confront him. I’ll tell him it’s over and kick him off my property. I won’t do it alone. I’ll take precautions. I’ll have security with me, because I fear what Connor might do if he knows he’s about to lose everything. I’ll be careful. I’ll do it cleanly, quickly. And this marriage will be done.

It’s going to be so hard, though. I still love him. I love him so much that I have to fight the urge to give him another chance. To ask him to explain the things the investigator found. I can’t do that. It would be a terrible mistake. It could even put my life at risk. I don’t trust myself with him. That’s why I’m leaving this diary where it’s sure to be found. If something goes wrong, I want an autopsy. If I die unexpectedly, it was foul play, and Connor was behind it. Connor—and her.

2

SOUTHAMPTON, New York, July 5—Noted businesswoman and philanthropist Nina Levitt was found dead early this morning. She was 52.

Mrs. Levitt was discovered unresponsive, floating in the swimming pool at Windswept, her mansion in Southampton, where she had just thrown a lavish party attended by hundreds of guests. She was rushed by ambulance to Stony Brook Southampton Hospital, where she was pronounced dead upon arrival. Cause of death is believed to be drowning, to be confirmed by an autopsy, results of which are pending.

Mrs. Levitt was best known as the widow of real-estate tycoon Edward M. Levitt, the founder of Levitt Global Enterprises, Inc., which maintains offices in New York, Hong Kong, and Dubai. Mrs. Levitt served in various capacities at Levitt Global, including most recently as chairwoman of the board.

During Edward Levitt’s lifetime, the couple were fixtures on the social scene in New York and Southampton. Mrs. Levitt was famous for her lavish parties and fashion sense, and appeared frequently in publications such as Vogue, Town and Country, and Avenue. Her ethereal beauty—she was known for her pale skin and red hair—made her a favorite subject of fashion photographers.

The Levitts’ accomplishments as developers of commercial real estate in the United States and abroad, and as collectors and donors of late-twentieth-century contemporary art, were often overshadowed by scandal. The couple were frequent subjects of tabloid stories concerning Mr. Levitt’s extramarital affairs. In the years since Mr. Levitt’s death, Mrs. Levitt was believed to have found happiness with her second husband, Connor Ford. Mr. Ford is currently an executive at Levitt Global, having enjoyed a meteoric rise within the company since his marriage to Mrs. Levitt.

Mr. Ford did not respond to repeated requests for comment in regard to this story.

3

TABITHA

Memorial Day weekend

The night Connor Ford walked back into my life, I was waitressing, just trying to make ends meet.

I was standing by the bar at the Baldwin Grill, waiting to pick up drink orders for my tables, when I happened to glance out the window. A sexy black sports car with New York plates was just pulling into the parking lot, and I remember thinking, That guy must be lost. We don’t rate the jet set, and that car screamed money. Don’t get me wrong. The Grill is right on Baldwin Lake, one of the prettiest spots in New Hampshire. This area used to be ritzy back in the day. But not anymore. We draw a rowdy crowd in the summertime, folks from Mass., New York, and Jersey who can’t afford the shore. Partiers and big drinkers. They come for the local microbrews scrawled on the chalkboard and the big-screen TV tuned to the game. But they’re not the rich and famous, no way.

As I watched, a man got out. A tall, gorgeous man. And it was him. He glanced at the restaurant with an air of purpose and started walking toward the entrance. I couldn’t believe it. My heart was pounding. I started to sweat.

Connor and I were together for just one summer, back when I was seventeen. It was a tumultuous summer for us both. We fell into each other’s arms and stayed there, clinging for dear life, until they pried us apart. To this day, nobody has ever reached me like he did. I’d been married and divorced, in and out of my share of half-assed relationships. But I’d never gotten over him.

Now, there he was, looking cool and gorgeous in dark jeans and a crisp white shirt. And here I was, pushing thirty, makeup melting off my face, my clothes smelling like food, as the love of my life walked through the door ten feet from where I stood. What did I do? I panicked. I backed into a customer, knocking his half-empty beer out of his hand and onto the floor, where it rolled around and splattered people’s shoes.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Let me take care of that,” I said.

In the ensuing chaos, as I raced to get paper towels, mop up the mess, and replace the poor man’s drink, I lost track of Connor in the crowd. On this Friday before Memorial Day, the Baldwin Grill was jammed to capacity. You couldn’t turn around without bumping into some beefy, red-faced guy who was sloppy drunk. Which made me wonder—what the hell was Connor doing here, anyway? His family sold their lake house years ago, after his grandmother died. The lake had gone downhill since then, while Connor had only come up in the world. He’d married a woman who was rich and famous, and their pictures were constantly in the tabloids. Shouldn’t he be on a yacht somewhere with Nina Levitt, instead of at a second-rate sports bar, rubbing elbows with the common people?

Unless.

Could he possibly be looking for me?

“Hey, Tabitha, I just sat a hot guy in your section,” the hostess called out as I passed by with my tray of drinks.

And I knew it was him.

I almost turned around and told her to give him to somebody else so he wouldn’t see me like this. Let’s face it, even if I wasn’t waitressing, I’m not what I was at seventeen. Who is? But we were fully booked tonight, and short-staffed. There was nobody to cover my table. I’d have to face him, whether I liked it or not.

Out on the terrace, it was a party scene. The sun hadn’t yet set, but everybody had their buzz on. Music blasted from the speakers. Motorboats raced across the water, and somebody was shooting off Roman candles from the dock. I saw Connor out of the corner of my eye. He was seated at a table along the railing, facing the restaurant, his back to the lake, scanning the crowd like he was looking for somebody. A woman, presumably. His famous wife must be joining him, and he’d saved her the chair with the view. A gentleman, as always. That gave my heart a wrench.

It took a while before I could get to him. I had two tables waiting for drinks, three ready to order, two with food sitting in the kitchen that I needed to get out, and two others ready to pay. I was glad for the delay, which gave me time to collect myself. I’d dreamed of this moment so often. Sometimes it ended with us in each other’s arms. Sometimes with me telling him off for letting his family come between us. Never once did it involve me taking his drink order.

When I couldn’t avoid it any longer, I grabbed a pitcher of water and headed for his table. And found myself looking right into his eyes. Those hazel eyes I’d loved so well the summer I was seventeen.

4

TABITHA

Thirteen years before

The first time I saw Connor Ford, he was standing by the pool at the Baldwin Lake Country Club, in swim trunks and Ray-Bans, surrounded by a gaggle of girls. I was working as a pool girl, setting up beach chairs, collecting soggy towels, fetching burgers and shakes from the grill window. The moms would sit tanning and day-drinking while the kids screamed and splashed and threw food, and the dads hit on me. But I liked spending my days in the sun, and I enjoyed the party atmosphere, even if it wasn’t meant for me.

Connor was nineteen and gorgeous, and Nell Ford’s grandson besides. Mrs. Ford, a prima donna with a deep tan and a Brahmin accent, who wore pearls with her golf clothes, owned the biggest house on the lake. Though even back then, Baldwin Lake wasn’t what it had once been. That sense of coming down in the world probably had something to do with Nell Ford’s snobbish attitude. According to my grandma Jean, she’d take the smallest lapse in service as a personal slight and wouldn’t rest until some poor slob paid with their job. Grandma Jean, who’d worked at the country club for years, had gotten me the pool-girl gig that summer. The one piece of advice she gave me when I started was to steer clear of Nell Ford and her family. Right—easier said than done. Ford grandchildren were everywhere I turned. They were spoiled and bratty—private-school kids from New York and Connecticut, who ran wild and made tons of noise and mess. I spent my days fetching food for them, cleaning up after them, and feeling put-upon by them. Until Connor arrived, and everything changed.

For the first week or so, I watched him from the corner of my eye as I went about my duties, too intimidated to speak to him. One hot afternoon in early July, I discovered he’d been watching me, too.

I don’t know where everyone had disappeared to. Connor was alone, lounging on his usual chair with his sunglasses on, his skin all delicious and tan and gleaming, looking like he must smell of coconuts.

“Hey, Tabby, c’mere,” he said, like we were old friends.

I’d been collecting dirty dishes that were baking in the sun. I had to look around to make sure he was talking to me.

“Yeah, you,” he said, grinning.

I shouldn’t’ve been surprised. I was seventeen that summer, fit and tan, my hair bright from the sun. My uniform was itty-bitty short shorts, Keds, and a polo with the club crest. Plenty of men stared. Even so, I had assumed Connor was out of my league.

As I walked over to him, he took off the Ray-Bans. His eyes were a hazel I’ve never seen the equal of, green and gold and gray all at once, with long sooty lashes.

“I wasn’t sure.”

“You’re the only Tabby around here, aren’t you?”

I wore a name tag for the job, but most club members didn’t bother to look at it. They waved a hand or said “Hey” to summon me. His grandmother, Mrs. Ford, actually snapped her fingers—that’s just how she rolled. So, I was surprised that Connor even knew my name, let alone that he’d use it. I put the dishes down and walked over to him.

“It’s Tabitha. Nobody calls me Tabby.”

“I do.”

I nodded, trying to play it cool, when really I wanted to whoop and turn a cartwheel because Connor Ford had a pet name for me.

“So, listen. My cousin Robbie and I have this band. We’re playing in the clubhouse at nine tonight, in the TV room off the dining hall. You should come.”

“You want me to come hear your band?”

“Why not? You got someplace better to go?”

“Staff isn’t allowed at club events. There’s a policy against it.”

“Well, look, this isn’t an actual club event. It’s just some kids jamming. So, that rule doesn’t apply.”

“I don’t know.”

“Just say I invited you. It’s a stupid rule, anyway. Nobody’s gonna care.”

Nobody except your grandmother, I wanted to say.

“I can’t. Thanks for asking, though. That’s nice of you.”

He looked at me steadily. I felt dizzy, staring into those eyes.

“Well, if you change your mind, no tickets required. I’ll even dedicate a song to you.”

I laughed. “I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.”

I walked away, beaming. For the rest of that day, I floated through my chores, slowly convincing myself not only that I could pull it off, but that I had to. A guy I had an awful crush on had asked me to come hear his band play. Why shouldn’t I go? He was right. The rule was stupid. Yet, sneaking out wouldn’t be easy. My grandparents’ house was tiny, and if Grandma Jean caught me, she’d be upset.

I’d been living with my grandparents for years at that point, and though I loved them to pieces, I longed to escape. I’d grown up an army brat, moving every year. When I was ten, my mom died. At the funeral, her parents, Grandma Jean and Grandpa Ray, convinced my dad to let me spend the summer with them. When summer ended, everyone agreed I should stay on. Everyone but me. Nobody asked me what I wanted. My grandparents became my legal guardians. To this day, I don’t know which was harder—my mother dying, or my father letting me go so easily. At least Mom wanted me. Dad eventually remarried and moved to Texas with his new wife and kids. I was not invited to join them.

Every time I went near the pool that afternoon, Connor made an excuse to talk to me. He ordered a milkshake and three Cokes in a three-hour period, brushing his fingers against mine when I handed him something, making me flush and stutter.

The pool closed at six. At ten of, I was collecting ketchup squeeze bottles from the grill area when Connor came up behind me. He put his hands on my waist and spun me around to face him. He was so tall. I could smell the suntan lotion, warm on his skin.

“Tell me I’m gonna see you later, Tabby. Please?” he said.

“I want to.”

“Then, what’s the problem?”

“Besides that I could get fired? I’d have to sneak out.”

“I sneak out all the time. And it’s just a job, right?”

Connor could afford to think that way. I couldn’t. But his smile sent a thrill right through me.

“All right. I’ll be there.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, and I loved the sound of that.

That night at supper in the cramped kitchen, things seemed particularly grim. Grandpa Ray was suffering from his emphysema, and Grandma Jean had had a bad day at work.

“This damn recession,” she said, her face gaunt, her eyes tired behind her glasses. “They’re talking layoffs.”

“Not you, Grandma Jean. They couldn’t get along without you.”

“You’re sweet, honey.”

“You guys go watch TV. I’ll clean up.”

I washed the dishes by hand, since the dishwasher had broken last year and never been fixed. We sat on the sofa for a while and watched the History Channel. Time dragged. I could feel life happening outside the walls without me. I wondered what Connor was doing right then.

By eight-thirty, Grandpa was snoring loudly, and Grandma was nodding. A loud commercial came on, and her head jerked up.

“I think maybe we’ll turn in. Help me get Grandpa to bed, Tabitha.”

My grandfather leaned on my arm, wheezing, as we walked down the narrow hallway, Grandma Jean wheeling his oxygen tank alongside us. He hadn’t worked in years because of his condition, so money was always tight. We lived in a tiny ranch-style house in Baldwin, one town over from Lakeside, where the country club was located. The lake and the big houses were all in Lakeside. Baldwin was where the working folks lived. Our house had two bedrooms side by side with a paper-thin wall in between. If I wanted to leave the house, I’d have to walk right by my grandparents’ door.

I spent some time picking my outfit and doing my makeup, then tiptoed to their bedroom door and listened. Loud snores from Grandpa Ray. Nothing from Grandma Jean, but that didn’t mean she was sleeping. I went around the house turning off lights like I was closing up, then returned to my room, shutting the door with an intentionally loud thud. I sat on the bed and listened to the silence. At five to nine, I was done waiting. I crept out of my room, down the hall to the front door.

Outside, the night air smelled sweet, and light still glowed in the northern sky. I felt like I was taking my life in my hands for the first time, and that it had been a long time coming. I wheeled my bike down the driveway and set off. Twenty minutes later, I was at the club, hurrying past the kitchen and dining hall on my way to the TV room, praying that nobody I knew was working late.

The TV room was jammed with kids lounging on the rug. They’d taken the chairs out, pushed the sofas back against the wall. The lights were dimmed. Connor and three other guys stood on the carpeted riser that passed for a stage. They were in the middle of a song—a cover of “Desperado,” by the Eagles. He had a guitar slung across his chest, and he looked even taller and more perfect in the spotlight than he did in the sunshine by the pool. I plowed through the crowd to a spot right up front, sinking down cross-legged on the floor.

The band was called Big Summer, and they were pretty good. Connor sang in a soulful, quavering voice that was all the rage among indie singers then. I ate it up. These things that are pleasing you will hurt you somehow. I should have paid more attention to those words, but I was too busy worrying that he hadn’t noticed me come in because the spotlight was shining in his eyes. I’d risked everything to get here. What if he didn’t even see me? But I needn’t have worried. Toward the end, there was a pause in the music as he consulted with his bandmates. He walked back to the microphone and looked right down at me.

“This is for Tabby in the front row, with the long blond hair,” he said, and the band broke into a cover of “Wonderful Tonight.” As he sang of the girl brushing her long, blond hair, I trembled and wiped away tears. My heart felt like it would explode. When he’d finished playing, all his friends whooped and hollered, but he didn’t pay them any mind. He came right up to me—the pool girl in the front row, Cinderella at the ball.

“Told you I’d dedicate a song to you. Are you glad you came?”

“Totally.”

People saw us. I didn’t care. He took my hand. We went out on the golf course and made out under the stars. And that was just the beginning.

5

After that first night, as far as I was concerned, any moment not spent with Connor wasn’t worth living. Most nights, I’d sneak out of the house and ride my bike to the golf course. We’d lie together on a blanket in the moonlight, the sweet smell of the grass all around us, kissing, whispering, laughing, our hands slipping beneath each other’s clothes. I’d never known anyone like him. He was good-looking as a prince, but that wasn’t what got to me. It was the things he said, how he carried himself, everything he knew. At work during the day, I’d take the long way back to the kitchen, stopping by the tennis courts just to watch him play. When he was out on the lake water-skiing, I’d drop what I was doing to gawk. The talent, the grace—I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He’d been to private school, read great books, been to Paris and Hawaii. He was in college now, real college—not some certificate program to get a dull job that you’d spend your life doing, just to die. The boys I’d dated at Baldwin High had no ambition beyond this sorry town. And no interest in me, beyond that I was a pretty girl who might sleep with them. Connor paid attention to me. He listened. He confided in me. He sought my advice. He was as head-over-heels as I was. He didn’t ask for sex until I was ready (which, okay, happened within a week of when we started dating). He said I love you first. He made me feel worthy, like we were equals.

We had more in common than I ever would’ve guessed. The year before, his father had left his mother for a younger woman and now had an infant son. Connor’s parents’ divorce wasn’t yet final. His father was hiding assets and screwing them over on support payments. In the meantime, Connor, his mother, and his siblings were financially dependent on his grandmother. Nell Ford paid for their schools, the divorce lawyer, the mortgage on their house, but her generosity came with strings. His whole family did whatever she said, for fear that she’d cut them off.

People at the club knew there was something between us. How could they not? We’d spend all morning circling each other, hands brushing, heads together, giggling at our inside jokes. At noon sharp, I’d take my lunch break, grabbing a vanilla shake from the grill and heading to the boathouse, where he’d be waiting. It was cool inside after the glaring midday sun, with the sound of water lapping, and dark except for the shimmer of light around the boat launch. Connor would step out from behind the rows of stacked canoes and kayaks. He’d kiss me and lead me up the stairs to the storage loft. We’d lie back against piles of moldy life jackets, sipping the milkshake, kissing. To this day, the taste of a vanilla milkshake evokes the feel of his mouth on mine.

One day toward the end of summer, we were up in the loft when I heard the door open below.

“Tabitha? I know you’re up there,” my boss, Gil, called from the bottom of the stairs. “I need you at the counter. Now.”

We hurriedly arranged our clothes and came down blushing. Gil was my dad’s age, balding and paunchy—not a bad guy, but a stickler. There was nothing he could do to Connor except tell him to get lost. But I was a different story. Once Connor was gone, Gil put me on probation, which meant I’d be fired if I did the slightest thing wrong.

“I’m going to hold off on telling the general manager about the misuse of club facilities. But Jean’s a friend of mine—”

“Oh, no. Please, Gil. Don’t tell her.”

“Of course I’m gonna tell her. I should’ve told her a long time ago. It’s been obvious something was going on, and now it’s gotten out of hand. This is for your own good.”

In the car on the way home that evening, the air was thick as thunderclouds.

“Grandma Jean, Gil said he was going to speak to you. I can explain—”

“Honestly, Tabitha, I can’t discuss this when I’m driving. I’m too upset.”

Grandma Jean’s eyes were red. Had she been crying? I looked out the window, stomach sinking, my eyes prickling, too.

Later that night, I was up to my elbows in soapy water, washing the supper dishes, when she came up beside me. She looked crumpled and soft—wearing a printed housedress and plastic sandals, her iron-gray hair frizzing around her forehead in the humid kitchen.

“Come into the living room. I don’t want Grandpa overhearing this. His heart can’t take it.”

As I dried my hands on a dish towel and followed her, my guilt flowered into resentment. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Having a boyfriend wasn’t a crime. I didn’t need a lecture. But, as she sat down on the sofa and patted the space beside her, the disappointment in her eyes tugged at me.

“Don’t be upset, Grandma. I know what I’m doing. I’ve had health class since middle school.”

Her jaw clenched with determination.

“This isn’t about the facts of life, Tabitha. It’s about the Fords. I know that family, and they’re bad news. You can’t trust them.”

“Connor’s not like the rest of them.”

“My guess is, when push comes to shove, he is. Exactly like them.”

“You don’t know him. You think he’s some kind of entitled, spoiled brat. But you couldn’t be more wrong. He’s not taking advantage of me. He’s wonderful to me. I love him.”

Her faded blue eyes went wide behind her glasses. “Oh, gosh. This is worse than I thought.”

“It is not. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Because I’m worried about you. I know Nell Ford. She won’t tolerate her family mixing with the likes of us. And she rules those kids with an iron fist.”

“I don’t care what his grandmother is like. I’ve barely said two words to her all summer.”

“Okay, now. Doesn’t that tell you something, that he won’t introduce you to his family?”

That brought me up short.

“He does introduce me. I know his sisters and all his cousins.”

“Know them as friends? Or because you fetch their food and clean up their messes?”

I looked away, flushing. She was right, of course. At six, when the pool closed, the Ford kids would pile into cousin Robbie’s Jeep or cousin Hope’s Land Rover and take off God knows where. I wasn’t invited. That hurt, because wherever they were going—into town, or to the mall, or just home for supper—was sure to be more exciting than anywhere I’d ever been or ever would go. Sometimes I’d pick up extra hours serving dinner in the dining hall. On those nights, I’d look across the lake, see the glow of their firepit and feel the call of everything I was missing. Marshmallow roasts. Beers and joints getting passed around if their grandmother wasn’t at home. Connor and Robbie strumming their guitars. The girl cousins in their cutoffs and Birkenstocks and fishermen sweaters, flipping their broom-straight hair and laughing throaty laughs at the boys’ jokes. The boy cousins deigned to talk to me now that I had something going with Connor. But the girl cousins pretended I didn’t exist.

“They’re not your friends, are they?” Grandma Jean said.

It was easier to be mad at her than at Connor. I got to my feet, full of righteous indignation.

“I’m almost eighteen, and this is my life.”

“Honey, I know it’s hard, living here with the old folks. It’s hard for me, too. I’m sure we both wish your mom was around to deal with this situation, but she’s not.”

“Grandma, I don’t know how else to put this. My love life is none of your business.”

“I’ve raised you since you were a girl. I’ve earned the right to speak my mind. As for my business, the club is literally my business. It’s my livelihood. Don’t you think it affects me—Gil catching my granddaughter, who I asked him to hire, half-naked in the boathouse?”

“He never saw me half-naked. That’s a lie.”

“Maybe he didn’t see, but he sure as heck knew. I’m not a prude, Tabitha, and I’m not trying to control you. But that’s not nice. It’s disrespectful to the job, to your boss, to me. To yourself.”

As she spoke, and her words sank in, I began to feel smaller, until I wished I could sink into the sofa and disappear. She was right. I’d been selfish. I hadn’t stopped to think how my behavior would affect her. This was my grandma, who’d taken me in, who’d raised me. She deserved better than how I’d behaved.

“You’re right,” I said. “That was wrong of me, Grandma. I see that now. I apologize. I won’t do it again, promise. Forgive me?”

The relief on her face broke my heart.

“I forgive you.”

“I love you, Grandma Jean.”

“I love you, too.”

We hugged, tears in our eyes.

“Now, that was exhausting. Time for bed.”

I pecked her soft cheek and watched her walk heavily down the hall, my heart full of love for her. That was at eight o’clock.

By ten, I was jonesing for Connor so bad that I couldn’t see straight. The need to touch him, kiss him, feel his skin against mine, overwhelmed my guilt and my better judgment. I’d promised Grandma not to mess around at the club. And I would keep that promise. But I never said I’d stop seeing him. As long as we didn’t go to the boathouse—or the golf course, which was club property—then I wouldn’t be breaking my word.

I put on a cute sundress, lip gloss, and mascara. I fluffed my hair and spritzed on perfume. I tiptoed out the door.

Outside, the night air was velvety and redolent of summer. I hurried down the block to where Connor was waiting for me in Robbie’s old Jeep, top down, open to the indigo sky. A yellow moon sat low on the horizon, surrounded by a haze of humidity. I climbed up into the passenger seat. Connor grabbed me and kissed me breathless.

“Something bad happened,” I said, pulling away. “Gil told my grandmother about finding us in the boathouse. I almost didn’t come out tonight.”

“Shit. Are you okay?”

“Yes, but she’s upset. I promised her we wouldn’t hook up at the club anymore.”

“Don’t say that. I can’t go all day without a fix of you, you know that.”

He slipped the strap of my dress from my shoulder, nuzzling my neck, his hand sliding up my thigh. My breath got faster. But I twisted away, worried the neighbors might see.

“Not here. I want to keep my promise to her.”

“Okay.”

He turned the car on.

“We can’t go to the golf course, either.”

“Why not? It’s totally deserted at night. Nobody will ever know.”

“I can’t take the risk. I’d be breaking my word.”

“So where we gonna go? I need to be alone with you, like now.”

We kissed some more. His hand slipped inside my panties. It took willpower, but I moved it away.

“I need you, too. Just not here, and not at the club. Think.”

“Okay. We could park in the woods near the Bear Creek trailhead,” he said.

“That’s so creepy at night. Anywhere outdoors—I don’t know. What about your grandmother’s house? Can we go there?”

“It’s risky. I’d have to sneak you up the back stairs, so my grandmother doesn’t find out. You don’t want her recognizing you from the club.”

That rankled. It reminded me of what Grandma had said earlier—about Connor not wanting to introduce me to his family.

“I don’t? Or you don’t?”

He gave me a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“I’m ashamed of her. She’s a massive snob. If she recognized you, she’d throw a fit, just because you work at the club.”

“So what if she does throw a fit? Are you afraid she’d cut you off?”

He got defensive. “I mean, sure, but that’s not the reason. I don’t want to subject you to her temper tantrums, that’s all.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

We raced across town, music blasting, the wind in our hair. He didn’t speak. His expression said he was worried, maybe even angry with me. So far gone was I with crazy love that I spent the drive admiring how his eyebrows drew together, the way his jaw clenched, his perfect bone structure.

When we got to the road that wound around the lake, Connor slowed down and shut the music off. As we approached the Ford house, my armpits felt damp and my chest felt tight. I didn’t want to meet his grandmother. She scared me senseless. I just wanted him to want to introduce us. He’d proved he was willing to. Now I wished we could go somewhere else. But I’d made enough of a fuss that I couldn’t back down.

We turned in to the driveway. The rambling, shingled house was mostly dark, except for a couple of lights on upstairs.

“Are they sleeping?” I said.

“My grandmother goes to bed by ten. Mom’s in Connecticut for a court date, and my aunt and uncle went back to the city.”

I breathed out in relief.

We picked our way down the driveway, which was parked up with cars and littered with fallen bikes and sports equipment. He took me in the back way, through the screen porch. Viewed from across the lake, Nell Ford’s house sparkled. Up close was a different story. The screen door sagged on its hinges. The porch was crammed with musty old furniture. We stepped through the door into a large kitchen, its appliances decades out of date. A tang of garbage hung in the air, just like in any old house.

Connor led me up the creaky back stairs to the third floor, where he pushed open a bedroom door. The room was narrow and dark, with two sets of bunk beds and clothing strewn across the floor. Robbie lounged on a bottom bunk, talking on his flip phone. Two other Ford kids were on the bed above, staring at a Nintendo screen, their gangly legs hanging off. Their names were Tyler and Caleb, though they were called Punk and Boo. They were brothers, maybe twelve or thirteen. They gawked as I entered.

“You guys know Tabby,” Connor said.

“Tabby, what uuup,” Robbie said, slurring as he closed his phone.

He sounded drunk, or high.

“I need the room,” Connor said.

Robbie got up, yanking on Punk’s leg where it hung off the bed.

“You heard the man. Move it, dudes,” he said.

The younger boys followed Robbie out, poking each other and grinning. Connor shut the door and took me by the hands, drawing me down onto the lower bunk on the opposite side of the room. It must be his bed. It was narrow and lumpy, with a green wool blanket that felt scratchy against my skin as he undressed me. But I loved being in the place he slept each night, and I adored the way he looked at me.

“Your body is unreal. I’m crazy for you, you know that, right?” he said.

The bed squeaked like crazy as we made love. I heard giggling coming from the other side of the door.

We didn’t get caught that night. Therefore, naturally—despite the obvious dangers of hooking up in his grandmother’s house—we did it again the next night, and the night after that, until it became a habit. Three or four nights a week, I’d sneak out. Connor would pick me up at the end of my street. We’d get to his house late, when it was dark and quiet, and sneak up the back stairs. I never ran into Nell Ford.

Never—until I did.

All the Ford kids knew about our rendezvous, and I’d been worried that someone would snitch. Connor claimed that could never happen. All the cousins were guilty of something. Knowing each other’s secrets created mutual assured destruction. But we hadn’t reckoned with the effect of Connor’s feud with his middle sister, Chloe. What had gone wrong between them, I didn’t fully understand, though I knew it had something to do with the parents’ divorce. One night, out of the blue, Chloe decided to tell.

We were lying under the scratchy blanket when Mrs. Ford pounded on the bedroom door.

“Connor, open up. Have you got a girl in there?”

“Shit, it’s my grandmother,” he said, under his breath.

We jumped up and pulled our clothes on. I started to speak, but he shook his head and put a finger to his lips, nodding toward the door.

“Coming right out, Grandmother. One second.”

Nell Ford couldn’t wait. She threw the door open and caught us half-dressed. I had my shorts and bra on but not my top. Connor was just stepping into his jeans. He stumbled and nearly toppled over.

“Wait a minute, Grandmother. Stay out.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. This is my house. So. You’re Jean Parker’s granddaughter? What does your grandmother think of your behavior?”

Connor looked stricken. “Tabby is my friend.”

She looked me up and down, her face puckering with distaste.

“Apparently, quite a close friend.”

“I’ll take her home.”

“She can get herself home. You and I need to talk, young man.”

“But—”

“Sit down. And you, please leave my house. Now.”

I looked at Connor. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He sat down on the bed and hung his head. I walked out, past the grandmother, down the stairs. Robbie was sitting on the screen porch. I borrowed his phone to call Grandma Jean to come get me.

When she pulled up fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on the front steps, dry-eyed in the dark. Connor hadn’t come looking for me. But Nell Ford must’ve been watching from the window. As I walked down the driveway, the front door flew open, and she rushed past me, bearing down on my poor grandmother.

“Jean Parker, I need a word with you.”

Grandma Jean got out of the car and met her with shoulders squared. They had it out right there on the front lawn, loud enough to wake the neighbors. Grandma Jean stood up for me, and told Mrs. Ford to look after her grandchildren, who everybody knew ran wild all over town. It was hardly a fair fight. The next day, I was let go from the club. Grandma Jean got an official reprimand in her file for inappropriate conduct toward a member. Later that year, when layoffs came, the blot on her record gave them an excuse to fire her. As for Connor, he called the next day to apologize. When I wouldn’t come to the phone, he kept calling, until he gave up and wrote me a letter. When I didn’t answer that, he wrote again. I burned the letters unopened. Eventually, he stopped writing.

I didn’t see him again until he walked into the Baldwin Grill on Memorial Day weekend, thirteen years later.

6

TABITHA

Memorial Day weekend, present day

Those eyes.

I felt dizzy. I had to grab the back of the empty chair across from him to steady myself. I took a breath. Connor looked shocked. Then he looked transported. His cheeks flushed, his eyes widened, he shook his head slightly. He broke into a huge grin. That sparkling, ravishing smile that I’d never managed to forget, hard as I tried.

“Tabby. It’s you, right? How incredible to find you here,” he said, and laughed out loud.

Connor’s smile was as beautiful and carefree as I remembered—white teeth, crinkles around the eyes, a dimple in his cheek. He had the sort of smile that makes a young girl fall in love. Or a grown woman. All I know is, my stomach fluttered the way it had the very first time I saw him. Which scared me. Every time I saw his picture online, it threw me for days. What would a real-life encounter do to me?

I was speechless, and my silence confused him.

“Wait, you do remember me?” he said, looking worried.

“I’m just—shocked.”

“You scared me there for a minute. I thought maybe you forgot.”

“Never.”

The silence lengthened as we gazed at each other.

“You look amazing,” he said.

“You look even better. Marriage agrees with you, I guess.”

“You know about that?”

“The whole world knows, Connor. You’re famous.”

“She’s famous. I’m just Mr. Nina Levitt.”

I nodded at the empty seat across the table from his. “Would you prefer to wait for her to place your drink order?”

“Huh?”

Only then did his gaze take in my white shirt and black pants—the typical waitstaff uniform—and the pitcher of water in my hand.

“You work here.”

“I do,” I said, in as cool a tone as I could muster.

My cheeks felt hot as I filled his water glass. We’d never been equals. But now the gap between us was wider than ever.

“Can I start you with a cocktail? Or, would you prefer to wait for your wife?”

It was his turn to flush. “She’s not coming. This is a solo trip.”

“All right, then. What can I get you to drink?”

“Uh, Hendrick’s and tonic?”

“Certainly.”

“Hey, no, wait. Can we start over? Please, sit down for a few minutes. I’d love to catch up.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not possible when I’m working.”

“Quickly, then—give me the basics.”

He touched the empty spot on my left ring finger where my hand clutched the chair back.

“You’re not married, I see,” he said.

The way my body reacted to his touch—that unnerved me. I took a step back.

“I was. I’m divorced.”

“Children?”

“No.”

“Me, neither. It’s funny, whenever I think about you—”

He paused. My heart skipped a beat.

“You think about me?”

“I envision you with a minivan full of kids. You always wanted a big family.”

“I was an only, remember? I wanted what I never had. Your family seemed so jolly.”

“Jolly, no. We were crazy.”

“Hah, you said it, not me. Still, I was jealous. I remember you wanted kids, too.”

We’d talked about that, once, lying in the grass out on the golf course under a sky full of stars. Not how many kids we each wanted, but how many we would have together. Boys, girls, what we’d name them.

“I’m so glad you’re still here at Baldwin Lake,” he said.

“That makes one of us.”

“Otherwise, I never would have found you.”

He gazed up at me intently. The moment seemed to stretch out in time. Back to the past, off to the future, like we were picking up where we’d left off. But that wasn’t possible.

“I, um. I have tables waiting. I’ll be back with your cocktail.”

I turned and walked away, hurrying to the bar where my friend Matt was on duty.

Matt looked like a biker, with a shaved head, a bushy beard, and sleeve tattoos, but he was the kindest soul I knew. He noticed me and came over.

“It’s crazy out there tonight. Holding up okay?” he asked.

“Ugh. An ex showed up and knocked the wind out of me.”

“Not Derek?” Matt asked, looking alarmed. “I thought you said he moved to Florida.”

Derek was my ex-husband.

“He did, thank God. No, this is someone I dated years ago.”

“Is he bothering you?”

“Just making me sad. I was crazy about him, and it didn’t end well. Now he’s rich as God, and I’m old and pathetic.”

“Old? What are you, like, twenty-two?” he said.

I noticed he didn’t dispute the second half of my statement.

Matt slapped a shot glass down in front of me and poured out a finger of expensive tequila. “This is good for what ails you.”

I wasn’t a big drinker, but if I didn’t take the edge off my feelings, I wouldn’t get through the night. I knocked the shot back.

“Another.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“This guy broke my heart, Matt.”

He refilled the glass. The second shot did the trick. A comforting layer of gauze dropped over the room. I placed the drink order and went off to the kitchen to collect waiting entrees.

By the time I got around to delivering Connor’s drink, I was surprised to see that a woman had joined him at his table. She was pretty, with shiny dark hair, wearing a flowy dress. They leaned toward each other, talking intently. She definitely was not his wife, whose picture I’d seen many times. Nina Levitt was older than this woman and had famously red hair. The flame-haired Nina Levitt, or “Titian-haired,” they said in the press. Titian was an artist who liked to paint pictures of women with red hair. I knew this because I’d looked it up. He was before Nina’s time or else I’m sure he would’ve painted her.

I was too busy to dwell on this mystery woman, however, and too proud to admit that I cared. I took their order like I didn’t even know him. Other than shooting me an intense look, he didn’t acknowledge me, either, or attempt to introduce me to her. The evening passed in a blur, helped along by the tequila. I was back and forth to Connor’s table in between serving other customers. Before I knew it, two hours had passed, and he was alone. I brought him the check, and he handed me one of those Amex black cards. Titanium, cool to the touch. I’d never seen one before. They were like an urban legend. No credit limit, and you couldn’t apply for one. Amex had to decide you were worthy.

“Is this for real? I thought only, like, Beyoncé and Saudi princes had these.”

“It’s real.”

“I didn’t think you had room to come up in the world, Connor Ford, but I was wrong.”

He gave a harsh laugh.

When I came back ten minutes later with the slip for him to sign, the woman hadn’t reappeared.

“What happened to your girlfriend?”

A worried look came into his eyes. “Not a girlfriend. Just a business associate.”

“Guess I won’t sell her picture to the tabloids, then.”

My tone was light enough to convey that I was just razzing him. But Connor didn’t get the joke. He went deathly pale and grabbed my wrist.

“Tell me you didn’t take any photos tonight.”

“Hey.”

I jerked my hand away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but this is important.”

“I was teasing, because you’re famous now. It was a joke, okay? Jeez.”

I rubbed my wrist.

“You don’t understand. I’m under a lot of pressure. If you took a photo—”

“I said I didn’t.”

“Can you just— I know this sounds crazy, but can I see your phone? Just to check.”

“Seriously?”

He stared back at me, looking almost ill. He wasn’t joking.

“Fine. Here. Go through my photos if that’ll make you feel better.”

I took my phone from my pocket and opened my photos. Connor grabbed the phone from my hand and scrolled frantically. After a minute, he breathed out, handing the phone back to me.

“Okay?” I said.

“Thank you. I’m sorry to be such a jackass. If you knew my situation—”

“I get it. You have people taking advantage of you on a daily basis. You and I haven’t seen each other in years, so for all you know, I could be the type who’d make a buck selling your picture. I’m not. Please, accept my apology, and allow me to comp your drinks.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I insist.”

“No, Tabby, really. I’m sorry, I overreacted. I don’t want it to be like that between us.”

“Like what?”

“Like we’re strangers. A waitress and a customer.”

He was looking at me with those eyes, and I felt their power. I needed to put a stop to this before he broke my heart all over again. Given the presence of the attractive brunette, he was probably already cheating. A player, despite his protestations.

“Listen, it was nice seeing you. I’ll get out of your hair now. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Wait. No.”

He sounded almost desperate.

“Let me make it up to you. Buy you a drink?”

“I’m working.”

“Afterwards, then.”

“It’s dead around the lake at night. By the time I get off work, everything will be closed.”

“I know somewhere we can go, just to talk. Please, give me a chance to redeem myself. It’s a gift to run into you out of the blue. I can’t let it end with me blowing it like this.”

His eyes were pleading. It was unnerving how upset he’d gotten over a dumb joke. But on the other hand, he was Connor, and he was right. It was a miracle, running into each other after all these years. In a sense, the damage was already done. He’d wormed his way into my head, my heart, all over again. If I passed up the chance to have a drink with him, I’d regret it.

Besides, it was just a drink. Right?

“Please, Tabby,” he said.

Nobody else ever called me that, before or since. I looked into his eyes. I put my hand momentarily on his shoulder. I didn’t have the willpower to refuse.

“Just one drink?” I said.

“If that’s all you have time for.”

“Okay. I get off at eleven.”

His smile lit the room.

“I’ll be waiting outside when you’re done.”

7

I finished my shift at eleven and stepped out into the darkness of the parking lot. The only cars that remained belonged to me and my coworkers. No Connor.

Disappointment hit me like a slap. That’s how messed up I was over him already. I should be glad that he’d decided not to show. After all, what good could possibly come of us having a drink together? Fighting tears, and mad at myself for it, I got out my keys and headed for my old Toyota. Just as I pointed the key fob at the door, that black sports car came roaring into the lot and screeched to a halt beside me. Connor lowered the window.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I was worried you’d be gone.”

I didn’t ask where he’d been, since that was none of my business. He leaned over and pushed open the passenger door. The sports car was sleek and sinuous and low to the ground, like something Tom Cruise would drive in a spy movie. I looked back at my old rust bucket, then over at his car, and thought, What’s wrong with this picture? What did he want with me after all these years? He was married to a famous beauty, a woman who traveled on helicopters and yachts, draped in diamonds. Was it because I’d seen him with that brunette? Maybe he wasn’t satisfied that I’d been joking? Maybe he was even upset. The thought made me uneasy.

“Should we just talk here?” I said.

“In the parking lot? That’s not a good idea. I’m staying at a friend’s ski house. It’s a ten-minute drive from here, with a great view. He stocks the best liquor. We can talk without worrying about who’s watching.”

Right. He was famous, and married, and I’d already rattled him by joking about selling a picture. He didn’t need paparazzi photographing him with a woman. Not just the woman from the restaurant. Any woman. Me.

“It would mean so much to me to catch up. Please, Tabby?”

He leaned on the please so winningly. That dazzling grin, that honeyed voice, the square jaw, the beautiful eyes. I knew this was bad for me. But if I could spend an hour with him, just talking, catching up, I’d have memories that would last for years. I nodded, and Connor pushed open the passenger door.

Sinking into the fragrant leather seat, I gawked at the intricate instrument panel and the lovely grain of the wood on the dashboard.

“This car is awesome. What is it?”

“Lamborghini. A gift from my wife,” he said, and his voice tightened when he mentioned her.

“I hope you wrote a nice thank-you note,” I said.

He hit the gas, and the car leaped forward. We zoomed out of the lot onto the road that led away from the lake, racing past the old country club, the defunct golf course, the ski resort with its lodge and lifts shuttered for the off-season. Everything was closed, deserted, locked up tight. He turned onto the narrow road that wound up Baldwin Mountain.

“I have to confess,” Connor said, his eyes on the road, “I was surprised to see you there tonight.”

“You were surprised? Imagine my reaction. Connor Ford at frumpy old Baldwin Lake? The place has gone downhill, big-time. And your family sold their house ages ago.”

“Yeah, after my grandmother died. How did you know?”

I know everything about you.

“Heard it through the grapevine. Why come back?”

“Business. The old golf-course land is on the market. I was thinking of buying it and trying to develop it into something.”

“That’s who the woman was?”

He gave me an uncomfortable look.

“We were discussing a project. Anyway, what about you? Why are you still here? You wanted to move to the big city. Become a journalist—a TV reporter, right?”

“That seems ridiculous now.”

“Why? You had the looks for it. And the smarts.”

“I decided to become a smart, good-looking waitress instead,” I said.

The bitterness in my voice was palpable. He glanced over at me, sadness in his eyes.

“Sorry if that sounded condescending. There’s nothing wrong with earning a living, as long as you’re happy.”

“Happy endings are for rich kids. You know that.”

He looked stung.

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair,” I said.

“I can see why you might think that. If it makes you feel better, there was no happy ending in my family. We ended up broke and at each other’s throats.”

“Why would that make me feel better?”

“After the way my grandmother treated you, you’d be justified in hating her.”

“I don’t wish bad on anyone.”

“You wouldn’t. You’re too good. Most people would say we got what was coming. We were living off my grandmother’s money. My mom, my aunts and uncles, all the cousins. Me. The financial crisis wiped her out. She died not long after, and the battle for the estate was crows fighting over a corpse. It got ugly. Most of us still don’t talk to each other.”

“That’s sad. You and your cousins seemed so close.”

“It looked better from the outside than it actually was. Everybody was nuts.”

He fell silent, concentrating on driving. The dark, narrow road switched back as it climbed, and he took the hairpin turns expertly, the Lamborghini cornering like the exquisite high-tech machine it was.

“This car is amazing.”

“You like it?”

“Love.”

“Check this out.”

Connor grinned and hit the gas. The car leaped, and I squealed as the g-forces slammed me into the seat.

At the top of the mountain, he jammed on the brakes, then swerved onto an unpaved road, kicking up dirt. We bumped along, hitting every rut and hole till my teeth clattered, and we arrived at an elaborate iron gate that slid open as the car approached.

“That was the most fun I’ve had in years,” I said.

“Me, too.”

He sounded sincere, but I couldn’t help doubting. Wasn’t his life normally full of fast cars, private jets, speedboats? The tabloids would have you think so.

We got out. Wind rustled in the pines. I hugged myself against the chill as I followed Connor toward the house. It loomed, enormous and dark at the edge of a precipice, with open air below. I looked up at an eerie yellow moon, hiding behind wispy clouds, then across the valley to the mountains of Vermont, fifty miles away. Involuntarily, I shivered.

“Your friend isn’t home?” I asked.

“I’m borrowing the place. He doesn’t use it in the summertime.”

He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. Inside, there was a musty chill, like the house had been closed up since last winter. We stood in a two-story great room dominated by an enormous stone fireplace. At the far end, tall windows faced the view. Against the dark of the night, they were black mirrors reflecting my image back at me, tiny and vulnerable in the towering space.

“I’ll find us something to drink,” Connor said, and disappeared.

I walked over to a big leather sectional that faced the fireplace and sat down gingerly. The house was beautifully crafted, with log walls, gleaming floors covered in Navajo rugs, and faux-rustic furniture straight out of a magazine. But you could tell it wasn’t lived-in, and it had a sterile air about it. Connor came back with two crystal glasses and a bottle of scotch. He poured slugs for both of us, then leaned back on the sofa and pointed a remote at the fireplace. Blue flames sprang to life, doing nothing to banish the chill. We clinked glasses. He sighed and took a long pull of his scotch.

“It’s so good to be here with you. I can’t even tell you,” he said.

I didn’t reply. I was trying to decide whether to take him at his word. It meant a lot to me to be here, more than it ever could to him. Or so I thought. Was he playing with me? I had to be careful not to make this into more than it was. I took a sip of the scotch. It tasted smoky and rich.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“What question?”

“Why you stayed. This town always seemed too small for you. I remember, you were dying to get out and see the world.”

“You made me think that was possible.”

His eyes searched my face. It felt too intense. I looked down at my glass, swirling the scotch, trying to decide how honest to be, how vulnerable. But he wouldn’t let me get away. He reached out and put a finger under my chin, tipping my face up so I was gazing into his eyes. With anyone else, it would’ve felt like a violation. With Connor, it was deep communion.

“But it wasn’t? You can tell me the truth. Even if it’s You and your fucked-up family ruined my life.”

I smiled. “All right, then, yeah. You and your fucked-up family ruined my life.”

“Hah, I asked for that.” His words had a bantering tone, yet he looked genuinely crushed.

“I’m joking,” I said.

“No, you’re not, and that’s okay. I left you hanging. I have a lot of regrets in life, but that’s one of the big ones.”

“Well, you were in a tough spot. Your family was under your grandmother’s thumb.”

“I should have stood up to Nell, but I didn’t have the guts. She terrified me till the day she died.”

“She was a scary lady. That doesn’t make my family’s problems your fault. The recession hit. There were layoffs at the club. Grandma Jean was let go. But we didn’t starve. We had her social security and Grandpa’s disability. When there was no money for college, I went to work. Me, and millions of other kids. It wasn’t a tragedy. Grandpa died. Grandma got sick. I was her only family. I stayed around to take care of her, and I was happy to do it. That’s just life. I did get my associates degree eventually, after she died. I had a good job at the hospital. Things were good, until I went and married the wrong guy—but that was on me.”

I stopped. Connor was watching my face.

“Tell me about your marriage,” he said gently.

“I’d rather not talk about it. It’s behind me, and I like to keep it there.”

“Understood. Then, you’ll relate. Marriage hasn’t been easy for me, either,” he said.

“From what I see in the magazines, you look happy enough,” I said, and instantly regretted giving away the fact that I stalked him online. But he didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t mind.

“I must sound like an asshole,” he said.

“You don’t. I didn’t mean to imply that at all.”

I gazed at him, wanting to memorize him, not as he was at nineteen, but now, as a grown man. He put his hand around mine, where I was holding the glass. But I moved away. We were on dangerous ground.

“I’m just saying, my marriage is not the fairy tale it’s made out to be. We got married too fast, before I really knew her. She was beautiful and rich and famous. She turned my head.”

“That happens. I’ve seen her pictures. She is beautiful.”

“It’s not just her, it’s the way she lives. You can’t even imagine. The houses, the cars, the jet, the travel. She has people to do everything for her. Assistants and secretaries, housekeepers, a personal yoga instructor, a stylist, hair and makeup, a driver, chefs. I can’t even count them all. She just has to think something, and it happens. She doesn’t even walk on her own.”

“Walk?”

“Like, she exits a building, and somebody guides her to her car, holding an umbrella if it’s raining. She gets into an elevator, someone else pushes the button, and tells her what floor she’s going to. Her feet don’t touch the ground. She doesn’t so much as flick a light switch. When I’m with her, they do all that for me, and I’ve gotten used to it. Do you understand? It’s a terrible thing to admit. I feel like I sold my soul.”

“Um—I don’t know what to say. I see how that could be very seductive.”

“But you. You were so real. That summer. You were just this—I don’t know—this angel of my youth.”

I laughed. “Angel?”

“Yeah. The long blond hair, the long legs. Always tan.”

“Well, I worked outdoors.”

“I don’t mean to make it just about how you looked. It was so much more. I saw you tonight, and that whole time in my life came rushing back. How messed up I was. Hating my dad, which I still do, by the way. My mother on the verge of a breakdown. I remember, I’d go somewhere, alone with you, and everything would magically get better. Your voice, your laugh. You had magic powers. You could cure me, Tabby. It was so perfect, so simple, what we had. I never found that again. And this thing with Nina—it’s twisted.”

He shook his head, shuddering. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I was afraid of the things he said, how they made me feel. I should have told him to stop. But I couldn’t.

“Talking like this, I feel it again. Like we’re still kids. Like I’m still in love for the first time,” he said.

He was looking in my eyes as he said that, and I was sipping the scotch. I started to cough and couldn’t stop. He patted my back.

“I’m okay,” I managed, eyes watering.

“I’m sorry. It’s not fair, unloading my regrets on you. It was my fault, the way things ended. I had no backbone. I wish I could have a do-over. Anything not to’ve hurt you.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“But I’m not over it. If I could recapture that feeling—well, I’d give a lot.”

How could I stay strong when he said things like that? I went there.

“If you’re so unhappy with your wife, why do you stay?”

He hesitated, sipping his drink, gazing into the fire.

“I’m afraid of what she’d do if I left. I don’t know if you know much about Edward Levitt—”

“I know he was famous for his affairs.”

“The way he treated her. He humiliated her publicly. It’s like she has PTSD from it. She’s insecure. Depressed. Suicidal, sometimes. With me, she can’t help it, she’s incapable of trusting. Like, to the point of being paranoid. She believes that I’m cheating on her, that I’m lying, that I’m trying to hurt her. I’m not doing any of those things. But she won’t believe me. It’s almost like she can’t.”

I decided not to mention that dark-haired woman at dinner. He’d claimed she was a business associate, and anyway, if Connor was having an affair, it was really none of my business. It did caution not taking what he said at face value, though.

“What about counseling?” I asked.

“I suggested couples’ counseling. Nina’s been in therapy for years, and the only thing she’d consider was having me see her analyst, separately. I tried. It was useless. He just sat there and said, ‘Hmmm.’”

“What will you do?”

“I’ve tried to show her how devoted I am, to convince her that I’m not Edward, that I would never behave the way he did. But from the beginning, she couldn’t let me breathe. She insisted on knowing where I was every second. She monitored my phone calls. She made me give her the passwords to all my accounts so she could read my emails. I should’ve said no, but I was trying to reassure her. I thought it would help, but it ended up making things worse. The more information she got, the more paranoid she became. Now we’re down the rabbit hole. Every move I make is suspect.”

“That sounds extreme.”

“It is. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t know what to do, Tabby. I really don’t.”

He dropped his head to his hands. He looked so desperate that it got to me. I rubbed his shoulder.

“Hey,” I said, shifting closer to him.

He looked up and our eyes met. As if in slow motion, he leaned toward me, and I thought, Don’t do this, you’ll regret it. But my lips parted.

A sudden crashing sound outside made us both sit up in a flash. We stared at the blankness beyond the tall windows.

“What was that?” I said.

Connor jumped to his feet, rushing over to press his face up against the glass of the window.

“It’s too dark out there. I can’t see a thing. I worry sometimes that Nina is having me followed.”

My hand went to my throat. “Do you think someone followed us here?”

He turned from the window. “We’d probably have seen them on the road. But I’d better check. Stay here, I won’t be long.”

“Be careful.”

Connor marched out the front door. I wrung my hands in my lap, listening to the wind howl. Up here on top of the mountain, it was like summer had never come. I stared into the blue flames and shivered. Did my phone even work up here? I dug for it in my handbag. No service. Figured. I got up and walked around the great room, looking for a landline telephone, but there was none. I didn’t have the nerve to go search one out in the other rooms. I went back to the sofa and downed the rest of the scotch in one go. It warmed me up without calming me down. When the front door banged open suddenly, I jumped. But it was just Connor coming back. I heaved a sigh of relief and stood up to meet him.

“What was it?”

“There’s a big tree branch down on that side of the house. It must’ve come down in the wind. I think that’s what we heard. Come, sit down.”

On the sofa, I drew my knees up to my chest. We sat closer together than before, turning toward each other. Connor picked up his glass and took a big gulp. He seemed tense. I wondered if he’d told me the whole story.

“You’re worried. Your hands are shaking,” I said.

“Honestly. That’s from being around you.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Even if they’re true?”

“Shouldn’t you go to the police?” I said, looking to change the subject.

“To say what?”

“That your wife is having you followed?”

“I have no proof. It’s just a feeling.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. But seeing you, I realize I have to do something. I don’t want to go on like this.”

His hazel eyes were so near that I saw my reflection in them. I loved the line of his mouth, so strong and yet so vulnerable. I wanted to kiss him, badly. But he was married, and troubled, and dangerous for me.

“Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I’d married you instead,” he said.

I’d been waiting years to hear him say that. Now that it was happening, I wasn’t sure I could handle it.

“Don’t play with my feelings.”

“I’m not. I really mean it. I should have come back here a long time ago. What we had was so pure. Those were the happiest days of my life. I’d give anything to feel that way again. Please, can I just—”

“No. It’s not a good idea.”

“Please. Let me.”

He raised his hands and undid my hair. It came cascading down. He buried his face in it.

“I remember this,” he said.

“We should stop, before it’s too late,” I whispered.

“It’s already too late.”

He leaned in to kiss me, and my lips parted like they remembered him. His mouth was the same, his taste as sweet as ever. My hands found their way to his shirt. The cotton was finer than what he’d worn in my memory, his body underneath my fingers subtly changed. I undid the buttons. Then he took off my shirt. We paused, taking each other in with our eyes, our hands moving over each other. He was sturdier, more solid, more defined than I remembered, but the texture of his skin under my fingers, the hollow at his collarbone, I remembered vividly. When he touched me, every man I’d been with in the intervening years faded away. They’d all been wrong. Every one. He knew how to touch me like nobody else did. My breath came in gasps. Our clothes were in piles on the floor. He was on top of me, his skin silken against mine, his body moving against me, his face filling my vision. He was all that I could see. All I ever wanted to see. Please, I thought, let him stay with me this time. Let him never leave. I know this is wrong. But it feels so right. And I don’t want it to end.

8

Delicate morning light streamed through the tall windows of the ski house, illuminating Connor’s face as he slept. We lay on the sofa, naked and tangled in each other’s arms, partially covered by a cashmere throw. I was cold and stiff, and I needed to pee. But I held perfectly still, fearing that, the moment he woke, my time with him would come to an end.

He stirred, opening his eyes.

“Hi,” he said, and kissed me lightly on the lips.

“Hi.”

This was pretend. There was someplace else he ought to be, another woman he belonged to. He knew that better than I did. Anxiety flared in his eyes as reality set in. He sat up abruptly and grabbed his phone from the coffee table. The screen as he unlocked it was covered with the bubbles of multiple text messages. I watched him scroll through hurriedly, watched his shoulders slump, watched as he rushed to pull on his underwear. And I knew what it meant: He’d leave, and I wouldn’t see him again.

“Was that your wife?”

He didn’t reply.

“It’s okay. I understand,” I said, reaching for my clothes.

“No. Just—there are some things I should deal with.”

“Sure.”

“I wish it were different,” he said.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

I couldn’t look him in the eye for fear I’d choke up and beg to stay. Or else, get angry, which I had no right to do, since I’d known what this was, and did it anyway.

We got dressed in silence.

Outside, the air was fresh and cool, smelling of pine and green leaves. I took a breath to banish my sadness, but the beauty of the day only magnified it. The house had lost its air of menace and looked like the glamorous millionaire’s ski retreat it was, the kind of place I’d normally never get inside, unless I was catering a party. I wished we could stay longer, that we had the right to be there together. But we didn’t. Our night together had been stolen from its rightful owner, Connor’s wife. She was the one who belonged with him in places like this. He must feel that, too. He fell into a troubled silence that hung over us like a cloud all the way back to the Baldwin Grill, where I’d left my car.

The restaurant didn’t open for hours, and the parking lot was empty. In the light of day, the restaurant looked shabby, in need of paint, the parking lot riddled with potholes from spring rains. This was my life, not that ski chalet. Connor pulled up next to my dented ten-year-old Corolla, the only car in the lot. I was fond of that car. She even had a name—Corrie. Yet the contrast between her and the sleek Lamborghini brought home a hard truth. He was rich. I wasn’t. We were about to part ways, presumably forever. He’d return to his glamorous existence, his glamorous wife. I’d head back to the daily grind—alone.

I reached for the door handle. “I hope things get better for you. Goodbye, Connor.”

“Wait. Don’t go. This can’t be the end.”

I turned back, shrugging hopelessly. “What else can it be?”

“I have meetings all day today. But afterwards, the rest of the weekend, I’m free. Can I see you?”

There was nothing I wanted more in life than to see him again. But where would it lead?

“Connor, this isn’t good for us. And it’s not right.”

He laid his hand against my cheek and looked deep into my eyes.

“Last night with you was the first time in years that I felt like myself. The world made sense again. I know I have nothing to offer, no right to ask anything of you. But if you’d let me see you—if it’s just a few hours, minutes, even—anything you’ll give me, I’ll take.”

“Say we spend another night together. What happens then? You go back to your wife, right?”

“I won’t lie to you. The answer to that is yes, for now. I want to leave her. But it’s complicated, and I can’t put a time frame on it.”

“Thank you for being honest. I love you, Connor. I really do, I always have. But this—I just can’t. I should go.”

His face fell as I flung the door open.

I ran to my car, got in, turned on the engine. The Lamborghini hadn’t budged. Connor sat there, staring at me through the glass, looking as devastated as I felt. I wanted to run back into his arms. I couldn’t. I don’t know how I managed, but I put the car in gear and drove away, second-guessing myself all the way home.

I was such a mess at work that night that everybody noticed. Not just Matt, the bartender, but my manager, Liz, whom I’d worked with at another restaurant before following her here. And the hostess, Hayley, who was a ditz, but a sweetheart. They all saw that something was wrong from the expression on my face and kept asking if I was okay. I said I was fine. But after I screwed up a couple of orders, Liz pulled me aside.

She was an ex-hippie, big-boned and apple-cheeked, with a bright blue streak in her graying hair.

“Something’s wrong. What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I’ll try to focus.”

“Is it the guy from last night? The ex with the sports car?”

“Matt told you about him?”

“Uh-huh. You went home with him?”

“Yeah. Stupid. Now I’m crazy for him again, and it’s already over.”

I teared up.

“Aww, babe, don’t cry. Why does it have to be over?”

I wiped my eyes, fighting back the tears.

“He’s only in town for the weekend.”

She shrugged. “A lot can happen in a weekend.”

“And, he’s married.”

“Oh. Well, that sucks.”

“Yup.”

“You know, Bart was married when he and I first met.”

Bart was her husband of twenty years. They had four children together.

“I didn’t know that.”

“I was with someone, too. But we were both miserable. And from the second we met, we knew it was meant to be. I’m just saying. You only live once.”

She patted my arm.

I went back out on the floor, thinking about what Liz had said. What if Connor and I were destined to be together? What if we were true soul mates, who would never find happiness with anyone else? He was going to divorce Nina anyway, eventually. I’d sent him away without even exchanging phone numbers. What if he got single and couldn’t find me? I might not stay at the restaurant forever. Maybe I’d missed my chance. Made a terrible mistake. As the shift dragged on, I got more anxious. The mistakes piled up. I served the wrong food to one table, knocked over a wineglass at another. An hour before my shift ended, I was standing at the coffee station, when I saw Liz heading my way, and geared up to beg her forgiveness.

“I clocked you out,” she said. “I’ll cover the rest of your shift.”

“Look, I know I’ve been a klutz, but you don’t need to—”

“He’s here. Your friend with the fancy car. He’s asking for you.”

“Where?”

“At the bar. I said I’d send you over. Go. You’re useless, anyway.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yes, you will. You owe me, sister,” she said, with a wink, and walked away.

I hurried to the bar, squeezing through a solid wall of customers as I craned my neck to spot him. He was wedged in at the bar, facing out, scanning the crowd for me. Our eyes met. He put down his beer and came right over.

“Don’t be mad,” he said, hands on my shoulders, looking down into my eyes intently, “but I had to come. There’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have said—that I regret not saying.”

“Okay.”

“Can we go outside?”

I nodded.

In the parking lot, the air was cool and sweet after the heat of the restaurant. He started walking, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“You said you have something to tell me?”

“I do. I’m just stalling. I’m afraid of scaring you off.”

“Just say it.”

“All right. Here it is.” He took a breath. “I went to the restaurant last night on purpose, to find you.”

I opened my mouth in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m just—I guess, I’m at a crossroads. In my life, my marriage. A few months ago, things were so dark, I—well, I started asking myself how I ended up like this, where I went wrong. And I kept coming back to our summer. How it ended. I didn’t fight for you, Tabby. And nothing has been right since then.”

“So, you purposely came looking for me? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Sort of. I wanted to come back to this place. I didn’t really imagine you’d still be here. But then I stopped for gas at the store in town, and that same guy still owns it. He told me I could find you there. I pumped the gas and got back in the car. I sat for a while, trying to decide what to do. I knew that if I found you, something big would happen. But then I came here. And it has.”

“The real-estate deal, does that even exist?”

“Yes. I’d been thinking about you. About this place. I wanted to come back, but I didn’t act on it. Maybe I didn’t have the guts. But when I learned the land was for sale, it was like fate. I had to come up.”

“Why tell me this now?”

He took my hands in his. His were hot, emotion coming through them like a wave.

“I couldn’t leave without letting you know how I feel.”

“You feel like your life went bad when we broke up. I get it. Things haven’t been great for me, either. We all wish we could go back and fix our mistakes. But the question is, who are you now, Connor?”

“I’m the guy who never stopped loving you. I have until Tuesday morning, and I want to spend that time with you. Talk to you, touch you, eat a meal with you. Make love in front of the fire again. I don’t care what happens after that. I don’t care if the world ends. I need you now.”

He leaned toward me, and the kiss was molten. I was done fighting this. I had no ballast—no husband, no kids, no prospects to hold me back. No reason to deny what my heart was feeling. We hurried, hand in hand, to his car. On the drive to the ski house, we couldn’t stop touching, kissing. It was a miracle we made it up the mountain in one piece. At the house, he unlocked the door, and we tore off each other’s clothes as soon as we were inside. He pulled me down the hall to a bedroom and threw me down on the bed without bothering to turn on the lights.

It was everything, and more.

In the morning, I texted Liz that I’d be out for the rest of the weekend. She wasn’t happy. So, I repeated back to her the words of wisdom she’d had for me last night. The words I told myself when I opened my eyes in the darkness, feeling sick with guilt, looking at Connor sleeping beside me and knowing it wouldn’t last. Knowing I’d pay a terrible price for feeling joy like this. You only live once.

9

That weekend was like our honeymoon. We spent hours in the massive bed, piled high with pillows, in a rustic-chic guest room straight out of a magazine. We made love by the glow of the fire in the gas fireplace, getting up occasionally to raid the gleaming Sub-Zero for delicacies or the wine tower for vintage wines. We soaked in the hot tub and watched the sun rise over the mountain from the wraparound deck. We talked of everything under the sun, from the most serious to the most inconsequential. Our families, what we wanted from life. What we’d been like as children. The personalities at the restaurant, the office where he worked, the places he’d traveled. I loved his voice, his sense of humor. I loved his eyes when he laughed and his face when he slept. We hid from reality, and by hiding, let ourselves get entangled, deeply.

But we couldn’t hide forever.

On Tuesday morning, Nina sent the jet to collect him. He dropped me at my car on the way to the airport. In the parking lot, I clung to him, wetting the front of his shirt with tears. He took my face in his hands.

“In our hearts, we’re always together. I need you to remember that,” he said.

“What does that matter, when you’re going back to her?”

He wiped my tears away with his fingers, then kissed my cheeks, my nose, my forehead. His mouth found mine. I knew the kiss would only prolong the torture, but I couldn’t help myself. I kissed back.

“It matters. It means everything. It’s you I love. I hate that we have to be apart,” he said.

“You’re not a prisoner. You could stay here if you wanted to.”

He tangled his hands in my hair, looking at me, deeply, desperately.

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated. Meaning, that’s a lot of money to walk away from,” I said, my voice raw with hurt.

“No.”

“Why go back if not for the money? If you’re going to tell me she’s unstable—”

“She is unstable. She’s threatened suicide before.”

“That’s not the real reason.”

He sighed and looked away.

“Hey,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Tell me the truth. I can take it. You say our love is so pure, that you’re your best self with me. Well, be yourself. Not some fake version of you. I want the real thing.”

“Even if it’s not pretty? Even if I really haven’t changed that much from when I was afraid to face life without my grandmother’s money?”

“Even that.”

He looked at me for a long time. Then he nodded, his hazel eyes glittering with resolve.

“All right, then. The truth is, there’s a prenup. If Nina divorces me, I get ten million. If I leave her, or if she finds out I’m cheating and kicks me out because of it, I get nothing. Ten million, Tabby, versus nothing.”

That took me aback. I’d never seen an exact estimate of Nina’s wealth. I knew it was vast—so vast that I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Ten million, though—that, I could understand. He was right. Ten million was a lot of money to leave on the table. Still, this didn’t feel right.

“To Nina, ten million’s chump change,” Connor was saying. “She won’t miss it. But I could live on that for the rest of my life. We could. Do you understand? I’m going to leave her. I just need to do it in a way that doesn’t trigger the prenup.”

“Is that even possible?”

“I have to make her think a divorce is her own idea.”

“How?”

“I’ll figure something out. Otherwise, you know what happens? I lose my job at Levitt Global, because she’d never let me keep working there. I signed a noncompete, which means I’d basically be blacklisted, unable to work in that industry. I’d have nothing.”

“I don’t care. I’ll take you flat broke. It’s how I live already.”

“I appreciate that. But wouldn’t you rather have me with ten million?”

That question sounded flip to me. I yanked my hand away. “This just feels wrong.”

“You told me I could say anything.”

“I don’t feel right, being part of that kind of deception.”

“You’re not part of it. This is on me. It’s my marriage. I’m the one who’ll end it. I was going to, anyway. You just made me certain. Besides, it’s not only for the money that I want it to end clean. I don’t want to hurt her the way Edward did.”

“How long will this take?”

“I don’t know. A while.”

“And during that time, we don’t see each other. We don’t talk.”

“Hey,” he said, leaning close, “I’m not okay with not talking to you. As for seeing each other, maybe—”

“No. You don’t want her to know about me. If she has you followed, if she has the passwords to all your accounts, she would find out.”

“Maybe. Yes. Okay, you’re right.”

“We can’t see each other. We can’t talk.”

“You have to believe me, that I want to be with you,” he said, sighing. “It’s just complicated. There’s a lot at stake.”

His phone was buzzing with texts.

I looked away. “Your plane is waiting. You’d better go. So, don’t call me, and I won’t call you, I guess.”

He put his hands on my shoulders and leaned in. “Tabby. Don’t give up on me.”

I tried to look away, but his eyes were mesmerizing.

“Wait for me? Please? I love you. I’m going to get free, and then we’ll be together. It’ll be worth the pain, I promise.”

He wrapped me in his arms. I wanted to believe him. But I didn’t.

“I love you,” I said.

We kissed, and in my mind, I thought we were saying goodbye.

In the days after we parted, I was consumed. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I burned for him. I sleepwalked through my life not seeing what was in front of me, not hearing what people said. My senses were filled with him. His mouth, his hands, his skin, his hair, the way he smelled. It was like a low-level fever that I’d been able to manage until I saw him again in the flesh. Now the disease raged, and it ravaged me. Plus—the guilt, the shame, the humiliation. I’d slept with a married man, and he’d left me to go back to his wife. Grandma Jean didn’t raise a fool, or a home-wrecker, yet there I was, both. I spent my days staring at my phone, willing it to ring, and staring at his number in my contacts, trying not to call. I was lost.

Weeks passed. The weather turned hot, and everywhere I looked, people went about their happy lives. Couples walking hand in hand. Moms at the grocery store, pushing chubby toddlers in shopping carts. I’d never known that peace, that contentment. And now I didn’t even want it. I wanted to walk into the fire. After years of feeling numb, I was back where I started—obsessed with Connor, believing he was the one road to nirvana.

I threw myself into my work, looking for a distraction. I got a part-time job as a data-entry clerk in the billing department at a local insurance company. But typing payment codes into the computer left my mind free to wander. I sat there reliving every caress, until I could hardly see the screen. I took extra shifts at the restaurant so I wouldn’t be alone in my apartment at night, tossing in my bed, touching myself like he was with me. But every time I passed the table where he’d sat, I stopped in my tracks, like I saw him there.

When I was alone, I gave in to the exquisite torture of searching photos of him online. Connor wasn’t the newsworthy one. Nina was, so every picture of him was of the two of them together. And they were together—still. Connor and Nina at a charity gala in New York, a gorgeous couple in their finery, smiling for the cameras. Or on the terrace of a restaurant in the South of France, eating lunch with a famous film director and his actress wife. Connor in a white shirt and sunglasses, his arm slung casually across the back of Nina’s chair. Frantically, I searched the dates. The photos were new. They didn’t look like a couple headed for divorce. They looked content. Not madly in love, perhaps, but undeniably together. How was that possible, after the time Connor had spent with me? He’d seemed so in love. He said he was. And I’d believed him.

Had it all been a lie? Probably. After all, it’s not like I hadn’t shown poor judgment in men before. Derek. My ex-husband. Can’t get much worse than that.

Derek Cassidy was a mechanic at the auto repair shop where I got my car serviced. He had clear blue eyes, amazing biceps, a leather jacket, a motorcycle, and a pickup truck. He was ex-military like my dad. His bad-boy aura should’ve been a warning, but we met not long after Grandma died, and I was feeling too alone in the world to listen to the voice of reason. All I saw were good looks, a steady paycheck, and the fact that he’d chosen me.

It was only after we were married that things got rocky. He was secretive. He had a temper. I’d threaten to leave, he’d promise to do better. And it would get better, for a while. Then, one night on a dark road, the cops pulled us over. And I learned that Derek had been dealing pills out of his truck. There was a hidden compartment underneath the floorboards. I knew nothing about it, but I was in the passenger seat, so they arrested me anyway. I could’ve had the charges dropped if I gave information. But Derek threatened me, and I knew him well enough by then to take him at his word. I pled guilty to a misdemeanor possession charge with a guarantee of no jail time because my lawyer said it was the best I could do. I got five years’ probation and fired from my good job at the hospital because they couldn’t have someone with drugs on her record.

That black mark is there to this day, holding me back from better things. Derek, on the other hand, I did manage to shake. He went away for five years, and I divorced him while he was in jail. He wasn’t too happy about that.

Once burned, twice shy. I dated here and there after Derek, but I was always leery of getting serious. Nobody got through my armor until Connor came back. And he’d left me dragging through my days, feeling like the hollowness inside would never go away. That’s why, after several weeks passed with no word from Connor, I let Hayley at the restaurant shame me into going on Tinder. She’d just gotten engaged to a guy she met on there. A nice guy, who owned a lawn-care company and went to church with her on Sundays. When I told her one time too many that I had no weekend plans, she grabbed my phone out of my hand and insisted on making me a profile. I don’t know if I was reckless, or stupid, or just desperate. But I let her do it, figuring it couldn’t do any harm. Wrong.

At home that night in the privacy of my apartment, out of curiosity I opened Tinder and started browsing eligible men in my geographical area. None of them could hold a candle to Connor, and I was about to give up when I found myself staring at a photo of my ex-husband. I couldn’t believe it. What the hell was Derek doing on there? I’d set Tinder to show me profiles within a twenty-mile radius. He’d gotten out of jail a year ago and moved to Florida. I’d heard that from enough people to accept it as fact. Whenever I woke from a bad dream about Derek, the thought that he was a thousand miles away always comforted me. But if Tinder was showing me his profile, that could only mean one thing.

He was back.

If I’d seen his profile, had he seen mine? If he had, would he come looking for me? I jumped up and drew the blinds. I double-locked the door, looked in both closets, and pulled my shower curtain aside. Then I sat back down on the sofa, my breath coming in fast spurts. After he went to jail, I’d moved from the small house we’d rented together into this ground-floor studio in an apartment complex. My address was not listed anywhere online that I was aware of. On the other hand, Derek and I knew people in common who knew where I lived. My apartment faced the parking lot and had two large windows with flimsy locks. I knew my neighbors well enough to smile and exchange pleasantries, but none were friends I could turn to in a moment of need. If I screamed loudly, I was pretty sure they’d call 911, but that was small comfort. I took a butcher knife to bed with me that night, and barely slept.

The next day at the restaurant, I was constantly looking over my shoulder. I told everyone to be on the lookout for him, and even pulled up an old photo on my phone and showed it around. Matt tried to reassure me that, since I hadn’t swiped right on Derek’s profile, we hadn’t matched, so it was unlikely that he’d seen mine. For all I knew, Derek had been back in this area for months without getting in touch, so maybe I had nothing to fear. Still, to be safe, I had Matt walk me to my car that night, and for several nights after.

A week passed with no sign of Derek. I let my guard down.

It was a Tuesday night. My shift had just ended at the restaurant and I was walking to my car through the dark parking lot when Derek came up from behind. I saw him from the corner of my eye, and the look of him shocked me. He’d always been a big guy, a gym rat, built. I’d liked that at first, until it scared me. Now he looked heavier, and not in a good way—puffy, unhealthy, with pasty skin. His hair was different, too, shaved into a fade that screamed jailhouse. I backed away, my chest tight with fear.

“Not so fast. Where do you think you’re going?” he said.

“I don’t want any trouble. Leave me alone.”

“Why should I? You’re my wife.”

“Not anymore.”

“Because of some bullshit piece of paper? I know you’re mad over the drugs, but come on—divorce? I was just try’na make a buck for us, babe.”

“Don’t blame me for your arrest. I never asked you to break the law.”

“Oh, right. You just wanted shit. A house, a new car—”

“I never said that. You decided to deal, without telling me.”

“Whatever. I apologize, okay. Now, cut the bullshit, and come home to me. I see you on Tinder, giving yourself to strangers. I’m right here. I miss you.”

He stepped toward me, into the light, and I got a look at his eyes. The pupils were pinpricks in the light-blue irises. He was on something. I started walking. He grabbed my arm. I screamed, and he clamped his hand over my mouth.

“Shut up, you’ll get me in trouble.”

My whole body was shaking. Derek had never physically hurt me before, but he’d punched walls and broken things. When he got the divorce papers in the mail, he called from prison and said I’d regret it and I shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking we were done.

I bit his hand. He yelped and let go.

“What the fuck.”

A rowdy group of customers exited the restaurant, shouting and laughing. Using them for cover, I ran for the door. He didn’t follow. Inside, I told Matt in a trembling voice what had happened. He insisted on calling the police. By the time the officer showed up and searched the parking lot, Derek had gone. There was a piece of paper stuck under the windshield wiper of my car—a flyer from a pizza place with Derek’s handwriting on the back.

“Nice to see you too,” the note read, and I heard the words in Derek’s bitter voice. “You dump me when I’m down & then you're on Tinder looking all happy. You owe it to me to meet up. Call me.” And he left his number.

The officer was an old guy with gray hair and a beer belly who refused to take the situation seriously.

“He’s not here. Call if you see him again,” he said.

“That might be too late. He’s hostile. He’s stalking me.”

“He says right here, nice to see you.”

“That’s him being sarcastic. He grabbed me, I’m telling you.”

“Any witnesses to that?”

“No.”

“Then it’s he said, she said, and you won’t get far in court. If he was still loitering, I could do something, but.”

“I thought the police were supposed to protect people from criminals. My ex-husband has a criminal record. He’s on probation.”

“There’s your recourse, then. Call his parole officer and complain.”

“What’s the parole officer going to do?”

“With a domestic complaint like this—”

“It’s not domestic. We’re not married, not anymore.”

“He can sit him down and give him a talking-to.”

“Talk?”

“Yes.”

Which would achieve nothing except to piss Derek off.

I spent the next two nights tossing and turning on Matt’s couch. He and his husband, Justin, told me to stay as long as I liked. But they lived in a tiny house with one bathroom and two enormous rescue dogs. A third person in that space was a lot, and I couldn’t impose forever.

I went back to my place. I wasn’t sleeping much. I was thinking about buying a gun to protect myself. On top of everything, I seemed to have picked up some weird stomach bug that left me feeling queasy. I hated my life and couldn’t imagine a scenario in which things would get better.

That’s the frame of mind I was in when Connor finally called.

10

The buzzing of the phone woke me from a fitful sleep. Pink light glowed around the edges of the windows as I reached blearily toward my nightstand. A number I didn’t recognize was flashing on my phone. It started with 917. New York. It was him.

I’d been telling myself that if Connor called, I’d decline. Instead, I frantically swiped Accept before the call rolled over to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“Did I wake you?” he said.

His voice on the phone was low and intimate. My blood raced just from the sound of it. I looked at the clock. It was a little before six.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m on a boat,” he said.

“A boat?”

“In the Mediterranean.”

Oh, that kind of boat. He meant a yacht.

“It’s later here. I tried to wait, but I just had to talk to you.”

“I’m so glad you called. I miss you, but I was afraid to. We said we wouldn’t,” I breathed.

“We shouldn’t. I’m only calling because I have an important question. Did you send me a photo?”

“What?” I asked, sitting up in bed.

“Did you text me a photo just now?”

“No. We agreed not to communicate.”

He paused. I heard static on the line.

“Right,” he said, “that’s what I was afraid of.”

“What photo?”

“Of the two of us, from the first night at the ski house.”

I gasped. “That’s the night we heard the noise.”

“I know. Someone was actually there. I don’t know how. I went outside and searched, remember? And didn’t see a thing.”

“It’s a picture of us? Taken through the window?”

His sigh echoed across the ocean. “No. From closer up.”

A chill went through me. “You mean, somebody was inside the house?”

“From the looks of the picture, they were standing a few feet from us.”

“How is that possible? We would have seen them.”

“In the picture, we’re sleeping.”

I felt nauseous. “Oh, God. Are we …?”

“Yeah, sleeping, naked, together. The whole deal.”

“Jesus. That’s creepy.”

“It’s a fucking disaster.”

“Who would do that?”

“Someone who works for Nina, I imagine. The only thing I don’t get is, why send it to me? Why not just give it to her directly?”

“Maybe they did already.”

“I worry about that. She has the photo, and she’s biding her time till she kicks me out.”

“Isn’t that what we want, though? For her to end it?”

“Not if she has proof of infidelity. That triggers the prenup, remember?”

How could I forget? He’d gone back for the money, that was the bottom line. I knew I should hate him for it, too. But love didn’t work that way. The sound of his voice on the phone was making me itch to have him in bed beside me.

“Are you there?” he said.

“Do you miss me?” I said, hating that I needed to ask.

“Of course. I think of you constantly. I want to call. I want to be with you. But I have to handle things here. I don’t know what this means.”

“Whoever sent the photo—did they ask for money?” I said.

“No demand for money. No message, nothing.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. This situation keeps getting worse. I’m sick of it. I just want us to be together.”

I waited for him to say something more. Like, when that might happen, or what his plan was for achieving it. But he didn’t.

“When will I see you?” I asked, a note of desperation in my voice.

“I’m working on it. We’re on the boat the next couple of days, but we’re flying home in time for the Fourth. Once we’re back in Southampton and have some privacy, I’ll talk to her.”

“Talk to her? You mean, ask for a divorce?”

“That’s the plan,” he said, but he sounded vague. “It’s tricky. I need to figure out how to finesse things. Under the terms of the agreement, I can’t be the one who does the leaving.”

I was silent.

“Tabitha, believe me, I wish I could see you.”

“If wishes were horses …”

“I mean it. Talking to you is the only time I don’t feel crazy.”

There was a noise in the background.

“Shit, I have to go.”

“Connor. Wait.”

“I’ll call when I can. Don’t call me, okay? It’s too risky.”

He dropped the call.

I sat there staring at the phone in my hand, feeling sick to my stomach. Classic. I’d become the thing I’d sworn I’d never be. A mistress, a side chick, stuck waiting for her married lover to call. I wasn’t just ashamed. I was stupid. We were no closer to being together than we’d been the day he left. If anything, we were farther apart. I wanted to give up on him. But hard as I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

11

You think things can’t get worse, and then they do.

The same day that Connor called to tell me we’d been photographed naked, I was driving to work at the restaurant when I looked in the rearview mirror and noticed an ominous-looking SUV tailing me. It was a black Chevy Suburban with windows tinted so dark that I couldn’t see the driver, following closely enough to rear-end me if I braked hard. I sped up. The driver sped up, too, and stayed behind me all the way to the restaurant, a solid fifteen minutes that included getting on and off the highway and making three separate turns. Each time he followed me through an intersection, I felt a sick jolt of fear. When I turned in to the restaurant parking lot, the Suburban slowed down momentarily to get a better look before speeding away.

Shaking, bathed in sweat, I wondered—who would do that? Derek? From what I knew, unless he was dealing again, he couldn’t afford a brand-new, tricked-out Suburban like that one. And if Derek went to the trouble of stalking me, he wouldn’t hide behind tinted windows. He’d get up in my face, so I knew it was him. Could it’ve been the same person who’d followed me and Connor to the ski house and photographed us sleeping? But why would they bother with me? I was a struggling waitress with a thin wallet, not worth blackmailing. The incident made no sense. I tried to calm down, to tell myself that I was overreacting. Some jerk just tailgated me, and that’s all it was. Trying my best to believe that, I went to work.

The Baldwin Grill closed at ten on weeknights. At the end of the shift, as I walked to my car, the northern sky glowed with a delicate light, and a balmy breeze washed over me. The beauty of the night made me long for Connor. Who was with his wife, on a yacht, in the Mediterranean. What a fool I was.

Thoughts of him distracted me as I pulled out of the parking lot and headed home. As I merged onto the highway, I looked up and saw that Suburban on my tail again. The shock made me swerve into the next lane, which caused the driver coming up beside me to lean on his horn. I jerked my car back into place and stepped on the gas, surging ahead. When the Suburban kept pace, I broke into a cold sweat. Twice in one day? This was no coincidence. That SUV was definitely following me. I looked for a license plate number, but there was no front plate. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t see in through the dark tints. Who was behind the wheel, and what the hell did he want?

If I continued on to my apartment, he’d see where I lived.

I couldn’t go home.

Shit.

It was dark by now. There weren’t many cars on the road. Most businesses were closed. I drove past my usual exit, hands tight on the wheel, with no idea what to do. I let a second exit go by, then a third. I was well past my town now, flying along at seventy-five, heading nowhere, with the Suburban right behind me. The gas light blinked on. Shit. A sign said NEXT SERVICES 17 MILES. Okay, if I could make it that far with what was left in the tank, I’d at least be in a populated area. There was a big commercial strip with a Home Depot, a Walmart, a Pier 1. The stores would be closed by now. But there were service stations and fast-food joints. Something would be open, people would be around—if only I could make it there before I ran out of gas.

The next fifteen minutes felt like fifteen years. I white-knuckled it in my old Corolla, the Suburban lurking like some horror-movie creature behind me, until finally I glimpsed the exit in the distance, coming up fast. This was my chance to lose him. I was no stunt driver, but I’d have to pull a fast move if I wanted to get home tonight. Holding my breath, I pushed the pedal to the floor and barreled straight ahead, jerking the wheel at the last second and swerving sideways across the solid line onto the off-ramp. My car fishtailed, tires squealing, as an acrid smell filled the passenger compartment. But the Suburban shot past, missing the turn.

I’d lost him, for now.

As much as I wanted to disappear to some back road where he wouldn’t find me, I needed gas ASAP. I pulled into a Sunoco station just past the exit ramp. I started the gas going, then reached into the glove compartment for the flyer where Derek had scrawled his phone number. He was the most logical suspect, and I refused to live in fear of my ex-con ex-husband. I’d call him up and confront him. The gas station was brightly lit. It had a convenience store with customers inside. I felt safe here for the moment—safe enough to demand answers.

The phone rang for a long time before he picked up.

“Who’s this?” he muttered.

From the thickness of his voice, it sounded like I’d woken him. He couldn’t be asleep at home and following me in a giant SUV at the same time. Unless he was pretending.

“It’s Tabitha. Are you following me?”

“What?”

“Are you following my car, in a black Chevy Suburban?”

“Hah, right. You wish.”

“So, you’re not?”

“Why would I follow you?”

“Why did you jump me the other night? I can’t explain how your brain works. I’m telling you right now, Derek, if it’s you, I’m calling your parole officer.”

“I didn’t jump you. I wanted to talk, and you made a scene. And I’m not following you, okay? I don’t own a Chevy Suburban. I don’t even have a friggin’ driver’s license right now. They suspended it.”

As plausible as that sounded, I didn’t really believe him. How did he get to the restaurant the other night if he couldn’t drive?

“Don’t come near me, or we’ll have a problem,” I said.

He was in the middle of an angry reply when I dropped the call. He dialed right back. I hit Decline.

Derek was probably lying. I hoped he was lying, because if it wasn’t him in the Suburban, then a stranger had followed me. And that would be a first. I had no enemies. I wasn’t important. I didn’t have enough cash to make it worth blackmailing me or shaking me down. Although. I was involved with a man who did. A married man. With a powerful, unstable wife.

Could that be some goon in the Suburban, hired by Nina Levitt?

A woman with white hair pulled up in a Volvo and got out to pump gas. Her golden retriever poked his head out the back window, tongue lolling. Oh, to be her, with a sweet dog, a normal life. To be anyone but me right now.

Enough. The Suburban hadn’t found me yet. Better get the hell out of here before it came back.

At home, I double-locked the door, pulled the blinds, and turned down the lights. I had to talk to Connor—to tell him about being followed and ask if he had any news about the blackmailer. But he’d said not to call. Crap. I didn’t know what to do. I started pacing. I was feeling sick. And strange, like my breasts hurt. Actually, they hurt a lot, come to think of it. With every step, the pressure of the bra made them ache. Maybe my period was coming.

Wait a minute, when did I last have it?

Crap. I was late.

I sank down onto the sofa and tried to remember the precautions we’d taken. I wasn’t on the pill. I had sex so rarely that it didn’t seem worth putting those hormones in my body on the off chance. Connor’d had condoms. We’d used them. But we’d had sex a lot, and maybe—

Shit.

Okay, calm down. Stress could make you late, right? Lord knows, between Derek coming after me, the Suburban following me, and the crazy emotions caused by my affair with Connor, I was under enormous pressure. That could explain it.

Or else I was pregnant.

Nausea overwhelmed me. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. That could only mean one thing. I needed to take a pregnancy test to be sure. It was after midnight, and the only open pharmacy was a fifteen-minute drive over dark, empty roads. I hadn’t seen the Suburban since my stunt-driving maneuver on the highway an hour earlier. But it could still be out there. I hesitated, rinsing my mouth. When the cardboardy taste of the water in the Dixie cup made me gag, I knew this was urgent, and grabbed my keys. All the way to the pharmacy, I kept an eye on the rearview mirror, relieved when the hulking black SUV failed to materialize.

Back in my bathroom, I ripped open a foil packet, sat down on the toilet, and peed on the stick. One line in the window meant you weren’t pregnant.

Two lines.

I did the second test in the box, hoping against hope. Two lines again.

Fuck.

I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling, dry-eyed. For the first time in my life, I was pregnant. That should bring me joy. Instead, I was terrified. I knew my options just like every woman did. But from the second I saw the two lines, I knew I wanted this baby.

His baby. I wanted to have a baby with Connor.

What if he’d lied? What if he had no intention of leaving his wife—and her millions?

Then I’d have to raise this child alone.

I knew what it was like to live through an unstable childhood, with absent parents. I wanted the baby, but not with upheaval, and insecurity, and lack of resources. I wanted this baby to have two parents, and a good home. I wanted it with Connor by my side.

He’d told me not to call.

Screw that.

I dialed his phone. It went straight to voicemail. I left a message saying I needed to speak to him right away, that it was extremely urgent. Then I waited. An hour passed with no word from him. Where did he say he was, again? I Googled the time zones of the Mediterranean. It was two here now, which meant it was eight there. Eight a.m. He could goddamn well answer. Another hour passed. Nothing. I made some herbal tea to settle my stomach, but the flowery smell of it just made me throw up again. There was nothing left in my stomach, and no word from Connor. I texted him—Please please please call, emergency.

Morning came, and I was late for work. I stared at the computer screen at the insurance company, billing codes blurring before my eyes as I struggled to concentrate. Dizzy with hunger, yet constantly nauseous, I managed to choke down a few saltine crackers. At the restaurant, working the dinner shift, the intense food smells made me gag. I was running to the bathroom so often that Liz eventually came looking for me. She found me standing at the sink, pale and wan, wiping my lips with a paper towel. After looking under the doors of the stalls to make sure we were alone, she demanded to know what was going on.

“Are you sick?” she said, sniffing the air.

“I might be coming down with a stomach bug.”

Liz knew better. She’d borne four children, after all. She frowned at me skeptically. I couldn’t meet her eyes. I wasn’t ready to tell anyone—except this baby’s father, who refused to return my calls.

“Go home,” she said.

I didn’t protest.

The road from Lakeside, where the restaurant was located, to my apartment in Baldwin had been widened in the years since I’d traveled it by bike. Still just two lanes with strips of grass and then woods on either side, it was now spacious and smooth, with a forty-mile-an-hour speed limit instead of twenty-five. It was around six, still full light outside on this pretty summer evening. I was driving on autopilot, caught up in my problems and ignoring the rearview mirror, when the Suburban suddenly emerged from my blind spot, hurtling at me like a demon. I braked to let the SUV pass faster. Instead of passing me, it slowed and veered toward me. He was going to run me off the road. I floored the Toyota, managing to slip out of the way a split second before the SUV sideswiped me.

Now he was behind me. In what felt like slow-motion, I pressed the pedal to the floor, my eyes on the mirror. My poor old Toyota was not up to the task of outrunning the Suburban. Stunned, I stayed on the gas as he rammed me from behind. Metal was grinding, sparks flying. I leaned on the horn, screaming uselessly at him.

“Stop! Stop it! Asshole!”

Cars came at us from the opposite direction, and the Suburban fell back. But the minute they’d passed, he was on me again. I heard the low roar as the SUV came up beside me, its dark bulk looming until it filled the driver’s-side window. I strained to see my aggressor’s face, but the tints were too dark. Who would do this? Holding the wheel steady, I refused to cede the road. But my Toyota was no match for that behemoth. The SUV sideswiped me once, with a screech of metal. Then it hit me again, and the second impact sent me hurtling onto the grassy shoulder. Bouncing forward, bones rattling, I fought to keep control of the car, finally managing to skid to a stop just short of the tree line. The airbag didn’t deploy, thank God. Hyperventilating, I stumbled out onto the grass, my legs like rubber. The driver’s-side door was crumpled and scratched.

A woman in a minivan had pulled off the road behind me. I could see kids in her car. She came toward me now, waving.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Did you see that? Did you see what he did to me?”

“He ran you off the road. Do you need me call an ambulance?”

She had a phone in her hand.

“No. I’m not hurt.”

“The cops, then?”

I leaned over, hands on my thighs, trying to catch my breath, and nodded.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“It was a black SUV, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, a Suburban.”

“With New York plates?”

“New York plates? Really? I didn’t see.”

“Orange and blue. That’s New York, right?” she said.

“Yes.”

New York plates. It couldn’t be Derek, then. Deep down, I’d known that. Derek wanted me back. Not dead. Who else could it be? The obvious answer was someone who worked for Nina Levitt. Was Connor’s wife trying to kill me? I couldn’t believe that. Correction—I didn’t like believing it. I hated that I’d done something bad enough to cause another person to want to kill me. But I had. I’d slept with her husband.

The police showed up and took a report. The woman in the minivan hadn’t gotten a plate number, and the Suburban was long gone. The officer asked if I thought it had been a random act of road rage. Did anybody have a grudge against me? I almost told. I almost said, Actually, the unstable woman who is married to the father of my unborn child has the means and the motive to hire someone to kill me. It had to be her. But I didn’t say that. Even thinking it, it sounded far-fetched. Instead, I mentioned Derek’s name, while telling the officer I didn’t believe it was him, because of the New York plates.

Once I was safe at home, I tried Connor’s number. I had so much to tell him—things he needed to know. I was expecting his child. I was being followed. Someone had tried to kill me—possibly the same person who’d taken the photo of us, who, in all likelihood, worked for his wife. Yet, each time I called, the phone rang only once before rolling over to voicemail. I tried texting instead, but the texts showed as undelivered.

It was almost like he’d blocked me. But that couldn’t be true. More likely, Nina was interfering with our calls. I wouldn’t put it past her to tamper with his phone so that my number was blocked, and he didn’t even know. There was only one way to get around that.

I had to drive down to New York and speak to him in person.

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