“It’s only me. Tom had to run back to the office. Did you have a nice night?”
“Thanks, yes. I made a salad with some stuff from the drawer in the fridge.”
“Good, I hope that was okay. Do you need anything before I head upstairs?”
“I’m all set, thanks.... Oh, did you want to use the den yourself?”
Well, it’s nice that she thought to ask, Emma thinks.
“No, I’m fine. I’m going to read upstairs. Good night.”
“Night. Oh, one thing before you go. I was mulling over what you said about observing one of your brainstorming sessions. I think once I hit the midpoint in my internship, I’d feel comfortable asking for an afternoon off.”
“Oh, that’s terrific,” Emma says. “We’ll find a good time.”It’s looking like the next five weeks will definitely be smoother than the last two.
After dressing for bed upstairs, Emma plops into the armchair with her iPad. Though she manages to lose herself at moments in the novel she’s reading, it’s not long before she’s spiraling again. She needs to channel Tom, she decides. Theydidn’tmeet in Miami, and there’s nothing for Webster to uncover there, no matter how hard she digs.
At one point she looks up, thinking she’s heard the tread of Tom’s footsteps outside their room, but the sound isfollowed by the soft thud of a door closing, meaning it was only Brittany turning in. Another fifteen minutes pass. Then another fifteen more, and the clock on the bedside table reads ten thirty. Emma’s never known Tom to work this late, and she feels a prick of concern.
She’s just about to call Tom when the bedroom door pushes quietly open and he slips into the room. His blazer’s draped awkwardly over his arm, and the sleeves of his cobalt blue dress shirt are wrinkled and rolled to his elbows, a rumpled look that’s unusual for him.
“Hey,” he says. “Sorry to be so late.”
“Is everything okay, honey?”
“Yeah, I’m just tired.”
“You and Dan figure out the problem?”
“Uh, pretty much. It was just tedious going over all those numbers, which has never been my favorite part of the job.” He stabs a hanger into the arms of his blazer and starts to unbutton his shirt, letting his gaze bounce around the room instead of looking at her.
“You want to vent with me for a bit?”
“I would, but like I said, I’m bushed. I need to wash up and hit the hay.”
As he disappears into the bathroom, Emma crawls between the sheets. Though the windows are open, there’s not a sound coming from outside, and the house is silent, too, except for the faint splash of water from the bathroom.Something’s funny, she thinks, but she isn’t sure what.
Tom emerges a few minutes later, and as he’s peeling off the rest of his clothes, Emma captures what feels so odd. It’s not simply that Tom looks fatigued and disheveled. His unworried demeanor has dropped out of sight, and he seems distracted, distant even. Though he gives her a peck on the lips after sliding into bed, he then rolls over on his side, his back to her, and hoists the summer duvet up to his chin.
At the restaurant he’d managed to convince her that he wasn’t going to let the reopening of the investigation get to him, but clearly that’s not the case. And whywouldn’tit get to him? Tom’s built a hugely successful business and from what she’s seen, he’s incredibly respected. How’s it going to sit with people in their tony town if word gets out that his new wife is a possible suspect in the murder of her first husband?
And even worse, what if rumors start to spread that Tom might have been in cahoots with her?
Emma never believed she could completely bury her past. God, no. If anyone googled her former husband’s name, the first thing that would come up would be a news story about him being shot dead in an alley. But she thought she could at least leave it in the shallow grave she’d dug in her mind, mostly out of sight. Now, in the space of a few days, everything’s been churned up again, and poor Tom has been dragged into it, too.
Her past is not only threatening to take her down, but it’s after Tom now as well.