It frightened me.
It also reminded me of myself.
“What are you suggesting?”
I held out my hand.
“Give me your phone.”
He hesitated.
Then handed it to me.
“Do you and Jenna share locations?”
His face went still.
“Yes.”
“Open it.”
He did.
A small blue dot appeared.
Fairfield Inn.
Room information wasn’t visible.
But the location was enough.
Daniel swallowed.
“She’s still there.”
“So is your father.”
He looked toward the cemetery gate.
“Mom—”
“No.”
His hands curled into fists.
“I could be there in ten minutes.”
“And tomorrow you could be answering questions in a police station.”
That stopped him.
I touched his arm.
“Don’t give them that.”
His breathing slowed.
Barely.
But enough.
I handed the phone back.
“Go to my
house.”
“What?”
“Take your truck. Park behind the garage.”
“And you?”
“I’m going home first.”
He stared at me as if I had lost my mind.
“You’re going home?”
“Yes.”
“What if Dad’s there?”
“He won’t be yet.”
“How do you know?”
I glanced at the time.
8:42.
“Because your father has habits.”
Even now.
Even after everything.
I knew Mark.
He never rushed home from anywhere.
Not from golf.
Not from dinner.
Not from betrayal, apparently.
Daniel searched my face.
“What are you going to do?”
“Pack a bag.”
“For you?”
“Partly.”
I left him at the cemetery.
Before walking away, I touched my father’s headstone once.
“Watch us,” I whispered.
Then I drove home.
The house looked exactly the same.
That was the strangest part.
The porch light glowed warmly.
The wreath I had bought last weekend hung on the front door.
Inside, the dishwasher hummed.
