As promised, Burke came home the third weekend in May for Hope’s college graduation. He seemed tense, but reasonably happy. The visit was quick, then he was gone again.

Throughout the summer Burke didn’t provide much information about the wedding; I only knew it was scheduled for September 21 on Nantucket, and that Burke’s plan was to skip out several hours before the ceremony, while everyone was getting ready and was distracted. He would aim for a midmorning ferry to Hyannis, where I’d be waiting to pick him up. From there we’d drive home to Amity, drop the car—Maggie would need it—grab our suitcases, and cab to Bradley International. I’d already charged two one-way tickets to the Maldives on the Visa. Airfare from Hartford to the island of Hulhulé was exorbitant, but chump change in relation to the two million dollars that would soon be ours. As for that piece, on the way to the airport Burke would use his phone to transfer money out of his joint account with Skye and into a new account he’d set up offshore. Ideally we’d take more than two million, but that’s the maximum amount you can send electronically, and even then there are multiple added layers of security. Burke would have no trouble answering his own security questions, so the transfer would be seamless. The Starlings would be so preoccupied and freaked out about the missing groom, they wouldn’t notice the transaction until Burke and I were checked into the Four Seasons at Kuda Huraa.

I figured it would be nice for Burke and me to have a quiet moment to reconnect and recharge after the commotion of the past year, and the Maldives had been on my bucket list for ages, ever since I read a feature on them in Travel + Leisure. In the mindless hours I spent behind the Uber wheel, I would dream of the glittering turquoise ocean, white-sand beaches, and exotic web of sandbars and lagoons. And a private beach bungalow at the Four Seasons would be exquisite, a literal dream come true for us. After all of his hard work, Burke deserved a lavish taste of the luxurious lifestyle that real money allowed.

The Maldives would only be temporary; of all the countries without extradition, I didn’t exactly imagine us settling somewhere quite so remote. And two million dollars wouldn’t make us rich enough to stay at the Four Seasons indefinitely—not even close. We’d have to be strategic with our fortune, make smart investments so that it accumulated and lasted.

Regardless, we’d have to wait and see how things unfolded back in the States before putting down roots anywhere. Once we had a better idea of whether the Starlings were going to press charges—I was convinced there was a significant possibility that they’d be too humiliated to make the situation public—we’d be able to determine our next move, something that made sense for the kids. After all, we were doing this for their benefit, too.

Maggie still had another year of high school, which worried me a bit, but Hope had started a job at a communications firm in New Haven and was living at home, which brought me some peace of mind. She’d be there for her little sister while Burke and I figured out what to do.

The summer crawled by as I waited for the wedding to arrive. Though Hope technically lived at home, she spent most nights at her boyfriend Trevor’s apartment downtown, claiming it was more convenient being closer to her office. I dragged Maggie on a few college visits, but the bulk of the summer she spent at her waitressing job or out with her friends when she wasn’t working. The days alone in the house with an estranged husband continued to be long and dull. To make matters even more unbearable, Mrs. Lucas’s cancer had come back with a vengeance, and this time it was terminal—the doctors were giving her six months to a year, tops. I’d been shaken when I’d heard the news. Sweet and sassy Mrs. Lucas, with the giddy way she laughed after half a glass of Cabernet and her love for old Audrey Hepburn movies, was the closest friend I had. And she was dying. I’d kept up my biweekly visits next door, but with her heavy medication and the constant presence of the nurses, spending time with Mrs. Lucas wasn’t the same.

September finally came, the temperature cooling slightly and the edges of the leaves just beginning to turn. I realized, with strange indifference, that I wouldn’t be here for the real blaze of fall, that I might never see autumn in New England again.

Burke and I hardly communicated the week leading up to the wedding, but I imagined he was swamped with last-minute details and, knowing him, emotionally drained. The morning of September 20 I sent him a text: All good for tomorrow? I’ll be in Hyannis by eleven-thirty.

I waited all day and night for his response, which never came. I knew the rehearsal dinner would be followed by a welcome party, so perhaps the evening would run late. I drank three-quarters of a bottle of Malbec to calm my nerves and turned out the light at eleven, willing myself to get some sleep. But my mind wouldn’t rest. I tossed and turned through the night, checking my phone every five minutes like a teenager, aching for a reply text from Burke.

I finally drifted off late, but I woke early, exhaustion burning my eyelids. Burke still hadn’t replied, so I sent him a follow-up text: Let me know … we’re almost to the finish line.

Hope was at Trevor’s and Maggie still asleep when I got in the car at eight to head to Hyannis. I didn’t leave a note; I figured if the girls weren’t home when we dropped off the car later that day, I’d text them saying that Dad had surprised me with a last-minute vacation, and that we’d call when we got there.

Burke will text me when he wakes up, I told myself as I sped north on I-95. The day was pristine, the air warm but not humid and the sky a rich, cloudless blue. Poor Skye. What a beautiful day for your wedding not to happen.

Traffic was minimal and I reached the ferry terminal in Hyannis just before eleven. Burke still hadn’t texted, and it suddenly occurred to me that he might have poor cell service on the island. I decided to call him, and his phone didn’t even ring before going to voice mail. Bingo—there was no service. I’d worked myself into a frenzy for absolutely no reason. Surely Burke was en route to the ferry, if not already on one. Now I just had to wait.

I sat in the car all day, squinting at the passengers disembarking each boat. But none of them were Burke, and except for a call from Hope, venting about a fight she’d had with Trevor, my phone remained silent. My calls to Burke continued to go straight to voice mail.

I knew from stalking Burke and Skye’s wedding website— www.burkeisskyehigh.com, are you fucking kidding me?—that the ceremony was scheduled for four. When four o’clock came and went, panic began to creep back into my bones. By the time the sun went down, I was in a state of pure, wrenching anxiety. I debated taking the ferry over to Nantucket myself, to find out what the hell was happening. Perhaps Burke had been caught making a run for it and was in trouble. But I couldn’t bring myself to go to Nantucket. If there was a problem, and if Peter Starling saw me and recognized me, that could make things even worse.

The wheels inside my head spun rapidly, and when I looked at the clock, it was almost eleven. I’d been sitting in the parking lot of the terminal for twelve hours, and we’d already missed our flight to the Maldives. I googled the ferry schedule on my phone; the last boat of the evening had arrived in Hyannis at a quarter past ten. My stomach sank, a fresh bout of nerves trembling through me. I debated finding a nearby motel—somewhere to go to rest and think—when suddenly my cell pinged. Finally—a text from Burke.

My phone has been off all day. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t go through with it, and I’m not coming home to you. I married Skye. I love her, and I’m happy. You know it was over for us a long time ago. We’ll figure out a way to pay for Maggie’s college. I’ll always love and support you and the kids. I hope you know that.

The world tipped.

I felt as though I were witnessing Gus drown all over again, sputtering for air against the heavy quell of gravity while I stood knee-deep near the shore, helpless.

Though my entire body was numb with shock, I was conscious that the short text I’d just read had changed everything. My life would never be the same, I knew as I switched to autopilot, starting the engine and putting the car in drive. Barreling south through the night, back the way I’d come, a new kind of wrath leached into my consciousness, wrapping itself around every sensation inside me.

It all boiled down to a single thought, primal and lucid.

No.

The word hammered through me—an echo, a heartbeat.

No. Burke wasn’t going to get away with this. I would do every last thing in my power—whatever it took—to make sure of it.

Chapter Fifty

Skye

FEBRUARY 2020