Page 9 of The Thinnest Air
He says nothing, but his expression confirms this.
“My sister’s not dead,” I say.
“Like I said, standard procedure. It doesn’t mean anything yet.”
I shake my head.
I hate this.
I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.
“Fine.” My hands fall to my sides before resting at my hips. “I’ll do your little test, but you’re giving me a ride, and you’re bringing me back here, and when we’re finished, you’re going to help me find her.”
“That’s the plan, Ms.Ambrose.” His dark eyes flicker—amusement perhaps? “You’re nothing like her, you know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I knew her,” he says. “Worked with her on a stalker case a couple years back. Very lovely girl. Sweet. Little on the soft-spoken side.”
My fingers twist the gold chain around my neck, tugging at the small diamond pendant—a gift from Harris years ago that I’ve never seemed to be able to part with. He gave it to me on our first anniversary after he’d spent a month working at the Student Union’s copy center just to save up for it. It’s an ugly little thing with infinitesimal diamonds in dire need of a good scrubbing, but I’ll never forget how proud he was when he presented me with the little velvet box over a ramen dinner in my dorm room.
“Meredith never told me she had a stalker.” I glance away, my stomach in knots. What else don’t I know about?
His lips flatten, and he glances around like he’s silently kicking himself for telling me. “Yeah.”
“Did you ever figure out who it was? Do you think he could’ve had something to do with this? Why would she keep that from me?” My voice rises. “She tells me everything. That seems like a pretty big thing to keep from your sister, don’t you think?”
“Maybe she didn’t want you to worry?” His eyes soften, and in the span of two seconds, he sees me for the neurotic, anxious worrywart I’ve always been. “Look, I’m sure she had her reasons.”
Yes.
I’m sure she did.
CHAPTER 5
MEREDITH
Thirty-Two Months Ago
Blood.
There’s blood everywhere: dripping down my thighs, smeared across the marble bathroom floor, streaking down the inside of our pristine toilet bowl.
Resting next to my vanity mirror is a little blue box containing a positive pregnancy test.
I was going to tell Andrew tonight. I had it all planned. A romantic dinner at Sky Port, a starry drive through the mountains, and the big reveal at the end of it all, complete with a heartfelt letter I’d spent all yesterday morning penning.
It was mostly word vomit, talking about how I never met my father and how watching him with Isabeau and Calder makes me grateful to be starting this journey with him. I gushed about how safe he made me feel, how protected and loved. The letter rambled on because, truth be told, I couldn’t ask for a better father for my unborn child than Andrew, and I wanted him to know that.
Maybe writing a letter was silly and schoolgirlish, but I figured it’d be nice to tuck away in a baby book to be read years from now.
We hadn’t talked about starting a family just yet. The late period last month caught me completely off guard, putting me in a bit of a stunned silence for a while. It didn’t feel real, so I waited a month before testing—just to be certain.
The twinges began shortly after lunch today, growing worse with each passing hour. I was in denial at first, Googling “early pregnancy cramping” as fast as my fingers would allow, but when I felt the trickle of blood down my inner thighs and experienced a shock of pain that nearly knocked me to my knees, I placed my phone down.
“Mer, you in there?” Andrew’s voice calls from outside our bathroom door. “Reservation’s in a half hour. Been looking forward to this all day.”
There’s excitement in his tone, and I’m leaning against the bathroom door, holding a white towel between my legs, pulling in deep breaths.
