I took a look around the room and perched my hands on my hips, blowing an errant strand of hair from my face. Dirty clothes were wadded in four piles around the bedroom. I wondered how we’d managed to accrue so much in just a few days. Frames hung from the walls, holding black and white photographs of us from every stage of our relationship: friends, enemies, and lovers. In every shot, we were smiling, and Travis was touching me in some way. I’d missed our room, but the last time we were in it I was proposing to Travis while his face was still smeared with soot from the fire. A hint of smoke still hung in the air.

Shepley and America had left for Morgan Hall after taking us to Travis’s dad’s house to break the news to Jim that we’d eloped. America was going to pick up my things, giving Travis and me time alone to unpack and settle in. Even though the apartment was the same as when we’d left it, everything felt different. I gathered one of the piles into my arms and turned for the door, wondering if Travis felt as content and yet displaced as I did.

“Where you going?” Travis asked.

I motioned with a tiny twist of my upper body toward the hall. “Laundry.” He made a face, and I laughed. “I’ll be just down the hall, baby.”

He nodded, but I could tell he was still worried about our marriage being erased somehow, as if it hadn’t really happened, that the moment I was out of his sight he would wake up in bed alone.

I passed the doorway to the living room, stopping less than two feet later to push the folding door to the right, revealing the stacked washer and dryer. The unit was loud, yellow tinged, and older than I was, but it worked well enough. I only put in half the load I was holding, knowing the tiny drum couldn’t handle more than that. Just after I poured in the detergent, twisted the knob, and closed the lid, someone knocked on the door.

I let the rest of the clothes fall to the floor and stepped over them to hurry across the living room. I peeked out of the peephole and swallowed, taking a moment to gather my thoughts before opening the door.

“Hi,” I said, trying to seem surprised.

The police officers were in plain clothes—meaning they were detectives—and they didn’t seem surprised to see me.

“Miss Abernathy?” the one on the left asked. He was round, his belly bulging over his belt buckle and his worn tweed blazer was a bit small.The badge just over his jacket pocket read Gable. His partner, Williams, was smartly dressed with a purple button-down and matching tie. He crossed his arms, his smooth, dark complexion opposite of Gable’s rosy skin and freckles.