The Romance Revival(27)

According to Annie, “Not even Dexter could find blood in there now.” Overtly unsettling but very much appreciated.

“Mrs. Caldwell?” I prompt. “Can I help you?”

She straightens and meets my gaze, and I notice that, as usual, she doesn’t insist I call her “Betty” the way she does with Luca. With her spine softened by age, she’s a few inches shorter than I am but has the piercing stare of a terrifying school principal. I’ve honestly never known what Luca finds so endearing about her.

“I was hoping to see Luca this morning,” she says. “He’s usually out by now.”

I wince in apology. “He isn’t feeling well, actually.”

“Is that so.”

Nodding, I tell her, “Stomach bug.”

“Oh, what a shame,” she says, not looking away, scrutinizing me. I’ve lied about my job enough times that I’ve gotten good at revealing nothing, denying everything. That said, I’m not usually also hiding a bag of my husband’s bloody clothes. This situation is so far out of the norm for me, I have absolutely no idea what my face is doing right now.

“It’s refreshing to see you home at this time on a Monday,” she says.

I force my mouth into a smile. “I thought I’d stay home and take care of Luca.”

“Surely he’s a grown man who’s had a stomach bug before?”

My smile falls and I stare at her. She’s onto me—I’m not stupid—but I wonder how much she knows. Did she see something? Fuck, that’s the last thing I need. I want to ask her, but I also don’t want to know what else she might have seen that night.

Such as me lugging Luca’s dead body to my car.

Such as him coming back alive, with no muscle coordination or memory.

My stomach lurches, and I swallow. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it was our wedding anniversary on Friday, and we didn’t get to celebrate. I feel weird leaving him alone today.”

Her eyes narrow. “Friday night?”

“That’s right.” I glance toward the house again, trying to communicate with my body language that it’s time to wrap up this weird conversation.

“And yet, Friday night, or should I say Saturday morning, you didn’t get home until—”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Caldwell,” I cut in, “I really need to—”

“It’s actually what I wanted to talk to Luca about,” she says. “What I saw that night.”

I look back at her. Careful, Emery. Don’t look worried. Keep your face neutral. “What you saw?”

“Yes. I thought I heard something down the street, and went to my window. I could have sworn I saw you stab him with something and put him in your car.”

My breath stops. Compound Y requires an intracardiac injection, and it takes a lot of force to get a needle through skin, subcutaneous tissue, muscle layers, bone, and the myocardium before reaching the heart itself; from a distance, it could look very much like I straddled his body and stabbed him. I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. I attempt a small laugh, trying to look indignant, when what I really want to do is throw up.

“Why on earth would I stab him?”

“An interesting question. I walked to the corner and there was blood on the street. A lot of blood.”

“Well, if there was blood, why didn’t you call the police?”

“I have a… complicated relationship with the San Diego Sheriff’s Department,” she says with a sniff. “And when I came back at first light to take a photo, the blood was gone. Someone had cleaned it.”

“Completely cleaned blood off asphalt in a matter of hours?”

“Yes.”

I frown. “Huh. Seems far-fetched.”

“Are you insinuating that I don’t know what I saw?”

“I’m saying that it was dark, and you were at the other end of the street. It would be easy to make a mistake.”

“I can assure you, I haven’t.”

“I’m sorry—is there anything else you need? This feels like an interrogation and it’s becoming insulting. I need to get back to my husband.”

She straightens, eyes flashing in defensiveness. “I beg your pardon.”

“I’ll let him know you came by.” I lock up my car and move past her and, on shaking, unsteady legs, walk back into the house.





14 EMERY




My pulse doesn’t get a chance to recover, because Luca is awake and trying to get up when I come back inside. He’s sitting at the side of the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress, and seems to be steeling himself to push up to standing. Honey sits near his feet, looking up at him as if thinking, Bro, be careful, I’ve been there.

“Hey, hey.” I run over, setting a hand on his shoulder before quickly pulling it back. “Still feeling groggy?”

Luca shrugs. “A little.”

“Do you know what day it is?”

He looks up at me, squinting. “I don’t think you told me what day it was when I woke up in that machine. But it was three nights and two days ago.”

Huffing a laugh out of my nose, I murmur, “Fair enough. It’s Monday.” Careful to give him space, I sit beside him. “Do you remember your name?”