Chapter 1 - The Person Who Came
“You know what bothers me most?” Rachel asked.
Natalie watched snow dissolve against the windshield.
“That he didn’t come?”
“That you’re already helping him explain why.”
The heater hummed between them.
Natalie opened her mouth, then closed it. Her ribs hurt when she breathed too deeply. Her sister’s words found a different injury, one no scan had caught.
“He has responsibilities,” Natalie said.
“So do I. I left a half-cooked lasagna and a dog that thinks aluminum foil is a food group.”
Despite herself, Natalie laughed.
Pain immediately folded her forward.
Rachel pulled over until she could breathe again. She waited without talking, one hand resting lightly against Natalie’s uninjured shoulder.
That small kindness nearly undid her.
When they reached the Mercer house, every downstairs window glowed. A cleaning service had come that afternoon. Someone had arranged white roses in the entrance hall.
The house looked prepared for people who were happy.
Rachel helped her upstairs, gathered the discharge instructions, and set alarms for the prescribed medication. Then she called the school supervising Emma’s overnight science trip.
Their twelve-year-old daughter was safe at a planetarium outside the city. Natalie asked the teacher to tell Emma that her mother had been in an accident, was home resting, and would speak with her in the morning.
She refused to let her daughter hear about it from anyone else.
At eleven forty-three, headlights swept across the bedroom ceiling.
Grant came upstairs carrying his phone.
“There you are,” he said, as if Natalie had misplaced herself.
He stopped when he saw the bandage.
For one brief moment, something like alarm crossed his face.
“Jesus. I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
Rachel stood from the armchair.
“The hospital called you three times.”
“I was in a private meeting.”
“She texted you a photograph of the wreck.”
Grant looked at Natalie.
“Can we talk without an audience?”
Rachel’s expression hardened, but Natalie touched her wrist.
“Please give us a minute.”
Her sister left the room reluctantly.
Grant loosened his tie.
“You should have called my assistant.”
“I called my husband.”
“I understand that you’re upset.”
Natalie studied him. His charcoal suit was immaculate. There was a faint unfamiliar fragrance on his coat, something sweet beneath the cold night air.
“Who was at dinner?”
“Investors.”
“Names?”
His hand stopped at his collar.
“Since when do you interrogate me?”
“Since I sat outside a hospital waiting for someone who knew I was hurt.”
Grant exhaled sharply.
“There were complications with the Harbor House acquisition. You know how much is riding on it.”
She did know. Harbor House was a shuttered lakefront hotel Mercer Development planned to transform into luxury residences.
Years earlier, Natalie had proposed turning part of it into affordable apartments and a neighborhood resource center.
Grant had called that admirable.
Then he had stopped inviting her to the meetings.
“Was Celia there?” she asked.
Celia Ward, his communications director, had become the solution to every problem Natalie supposedly created. Celia understood schedules. Celia understood pressure. Celia never complained when Grant missed dinner.
“Yes,” he said. “She arranged it.”
Natalie nodded.
He moved closer, apparently mistaking her silence for surrender.
“Look, you’re home. You’re safe. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”
She looked down at the ring on her swollen hand.
A paramedic had tried to remove it before the swelling worsened. Natalie had refused.
Now she wondered what, exactly, she had been protecting.
“I want you to sleep in the guest room.”
Grant stared.
“Natalie.”
“Tonight.”
“You’re making this bigger than it needs to be.”
She lifted her eyes.
“I almost died today. You made it small.”
For once, he had no immediate answer.
After he left, Rachel returned with water.
Natalie did not cry until her sister sat beside her.
Then she cried quietly, carefully, because even grief hurt her ribs.
At six the next morning, a message appeared from an unfamiliar number.
I was working your husband’s event last night. I think you deserve to know there was no investor dinner.
Attached was a photograph.
Grant stood beneath a wall of white orchids, his hand resting against Celia’s waist.
Behind them, a gold sign read:
OUR NEXT CHAPTER.
Natalie enlarged the image.
On Celia’s left hand was a diamond ring.
For several seconds, Natalie heard nothing but the radiator clicking beneath the window. Then Rachel knocked softly, and she turned the phone facedown.
May you like
“Come in,” Natalie said.
This time, when her sister asked what was wrong, she told her everything.
