little rest. And look outside—the sun’s not even up. You’re such an early bird, aren’t you?”
He was talking to Rain, she could tell. He knew she was listening. Encouraging her to chill a minute. Thank you, she thought, lying back down.
Rain listened to him talking to the baby softly, sweet nonsense, the zip of the diaper tabs, the whump of a diaper falling into the empty bin. “Oh, how nice, the wipes warmer! Back in the day, our wipes were cold! Ice-cold! I remember—what a shock it was.”
The baby issued a fascinated coo.
Then they were gone, walking down the steps, the floorboards creaking. Rain lay a moment, then grabbed her phone from the drawer by her bed, started scanning the news sites.
The FBI press conference was just a regurgitation of things Rain already knew; Gillian had attended. There were still no leads on the Markham murder—no physical evidence, no witnesses, investigation ongoing. No mention of a possible connection to Smith and Kreskey. The story was already going cold in the media. Markham’s death was a pointless coda to a sad, tragic, unfair story. His death changed nothing, and no one wept for him.
Christopher and Gillian had both returned her calls late yesterday, neither with anything new to report—except that they were meeting for a drink last night. How did that go? she wondered. There was about an eighty percent chance that they’d slept together. She’d hear all about it tonight when Aunty Gillian came to babysit for Lily. Her heart lifted at the thought of seeing her friend. She’d lay it all out, they’d talk it all through.
After trying and failing to fall back asleep, Rain pulled on a robe over her pajamas, pulled a brush through her hair. In the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Would she ever look like a normal person again, someone not frazzled, puffy and sleep-deprived?
Downstairs, Greg and Lily were at the table. Greg with the newspaper open, Lily surrounded by cereal and cut-up bits of strawberry.
“Hello, munchkin,” she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee, then leaning in to kiss Lily on the head. He handed her the arts section without a word.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She wasn’t even sure what thing she was apologizing for—the letters she’d kept from him, breaking the contract of the stay-at-home mom, neglecting their child. For everything.
He blew out a breath, rubbed at the bridge of his nose.
“No, I am,” he said, folding up the paper. She sat beside him, looped a hand through his. “I know who you are, Rain. I know what drives you. And, you know what, it’s part of the reason I fell in love with you. I’ve always admired the passion you bring to your work. If you need this, for whatever reason, let’s make it work, okay? It’s great that they are interested in the project at NNR. We could use the money. But when the story is done, let’s move on—from it, from him.”
She nodded, then looked at Lily, who was delicately placing one Cheerio in her perfect pink mouth.
She didn’t know if she could do both things. Or if she wanted to. Maybe it was another one of those lies they sold you, another one of those brass rings. Maybe they wanted you always overextended in the reaching, always face-planting. You can have it all! If you just try hard enough. But what if you couldn’t?
“What about Mitzi?” asked Greg. “She’s offered. We both like her, former kindergarten teacher, beloved grandmother. And right across the street. Probably not an ax-murderer, right?”
She was way ahead of him, planned on giving her a call when Greg left for work. “I’ll talk to her today.”
The knock at the door startled them both. Lily’s happy face fell into a frown.
“It’s 6 a.m.,” said Greg. “Who could that be?”
Rain’s whole body went stiff; she couldn’t even say why. As he got up for the door, she reached for him. Don’t answer it, she wanted to say. Which was crazy—of course he had to answer the door. He patted her hand and she got up after him.
There was a young woman at the door, a big man behind her, both unmistakably law enforcement—conservative, hard-bodied, serious. Rain stood right behind Greg, who kept a hand on the door, an arm between Rain and the people on the porch.
“Laraine Winter?” The woman stared right at her, held out her identification. FBI.
“I’m Agent Stephanie Brower. This is my partner, Agent Brian Shultz. Can we come in?”