She typed a reply as fast as she could. Where are you? How do I know this is you?

We left the armoire.

Her fingers began to tremble. She forced herself to focus on typing the letters accurately and quickly. Where are you?

No reply. Lindsay clicked out of her text messages and into email, trying to use that format instead. She immediately received an automated reply. Your message wasn’t delivered because the address could not be found or is unable to receive mail.

Just like that, Hope was gone again.

17
Monday, June 21, 7:30 p.m.

When Ellie walked into her apartment, Max had CNN muted on the television, Smashing Pumpkins streaming on the speakers, and the apartment already smelling like really good tomato sauce. In their texts about dinner, they had decided to stay in and make spaghetti pomodoro. It was fast, cheap, and delicious, and had butter as the final ingredient, making it a perfect at-home meal, as far as Ellie was concerned.

Max gestured to the TV screen. “Hey, did you see that Kansas might get itself a new senator? Any chance she’ll take Uncle Steve with her?”

She had gotten the New York Times alert on her phone before she jumped on the subway. The CEO of LockeHome, where Steve was the head of security, was running for the Senate as an independent. Speculation was that it might be an initial step toward an eventual presidential campaign.

“Zilch. Steve would rather live at the bottom of the ocean than in Washington, DC.”

She pinched away a tiny pop of sauce that had made its way from the pan into Max’s dark wavy hair. “You started without me?” Another reason Ellie liked the recipe was that it was one of the only things she could actually cook by herself without thinking Max would have made it taste a lot better.

“Figured I was here, might as well. Sauce is done except for your favorite part.” He knew she doubled the butter when he wasn’t looking. He gestured to a half-consumed Manhattan on the countertop and asked if she wanted one.

“Better go straight to wine.”

“I take it you and Jess had fun, then?”

Fun. She wouldn’t call it that.

She had spent most of her life wondering if she was destined to turn out exactly like her father—distracted, distant, consumed by thoughts that could not be shared with others. It wasn’t until William Summer was behind bars that she had allowed herself to be open to the idea of a life in the light with the happy, normal people. Now she was living with a man she loved, and still hadn’t told him about the bombshell that had been dropped on her day. Through no fault of Max’s own, some part of her was still afraid to let him see the darkness that still resided within her.