“It’s the truth.”

The detective stuffed papers back into his briefcase and stood up from the wicker chair. “Let me tell you what happens next, Mr. Moran. I’m going to tear your whole life apart. Everywhere you’ve lived. Worked. Gone to school. Gone on vacation. I’ll be looking to see if there are unsolved murders around the time you’ve been there. Then I’ll be back with a warrant to search your house, your car, your office, everything.”

“You can search all you want. I’m innocent, Detective. I haven’t done anything.”

“Yeah? Well, if I were you, I’d get a lawyer.” Bushing glanced at Tai. “And if I were you, Mrs. Moran, I’d think about sleeping somewhere else.”

When Bushing was gone, Tai stayed on the sofa, not saying anything. Her back was straight, with perfect posture, and she kept her hands neatly folded in her lap. She calmed herself with steady breaths, and then her head swiveled slowly to watch me. Her eyes didn’t blink.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Come on, Tai.”

“I’m serious. Who are you?”

“You know who I am.”

Tai shook her head. “No, I thought I did. Now I don’t know. I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve been wearing a mask all along. Yesterday I was afraid you were having an affair, but this is a thousand times worse.”

She got up from the sofa. As she passed by me, I grabbed her hand to stop her, but she made a violent twist to shrug me away. “Don’t touch me! Keep your hands off me!”

“Tai, I’m sorry. I wish I could make sense of this for you.”

“But you can’t.”

“No. The only thing I can tell you is that I am not a killer.”

Tai’s mouth pinched into a frown. Her eyes made it clear that she didn’t believe me.

“Who were you having sex with last night?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who were you screwing in our bed last night, Dylan? Because it wasn’t me. You were thinking of someone else, I could tell. Was it this girl at Northwestern?”

“Tai, please. This is all messed up.”

“Yes, it is. It’s very messed up. Sleep on the sofa tonight. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

“Whatever you want. But I swear to you, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Tai walked away. At the fireplace, she stopped and studied our wedding photo, then reached up and turned it facedown on the mantel. “I have nothing to fear from my husband,” she told me. “You’re not the man I married.”

CHAPTER 22

The next day, I found Karly back in the coffee shop at Northwestern.

I had a decision to make. Talk to her, or let her go. I knew I couldn’t get what I wanted from this world. I’d never have Karly back in my life forever. The walls were closing in on me, and soon I’d have to leave. But she was here now. Even a few minutes with her were more than I’d thought I would ever have again.

I walked over to her table.

“Karly?”

She brushed her hair from her blue eyes and looked up at me. Her gaze was far away. I’d distracted her in the midst of a thought. “Yes?”

“You are Karly Chance, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

I tried to be myself and not to choke on my words. “I’m sure you won’t remember, but we went out on a date a long time ago.”

She gave me a smile. It wasn’t a Karly smile, but a smile of polite disinterest. “Did we? I’m sorry, but you’re right. I don’t remember.”

I shook off the blow to my ego and replied with a joke. “Don’t worry about it. It went so well you’ve probably blocked out the entire experience.”

Her eyes reviewed my face, trying to place me in her memory. It was excruciating, because to me, she looked exactly the same. Her face, the pale lips, the firm confidence in how she held her jaw. Her voice, soft and musical, making you lean in close to hear her. The uneven blond-brown ends of her hair. I was madly in love with this woman, and she didn’t know me at all.

“Your friend Sarah introduced us,” I added. “I’m . . . Dylan Moran.”

At the sound of my name, something changed in her expression. She blinked; her pupils dilated. Her eyes reappraised me with an odd curiosity. She looked uncomfortable, and I wasn’t sure why. Had something happened on that date that I didn’t know about?

“Dylan,” she murmured. “That was you? The blind date?”

“That was me.”

“I’m sorry. I do remember now. It’s just that my life is sort of Before and After, and that was Before.”

“We went to a club that night, didn’t we? I don’t even remember which one.”

“The Spybar,” Karly replied without hesitation.

“Right, of course. Well, I’m sure that went really well. I have a reputation for being the world’s worst dancer.”

“You’re probably being hard on yourself,” she said generously.

“Oh, I doubt it. Anyway, I’m ten years late in apologizing.”

“That’s not necessary. I went into it with the wrong attitude. I hate blind dates.”

“Same here.”

We’d had our exchange of pleasantries. Now it was time for me to walk away. But there was still so much to tell her.

I’m your husband.

I love you.

You’re in danger.

I couldn’t say any of that, but I also couldn’t let meaningless small talk be my last conversation with Karly.

“I’ve read your poems,” I added.

“Oh?”

“Your book. Portal. In fact, after I bought it, I read it four times in a row.”

“Four times. Are you a masochist?”

I smiled. That was such a Karly thing to say. “Actually, your poems are very eloquent, but they made me sad.”

“Sad? I don’t hear that very often. I hear disgusting. Gross. Satanic. But sad is a new one.”

“They made me sad because when I read them, I realized what I missed,” I told her.

“I don’t understand.”

“I had a date with someone who was obviously very deep, thoughtful, complicated, and talented, and I didn’t get to know her at all.”

Karly took a sip of tea as she reflected on what I’d said. I wasn’t trying to flatter her. I was being sincere. If she was still the woman I loved, she’d recognize that.

After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Do you want to sit down?”

“I would. Thank you.”

I took a seat and had to restrain myself from reaching over to caress her face, which would have felt so natural. Her gaze flicked to my left hand, where I still wore my wedding ring. White gold, with an inlaid Celtic knot over black titanium. “That’s a beautiful ring,” she said.

“Yes, it is.” I wanted to tell her: You gave it to me.

“So you’re married.”

I didn’t know how to answer her. My wife was sitting at this table, and she didn’t even know it.

“I was.”

“Divorced?”

“She died.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. I still haven’t been able to take off the ring.”

“I understand.”

“It’s hard enough that I lost her, but our last conversation was an argument. She made a mistake, and I couldn’t get past it. I let it ruin us.”

“What was her mistake?”

“It doesn’t matter. She was talking to me, but I wasn’t listening. Now it’s too late for me to make things right. There’s so much that I wish I could tell her.”

Karly’s eyes drilled into mine. “What would you say?”

I thought about that. My wife was sitting right here, and I could tell her anything I wanted. It was easy now to say what I couldn’t say before. I forgive you. But I was so far past that. If I could have my wife back, I wanted her to know that things would be different.

“‘Don’t give up on me,’” I said. “That’s what I’d tell her.”

“Maybe she felt the same way. I mean, it was her mistake.”

“Maybe. We’d both gone down the wrong path and ended up somewhere we didn’t want to be. I just wish we could get a do-over. A second chance. I want that more than anything in the world.”

“Yes, it would be nice if life worked like that. I think about that a lot.”

“I’m sure.” I frowned and then said, “I heard what happened to you. Your mother. And everything after.”

Karly nodded. “I don’t run away from it. Not anymore.”

“I probably didn’t tell you about this when we met. The Dylan from back then didn’t like to share personal things. My parents died when I was a kid. My father shot my mother, and then he killed himself. I was there to see it happen. It changed me. I had to make a lot of choices in my life after that, and believe me, I didn’t always make the right ones.”

She sipped her tea, but her eyes never left mine. To me, it felt unbelievably intimate. “That’s an interesting way of phrasing it.”

“What’s that?”

“‘The Dylan from back then.’ Almost as if you’re not the same person.”

“I’m not. Not really.”

“I’m well aware of that feeling,” Karly said.

“I imagine so.”

“Why are you telling me this, Dylan?”

“I guess I want you to know who I am.”

“No offense, but why does that matter?”

“Because I learned who you were from your poems, and you never got a chance to know me.”

“It was only one date,” she reminded me. Then she said something extremely strange. “Wasn’t it?”

I wanted to say: No. No, it was so much more than that. But I didn’t.