Page 43 of The Thinnest Air
I signed the prenup because I loved him. And at the time, I wanted to prove I wasn’t marrying him for his money. And it was true. I didn’t need his money. I had my own just a few short years away.
Ronan reaches across the cab of the truck, pulling my hand from my knee and holding it in his.
“Life’s too damn short to be this damn miserable,” he says. “If you want out, we’ll figure it out. Together. I’ll help you find a way. I’m here for you, Mer.”
CHAPTER 18
GREER
Day Four
“How could you not know?” My mother’s voice trails through the foyer when I return that afternoon, though I’m not immediately sure who’s on the receiving end of her question. “How long has this been going on?”
“They’re still looking into the details,” Andrew says. “They took him off the case, though. That’s the important thing. They assured me they’re looking extra closely at him.”
I follow the sound.
“What are you guys talking about?” I play dumb when I interrupt, standing between them at the kitchen island. “Who’s off the case?”
“Did you know your sister was having ...having an affair?” My mother whispers the last half of her question, as if having an affair is something she deems shameful.
The woman practically wrote the book on the topic, never ditching a boyfriend until she had another lined up and ready to go, and you can’t do that without straying, but if you ask her, those weren’t “affairs” because she was never married.
Denial is a strange beast, and I’m fortunate to have never known it the way she has.
“I didn’t know that,” I lie, feigning shock, gasp and all. “With whom?”
“That detective,” Mom says, making a gurgling noise in her throat as if she’s disgusted. “Can you believe that? Makes me wonder if he was tampering with evidence when he was here.”
“Kind of hard to do when there’s literally no evidence,” I say.
“You know what I mean. Maybe ... maybe there was a secret notebook or diary or something?” She shrugs.
My fingers tap against the marble counter in quick succession, an old nervous habit. “Nobody writes in diaries, Mom.”
“I think Brenda’s point is that it was highly unethical for Ronan to work on the case.” Andrew’s voice grows louder, drowning us out before silencing us altogether. “And I agree. The fact that he didn’t come forward about the relationship is a red flag that the police are taking very seriously. And I encourage them to do so.”
Great.
Andrew’s blaming Ronan.
Ronan’s blaming Andrew.
Both of them have valid points.
And we still don’t have a goddamn clue what happened to my sister.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s dangerous to point fingers before you have all the facts.”
“Exactly,” Andrew says. “And right now, the fact of the matter is that Ronan McCormack deliberately neglected to inform the police that he was romantically involved with the missing woman whose case he was investigating.”
Much to my chagrin, I’m unable to argue with his statement. He might be a smug, old-moneyed know-it-all, but he isn’t wrong. Ronan lied by omission, a mistake that could prove to have dire consequences for him if he is, in fact, innocent.
I just hope he was tellingmethe truth.
My mother places her hand over her heart, staring ahead with tired eyes. There’s a silver filigree ring on her left ring finger. It’s not a typical engagement ring, more like the kind you buy from a beachside gift shop. A gift from Wade, I’m sure. Poor guy. If only I could warn him she’s a mere eight months away from getting the urge to move on to the next sad sack.
Mom repositions herself closer to Andrew than to me, which doesn’t bother me, but it tells me where I stand with her. It’s nothing new. Our relationship has always been strained, distant. Silly me for expecting her to step up to the plate and actually be there for me when tragedy strikes our family.
