“That’s such a gaslighting thing to say, Scott. ‘I hear people saying. . . . Everybody tells me. . . .’ Who, Scott? Who thinks Hope and I are so screwed up?”

“Your father.”

She scoffed. “My father loves Hope.”

“No. He loves you. And he knows I love you too. It was on your birthday, when we were handling cleanup in the kitchen after dinner. He told me that for fifteen years, he had watched you treat that woman like you can’t even breathe without her. He thought maybe it had something to do with losing your mom at such a young age.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“Come on, Lindsay, you have to admit there’s something weird about your friendship. She literally doesn’t have anyone in her life except you.”

“Of course she does. Miriam. Rebecca. The Becketts.”

“Her boss. Her therapist. Her landlords. In fifteen years, she couldn’t make another friend? Or date someone for more than a few months? And I’ve got to be honest, I think you like it that way. She needs you so much that you can be a hundred percent confident that she will never leave you.”

“Like my mom did? Is that what you’re saying, Sigmund Freud?”

“Yeah, I guess I am. Sometimes I think I never should have told you about how I screwed up my marriage. I’m just a little too messy for you, but not Hope. You never have to wonder if she’ll betray you. You don’t have the tiniest sliver of doubt? Even before she went silent, you said she wasn’t texting or calling you as much as normal. You can’t open your mind to the slightest possibility that she wanted to go on with her life without you in it?”

“Because she wouldn’t.”

“Look, we’re both exhausted, okay? I’m on your side here.”

“There are no sides, Scott. I’m telling you that I’m right about this. Something is seriously wrong.”

He nodded. “Okay. You know your friend.”

“Yes. I do.”

“But . . . that cop was totally flirting with you.”

She found herself smiling. “Well, whether he was or not, I have no interest in that man.”

“Yes, I think you made that pretty clear.” That grin. It melted her every time. “So what do you want to do? About his offer with the flyers.” Apparently they were moving on.

“I’ll send him the file. But that guy gets under my skin.”

“I also think you’re hangry,” he said, hitting the unlock button on the key fob. “Let’s get some food in you.”

“Ah, I like the look of a satisfied customer.” Rowdy Hall was packed, but they got lucky and scored two seats at the bar. The bartender was a large, bald man with thick black glasses. The gray soul patch beneath his lower lip somehow suited his friendly face.