Page 72 of Finding Amanda

"No, I swear?—"

"Maybe you didn't sleep with him. Maybe you didn't kiss him, but you shouldn't need to look to another man for anything."

"We're just friends."

"I get that. But I also know that if you share things with him . . ." His jaw set, and he pressed his lips together, perhaps gathering his words. "If you become emotionally involved with him, that's an emotional affair."

"That's ridiculous. Am I having an emotional affair with Jamie? Are you having one with Chris?"

"That's different and you know it. If I had a woman in my life I was sharing things with, intimate things, how would you feel?"

She opened her mouth, pictured Annalise, and snapped it closed.

Mark offered a sad smile. "See what I mean?"

"Nothing happened."

He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms.

"But, knowing how you feel, I won't invite him back here until things are more settled between us."

His Adam's apple bobbed. "More settled?"

"Well, you know, we have to make some decisions."

He slipped on his T-shirt, taking his time. He grabbed his glass, rattled the ice cubes, and tipped it to his lips, looking for a last drop of cold water. He set the glass on the counter. "I don't have any decisions to make. I guess you do."

Another long silence. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Mark."

"Right." He turned and looked out the front windows. She followed his gaze and saw the girls throwing leaves at each other in the yard. "I left a couple of piles for them to play in. I'm leaving, so you have to go out there with them or bring them in. It's not safe for them to be outside alone. Maybe you could bag the leaves up later, or I'll come back sometime this week?—"

"I can do it. Thanks for your help."

"Sure." He turned and headed for the front door, stopping at the head of the dining room table. A moment later, he turned around with a cardboard box gripped in his huge right hand.

"What's that?" she asked.

He shrugged. "It was on the porch. I figured the girls were playing with it."

"I don't think so. I've never seen it before."

He studied the box, turned it over in his hands, then walked back to the counter. She angled forward to examine it more closely.

"Stay back, please."

She straightened. "What's wrong?"

"Probably nothing."

From where she stood, it looked like an ordinary, cube-shaped cardboard box. There were no marks where packaging tape had been torn away, no scuffs, no printing.

"Can you hand me a knife, please?"

She grabbed an old steak knife from the drawer and handed it across the counter to him. He waited until she'd backed up, then began cutting through the clear tape. He set the knife on the counter and gently lifted one flap, then the other, and peered inside.

"What is it?" Amanda asked.

He withdrew a handful of what appeared to be black silk. With the other hand, he pulled out a piece of paper, flipped it open, and read it. He closed his mouth, his eyes, as if trying to keep something from getting into his mind. When he looked at her again, she saw in anger and . . . fear.

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