Page 44 of The Thinnest Air
“Have you eaten yet, Andrew?” my mother asks, her mascara-caked lashes fluttering. She loves this. She loves to feel needed by a man. It’s not enough to have Wade’s affections; she has to soak up every ounce she can get from any penis-wielding human willing to give it. “Let me fix you a sandwich. Have a seat.”
“I’m not hungry, Bren,” Andrew says, shortening her name like they’re a couple of good pals who go way back. “Thank you, though.”
“Nonsense. Sit. Eat.” She pulls a chair from the table and points. How she has the energy to wait hand and foot on someone while her daughter is missing is beyond me. She never was good at showing emotions. I’d never seen her so much as shed a single tear at a funeral or get the tiniest bit weepy after a bad breakup. That woman, I’m convinced, is half robot. “Someone’s got to take care of you until my daughter is back. Might as well be me. I’m good at taking care of people. It’s what I do.”
My childhood begs to differ.
“Is turkey all right? Do you take mustard and mayo?” she asks, rifling through the fridge. “And do you want your bread toasted?”
Since the moment Andrew waltzed into Meredith’s life, my mother was absolutely taken with him. And I’ll admit, at first glance, Andrew Price is charming and generous and has a way of making you feel like you’re the most important person in the room when he talks to you.
The only thing is, I’m not naive enough to fall for it.
I only wish I could say the same for my sister.
“You’re up.” I climb into bed that night, my phone pressed to my cheek as I check in with Harris. There’s a fullness in my chest that wasn’t there before, like coming home after a long absence. The last time we spoke, he said he wanted to be together again, and while a week ago I’d have drowned myself in such a sweet sentiment, I only have enough energy now to focus on finding Mer.
“Was wondering if I was going to hear from you today,” he says.
Sinking back into the pillow, I press my palm over my forehead and close my eyes. My head is pounding and has been all week. Stress and lack of sleep have done a number on me, and last time I checked my reflection in the mirror, it seemed that my complexion had decided to join in on the fun.
“I have so much to tell you.” I exhale. “How much time do you have?”
“For you? All night. Lay it on me.”
I tell him about Ronan and Meredith, about the department placing him on administrative leave, and then I bring up the stalker and the pregnancies, laying it all on him and barely taking a breath between stories.
“Shit,” he says once I’m done.
“I know.” I roll to my side, pulling the blankets up to my chin and settling in for a long talk with my best friend. I realize now that most people lie. Hidden lives are more common than I thought. And Harris is the only person on this earth that I can trust to give me his honest, unabashed opinion.
“I don’t know what to say.” Harris sighs. “This is all so ... unexpected.”
“It doesn’t feel real. None of this does.” I gnaw the inside of my lower lip, where it’s starting to callous and protrude, rubbing against my teeth when I speak. “Maybe she was too proud to tell me I was right? I gave her such a hard time before the wedding. She knew I hated him. God, I should’ve just—”
“Don’t.” He cuts me off.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t wallow in the past. Don’t beat yourself up for things you did or didn’t do years ago,” he says. “You do this, and then you reach this point of no return. Not going to let you go down that road. Let’s focus on the present.”
Exhaling, I say, “You’re right. You know me well.”
“So what do you think about all of this?” he asks. “Do you think that detective had something to do with it?”
“I don’t know what to think. I’m on the fence,” I say, eyes growing heavy. “I feel like there are all these crumbs leading to these red flags, but none of them are leading to her.”
“Where do we go from here?” he asks. I love that he uses the word “we.” He may be thousands of miles from me, but knowing I have his full support is the only shred of comfort I have right now.
“I’m just going to watch them,” I say. “Andrew and Ronan. I’ll play both sides. What choice do I have?”
“Greer.” He says my name in one giant exhalation.
“Yes?”
“Just be careful.” He pauses. “If one of those men did something to Meredith, they’re capable of doing something to you, too.”
CHAPTER 19
