I was exhausted and agitated and starving by the time Oliver parked the car on the narrow street. Tiny ant legs skittered over my feet from sitting in the car too long driving all over Pittsburgh, under a low autumn sun that lit the leaves on fire while we searched for the Grandview Avenue address Ari Wilburn gave me. We found the house, but no Bennett Hunter. The place had long been dark and empty. Cobwebs hung over the door, and a peek through several dusty windows revealed not a scrap of furniture. Completely vacant. Abandoned.

Driving around, talking in hypotheticals around how Marin was involved, Oliver and I didn’t know what else to do, so we went to the one person who could answer our questions. We went to the source.

Side by side, one after the other, the lean row houses ignited to life beneath the bedazzled sky, while Cody’s remained in brooding darkness. Oliver stepped out of the car first, but I couldn’t seem to move across the leather seat. Every interaction with Cody was a strategic game of Risk. Tactical. Dangerous.

I hadn’t told Oliver about the kiss yet, and I wasn’t sure I ever would. He had forgiven me once before for cheating, but a second time? No. But there the secret hung on the tip of my tongue, waiting to slip out. When the three of us—me, Cody, Oliver—were together, and lately Cody had been drinking more and more, the secret became more slippery. One innuendo, one side-look, it would only take one tug to unravel the whole damn ball.

My phone buzzed. A text from Debra that the kids ate grilled cheese and soup for dinner, and they were in jammies watching a movie before bed. I imagined Sydney in her Cookie Monster slippers and Strawberry Shortcake nightgown, curled up next to Nana asking a million and one questions throughout the entire film while Eliot, the serious one, shushed her so he could hear. For six months I missed out on these simple joys, and I needed them back.

Oliver was already slamming his fist against the wooden front door by the time I got out of the car. Across the yard I could hear the pounding echo through the home’s innards. By the time Cody yanked the door open with a groan, Ollie was worked up. Clipping Cody’s shoulders on his way inside, Oliver cut through the house to the living room, grumbling, ranting, raving.

“We know Bennett Hunter has Vera. Tell us the truth about what’s going on, Cody!”

Cody barely had a moment to catch up before he closed the door behind me, then trailed us with a wobbly shuffle.

“Whoa, rewind a minute. I’m not following. What’s going on?” Cody’s voice was groggy with sleep. At dinnertime? His downhill slide into depression was unmistakable.

“Bennett Hunter—you know, Marin’s father? We know about him.”