I’m also sorry I flew off the handle about Last Light. You need to understand that you put me in a terrible position by sending the novel to Pam without warning me. (Yes, I would be amenable to a meeting with her. I’ll set it up.)

Chapter 3 is attached. I’d accuse you of hijacking my story, but it’s always been our story, hasn’t it? Let’s make it good. You’re It, Matt.

Love,

The Bossy Bird

P.S. Ready to start house-shopping when you are.

P.P.S. Snuck out of the bedroom to kiss you good night. You were sound asleep.

Attachments (2):   UNTITLED.doc

TIGER.JPG

I opened the attached image.

It was a picture of me asleep on the floor of the TV room, my body halfway outside the sleeping bag. My bare arms and back sprawled over the area rug. Tiger? I replied to the e-mail before reading her chapter.

Subject: Roar

Sender: Matthew R. Sky, Jr.

Date: Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Time: 8:39 AM

Tiger, huh?

Happy July, baby. You mind if we reenact last year’s Fourth? Fond memories … and I don’t mean the fireworks.

Can’t wait to read your chapter. I’ve missed writing with you.

Matt

P.S. I’ll look into a realtor.

P.P.S. I need sex.

I typed out a third postscript: Btw no kids isn’t a deal breaker but are you sure? The cursor blinked steadily, ambivalently. I sneered.

Btw? Deal breaker?

Who the hell was I kidding?

The thought that Hannah didn’t want a family with me cut me to the bone.

I backspaced the last postscript and sent my reply, and then I opened Hannah’s Word document. Chapter 3. Where would she take this? I craved her impressions.

The chapter began with … Hannah’s lunch break?

She’d met a stranger that day … shared her table at the Mediterranean deli.

My jaw clenched.

Hannah described the stranger as a pretty, petite woman with fawn brown hair … straight, fine hair to her shoulders … a small, fit body.

I didn’t need to read the rest, but I did, anyway. The woman claimed to have a friend who once dated me. She dropped an ominous hint. Is he really into all that weird stuff?

I finished reading and let the feelings pass over me—anger, paranoia, shades of amusement and admiration. And other feelings. Darker feelings. How many secrets were Hannah and I keeping from each other?

I carried my cell to the balcony and smoked half a cigarette.

Then I dialed a number I knew by heart.

She answered with a breathless little gasp. “Matt!”

“Bethany,” I said.

Chapter 19

HANNAH

My goal for the day: not to gnaw off all my nails while waiting to hear from Matt.

Also: Be sort of remotely productive at work.

It was one in the afternoon—Matt could have read my chapter ten times over—and still no word. Shit.

I’d set my alarm for five that morning, specifically to hammer out Chapter 3. Matt dropped a bomb in Chapter 2: exhibitionism, and the existence of some therapeutic journal in which he was writing all the stuff I didn’t know about him. So, I’d followed his lead and dropped a bomb of my own: Katie, the strange woman with confusing claims about Matt.

Claims that were starting to seem more plausible …

I scrubbed my face. Was he freaking out? Did he know Katie? Was he angry with me? And what about my Chapter 1 revelation, that I never wanted to do the pregnancy thing? Matt hadn’t responded to that. His e-mails were breezy and funny. Did he miss it?

I sent him a text.

Are you okay? I’m worried. What did you think of the chapter?

No reply.

I shuffled into Pam’s office, knocking perfunctorily on the frame as I passed.

“Hannah.” She looked up from her computer.

“Matt and I wanted to set up a meeting to discuss Last Light with you. Is there—”

“Oh, he already called about that. We’re—”

“He did?” I glowered. Fucking Matt!

“Well, yes.” Pam returned her attention to the computer. “He wanted a realtor referral. I know several. He mentioned the meeting in passing. We settled on Thursday morning.”

“Great. That’s … all I wanted.” I slouched back to my desk. Awesome. Matt was too something to text or e-mail me, but calm enough to call Pam about a realtor and arrange our meeting. And again, he’d made me look like a dunce in front of her. Ugh.

I forced myself to finish out the workday.

Then I sped back to the condo.

Matt was sitting on the couch, watching a soccer game. He clicked it off as I shut the door, but he didn’t move. I stared at the back of his head.

Why was I suddenly afraid?

“Hey,” I whispered. I crept around the couch.

He took in my work outfit with a glance: a pale pink blouse tucked into a nude peplum skirt and matching peep-toe pumps. “I missed you this morning.”

“Oh … I sorta … snuck out.”

“I noticed.”

“Sorry.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I had a lot on my mind.”

“I’m sure.” He frowned and dragged his fingertips over his knees, contemplating the floor. Then he stood abruptly and disappeared down the hall, returning a minute later with a black spiral notebook. Was it the notebook?

“You asked if I really had a journal,” he said. “For Mike. I do.”

“Oh…” I stared at it.