“But why steal drugs?” Chase’s voice is quiet. “What good are they to you? You’d have had to sell them to …”

“Yes. It would have been a last resort. And I didn’t use any of the drugs. I didn’t touch the coke or the money—because of you. You both saved me from that life. But … I didn’t get rid of the stash.”

Alex starts to pace. “Where the hell are they, Ruth? Where are the goddamn drugs?”

“That’s the thing. I put them under the bathroom sink. I hid them right at the back.”

Alex turns to Chase. See? she’s saying. One thing after another. It never, ever stops.

“You put drugs in the bathroom vanity?” she says.

“Yes, and a shit ton of cash, if I’m honest. Like, probably ten grand. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Ten grand?” Alex says, dumbfounded. “Stolen from a violent dealer and hidden in our house? In what fucking part of your brain did you ever consider that to be thinking like a mother?” Her jaw is chisel-stiff.

“The drugs are in our bathroom?” Chase rubs his forehead, as if trying to figure out a puzzle.

“They were, but I can’t find that tin,” I say.

Alex’s head tilts.

“And there’s another problem.” I press my hands in front of me like a prayer. “Eli’s coming.”

Alex looks at Chase and back again. “What do you mean, he’s coming? Did you give him our address?!”

“No, of course not! But he’s … he’s clever, and he figures things out. And I thought I could just send him away with the tin, but it’s not where I left it. It’s … gone.…” I trail off, not sure what else to say.

“Jesus Christ.” Chase stands up, knocking avocado toast onto the floor.

“Let’s look for the tin,” Alex says grimly.

“Alex, a drug dealer is coming to the apartment,” Chase says, desperately sweeping up the mess on the floor. “Don’t you think we should call the police, right now?”

“I heard what she said, Chase! It’s news to me, too. And I agree! This is a whole fresh wave of shit she’s dumping on top of our heads, none of which is your fault or mine. But first, we need to find that fucking tin. And then you”—she points at me with steady, incriminating finger—“you are going to tell the police exactly what you did.”

“If you call the cops, they’ll arrest me for sure. Is that what you want?” I ask. They ponder the question for too long but eventually shake their heads.

“You left the tin in the cupboard under the sink?” Alex says, standing. “And you never moved it? You’re sure about that?”

I nod. My breathing is shallow; I feel hot, far too hot. All this anxiety can’t be good for anyone.