the end. She moved out of our bedroom in May. I hardly saw her after that.”
“You haven’t told the police this, have you?”
God bless her for having my back. “Of course not.” Glancing up, I scan the second-story windows, certain Detective Shaw is there, spying on us. But there’s no sign of his stout figure. “Do you have any idea how bad that would seem? They don’t need any more encouragement to think we were fighting. They’re only going to make the leap that I killed her. They’ll probably think I did it because she was going to leave me and take half of everything.”
Someone shouts my name, and, as if the reporters have just now noticed our exit, they swell onto the sidewalk, hitting us with a roar of questions. I push through the crowd, shielding Colleen under my arm, and give a hard yank on the Martins’ doorknob. It turns—thank God they left it open for us—and we nearly fall into their foyer. I slam the door, and listen to the grumble of reporters as they draw back to the street. My head is pounding.
“Michael?” Rachael calls from somewhere upstairs. “Is that you?”
“Yeah,” I holler. “Give us a minute alone, would you?”
Rachael doesn’t respond, but I know she received the message when she doesn’t race down the stairs to greet us. I help Colleen to her feet. She’s clutching her belly protectively, and her eyes are cloudy with questions. She just won’t let it go.
“Why would you keep everything the same?” she whispers. “If I’m being honest, Michael, it’s a little creepy.”
I shove my hands in my pockets and shrug. My heart turns to stone as I remember installing the tiny mobile over the crib, and watching Joanna fit sheets to the mattress where our baby would’ve slept.
“I wanted to change it, so many times,” I say. “But each time, Samara would talk me out of it. She’d talk about the possibility of Joanna coming back, about building our family. She was so determined to keep the rooms that way. Any time I pushed back, I’d feel guilty about gutting the place.”
“I thought—” She is so pale that I worry about her. “Do you want our baby to sleep in there?”
“God, Colleen, no. That wasn’t my plan at all.” I pull her against me, and feel the softness of her body yielding to mine. “Unless that’s what you want.”
She tilts her head to look up at me, and I can’t read her expression. It’s a bizarre mixture of confusion and—I’m not sure, but it seems to be—knowledge. She’s quiet for so long, I’m not sure she’s going to respond at all. When she does, I’m relieved; her voice is confident.
“I want to put the past behind us,” she says, defiantly. “I want to move on with you and our baby. But if you’re still holding on to something you can’t get back, how can we possibly be happy with our future? Do you understand?”
“I do.” That damn detective had to come in here and rattle our cages, didn’t he? Bastard. I could’ve gotten rid of those rooms in my own time, without upsetting Colleen. “But you have to understand: even a past that’s dead and buried can rise up. I wish it were easier to put it all to bed, darling. You know I do.”
As Rachael clatters down the stairs, announcing her entrance with some obnoxious pleasantry, Colleen pulls out of my arms to greet her. And I’m left standing alone, my back to the door.
What the hell was I thinking, saying those things to her? Why can’t I be like every other guy and promise her the moon and stars with no exceptions? I know what she wants: for me to say I’m completely over Joanna. It’d be easy to say, to give her all the reassurance she needs—but I can’t lie.
RACHAEL
It’s strange having another couple around. They throw off our routine.
I’m usually curled up on the couch at night watching my favorite shows. Reality