Ethan shook his head. He couldn’t believe this. She couldn’t be that stupid.

“Of course not. She’s a mild woman, if anything, too mild. She’s been trampled upon by a slew of people, and she just sits back and takes it. She cries and breaks down, sure, but she’s never been violent.” Not to a stranger, that is.

“The hospitalization. Can you give me some details?”

Ethan didn’t want to remember that night, the fear lodged in his heart as his beautiful, brilliant wife threatened to jump off the third-story portico. Her hair caught in the breeze, a storm coming in from the west, the clouds roiling black, screaming, trying to get the windows open, fingers clawing at the painted-over frame. Swearing, over and over, she wasn’t to blame, that she’d done nothing wrong. And why wouldn’t he believe her?

“She couldn’t take the pressure. She said she wanted to die, that having her career collapse so soon after the baby’s death was too much for her to take. Too much for anyone to endure. I called Ivy, she came over, and together we talked Sutton off the ledge. I have a friend in town who’s a psychiatrist. I called him, he agreed to have her involuntarily admitted. What’s it called, Title 33 or something?”

“Yes.”

He was quiet for a moment. “It absolutely tore me apart, watching them take her. She was so upset, so confused.”

“Who wrote the commitment papers?”

“Dr. McBean. Gregory McBean.”

“I know him. He’s a good doc.”

“He is. We were able to get her stabilized and out of there after a week. She seemed fine after that, quiet, subdued, embarrassed. She had to take medication. She pushed me away for a while, understandably. But that was all behind us. We’ve been good for weeks.”

“What did you fight about?”

Ethan shifted uncomfortably. “It was stupid. Nothing.”

“Clearly it was something, Mr. Montclair.”

“I don’t want you to think badly of Sutton. Or of me, for that matter.”

“I’m just trying to gather facts. Judgment is for other people.”

It was meant to be such an innocuous, comforting statement, but Ethan felt the chill spread through his body. All he could imagine was a long counter of dark brown wood and thirteen faces staring down at him.

“She asked how my book was coming. I haven’t been writing, and we were sniping at each other about the bills. I told her to mind her own business, and stomped off.”

Tears started to gather, damn it, there was nothing he could do. “I told her to leave me alone. It looks like she took me seriously.”

The cop rubbed her neck while he pulled himself back together. Finally, she said, “Mr. Montclair, none of this is adding up for me.”

“I suppose not. It isn’t for me, either.”

A Trail Emerges

A TRAIL EMERGES