Before he can finish, Marissa blurts, “What happened to my husband?”
Marissa’s legs give out and she sinks to the hardwood floor as she listens to the efficient yet soothing voice of the ER nurse informing her that Matthew was brought into the hospital by ambulance earlier that night.
A car accident, Marissa thinks. She knew it: the rain, his speeding …
Her body begins to shake uncontrollably. Matthew would have called if he could have. He must be seriously hurt.
But he’s alive, she tells herself. He has to be, or wouldn’t the police show up at her door to relay the devastating news?
Marissa wipes her eyes and braces herself for the words that will come.
Whatever happened—if Matthew broke a half dozen bones and totaled his car or crashed into another vehicle and injured its driver—they’ll face it together.
She’s so certain she knows the origin of the incident that brought him to the ER that it takes her a moment to process the nurse’s words:
“Your husband was assaulted and lost consciousness. He’s awake now and is going to be fine, but we’re monitoring him overnight.”
“Assaulted?” Marissa gasps. “By who?”
“I don’t have any information on that.”
Marissa is racing upstairs to her bedroom to pull on jeans and a sweatshirt. She can’t—won’t—process the words now. She only needs to get to Matthew.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Marissa says breathlessly. “Can you please tell him I’m on my way?”
She’s slipping on her sneakers before she realizes she can’t leave Bennett home alone. If he woke up, he’d be petrified not to find her here.
It’s almost midnight. The fastest solution would be to ask a neighbor for help. She looks out the window at Louise Johnston’s house across the street. The Johnstons have two children, and Marissa once watched their five-year-old daughter when their son had to be rushed to the doctor because he’d shoved a marble up his nose and they couldn’t get it out. But the Johnstons’ home is dark, and Marissa doesn’t want to wake them at this hour. The only house she can see with a light on is owned by Max Carrey, or, as Bennett calls him, Scary Carrey. He is clearly not an option.
Hallie is a junior in high school and probably asleep. She needs to be up for school in another six or seven hours, but Marissa taps out a text to her anyway. There’s no reply.
Marissa has no one else.
If only her parents lived nearby, Marissa thinks, or if she had a close friend to call for help.
Matthew’s father, Chris, lives just a few miles away, but Marissa knows her husband would be furious if she called him. Matthew has made it clear through the years that he never wants help from his father. She scrolls through her contacts, rapidly dismissing possibilities, until she gets to the Ws. Polly.
Bennett doesn’t know Polly well, but he has met her. Although he’d be startled to find his mother’s assistant here in the middle of the night, he wouldn’t completely freak out. Plus, Polly got a stellar reference from the family she worked for as a nanny last year.
With any luck—and she definitely could use some tonight—Bennett will stay asleep.
I wouldn’t ask unless it were an emergency, Marissa begins her text. Matthew was injured and is in the hospital-could you come to the house and stay in case Bennett wakes up?
Polly’s response comes so swiftly it is as if she were staring at her phone when the text landed: On my way.
Before Polly’s VW comes to a stop in the driveway, Marissa is in her car, pulling the seat belt across her body. She waves at Polly and watches to make sure Polly gets inside the front door Marissa left cracked open, then she presses down the gas pedal. As her windshield wipers swoosh fervently back and forth, her heartbeat keeps pace.
Who would want to hurt Matthew?
Perhaps that disgruntled employee, the one Matthew fired last year. Or maybe it was a random attack; someone could have seen Matthew pull up at a stoplight, the engine of his expensive car idling, and decided to carjack him. If Matthew tried to resist—and knowing her husband, he might have—it could have turned violent.
Between the heavy rain and her damp eyes, Marissa can barely see the road. When she approaches a stoplight on Macarthur Boulevard just as it turns yellow, she is tempted to accelerate through it. At the last second, though, she slams on the brakes. The only thing that could make this night worse would be getting into an accident of her own.
She finds a spot in the visitors’ lot and hurries toward the hospital entrance, holding her coat over her head to shield her from the rain.