had a text from the attorney telling her that things went as expected, that Patrick has been arrested and is now in the county jail. She won’t be hearing from Patrick directly any more, unless he calls her from a phone at the jail. She pictures him in a cell, wearing some kind of jumpsuit. She imagines they have taken away his belt, his shoelaces – anything he might use to kill himself. But she can’t imagine what’s going through his mind. Because she doesn’t have any idea of what’s in his mind at all. She shudders to think that a machine might know him better than she does. Did she ever know him at all?
Maybe she’s safer with him in jail. She and Emmie and Jackie. If he really is a murderer, they’re all better off with him locked up, far away. She thinks with horror about the fire in the kitchen. She still can’t remember putting the pan on the stove that day. Could Patrick have done it? Was Erica right? Did Patrick want to get rid of her and the twins, so he can have her money – over three million dollars altogether?
She can’t believe it. She can’t believe that she could have been so terribly mistaken about someone she loved. But she has just enough doubt left to make her utterly miserable.
She doesn’t know what is true or how to act any more. Patrick’s lawyer expects her to be supportive, to rally around him. But can she do that? Should she? What if he did it, and he gets away with it, and comes home? Surely he wouldn’t …
But he could be innocent.
How will she ever know for sure?
By the time the plane lands, it’s already late. She retrieves the car from the airport parking and drives the hour and a half home, her eyes burning with fatigue. The house is dark; she wishes she’d thought to leave the porch light on. Finally, she gets the door open and enters the house nervously, all her senses on alert. Being alone in the house at night frightens her. She’s used to having Patrick here – he used to make her feel safe. Now every little noise startles her, every shadow jumps out at her. She wonders if she will ever feel safe again. But then she tells herself to snap out of it.
She quickly turns the heat up a bit, flicks on lights all over the house, slips into some sweatpants, and then grabs her keys and hurries across the street to pick up the twins. She thinks about what to say to Hanna. She must not tell her about the polygraph, no matter how much she longs to confide in someone.
When Hanna opens her front door and smiles a welcome at her, Stephanie surprises herself by bursting into tears. Hanna hugs her and then pulls her from the chill of the doorstep into the warm house. She looks at her sympathetically. ‘Come on, the babies are all asleep upstairs. I’ll get you something to drink.’
‘Are you sure? It’s so late,’ Stephanie says.
‘I’m sure.’
Feeling too weary to protest, and utterly alone in the world, Stephanie follows her towards the kitchen. She wants to see her girls first, though. ‘I’ll just tiptoe up and look in on them, okay?’
‘Of course,’ Hanna says, changing direction. ‘We’ll be quiet, though – let’s not wake them.’
The twins’ playpen is set up in the nursery next to Teddy’s crib, with her two girls fast asleep. Stephanie creeps into the room and peers down at them. The nightlight casts a soft glow. They are on their backs, their heads turned towards each other, little fists curled, knees bent, chests rising and falling. They’re so innocent. Her heart breaks a little, looking at them.
‘Okay?’ whispers Hanna.
Stephanie nods, and they quietly exit the room and go back downstairs. Stephanie follows Hanna into the kitchen. She’s startled to see Ben, Hanna’s husband, there. But of course, he lives here. She’s the interloper, relying on the kindness of strangers.
‘Don’t mind Ben,’ Hanna says. ‘He’s watching something in the basement.’
Ben nods cordially at her, having the grace not to stare as he grabs a beer from the fridge. He probably expects to hear it all later, Stephanie thinks cynically. But she shouldn’t be cynical about them, she tells herself. They have been good to her. She can’t let what’s happening to her colour her view of everyone else.
Ben retreats downstairs with his beer and Hanna asks, ‘Tea? Or