We agreed not to leave each other’s sides, not until this was over, and we opened a bottle of wine, the last one I had in the house, and heated up a frozen pizza, trying to act as normal as possible, to get back to the way we had once been.

I prayed that forensics would turn up something on the note that linked it to Sam. A fingerprint, maybe? Something to tie it back to him. If not, I knew what I would have to do: I’d have to come clean about Davis to McKnight, no matter the consequences. But I wasn’t ready for that yet. I still had hope that Sam would make a mistake, show his hand before I had to show mine.

The wine tasted bitter and acidic, and though Vera refilled my glass as she always did, I forced myself to slow down – after everything that had happened, drinking would only make it worse.

Of course, that didn’t stop Vera. She was deep into her second glass when she drained the remains of the bottle, then lifted her drink to mine. ‘You know, you’re the only one, out of everyone, that’s truly been here for me. You’re the only one besides me who still believes John was good.’

I froze, the weight of all I knew now suddenly heavier than ever before.

‘What?’ Vera asked. ‘Why are you looking at me like that? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ I said quickly.

‘What is it?’ she snapped. ‘You’re a bad actress, you know.’

Claire was pregnant.

‘Lucy, you’re scaring me,’ Vera said. ‘God, just say it, whatever it is.’

I let my eyes find hers, my friend, my protector. Rachel said she didn’t want to hurt Vera, but was that really the right choice?

Was it really fair to let Vera go on grieving him – mourning him – when he could have done the worst possible thing?

I pushed my wineglass aside. If I was going to say it, I had to rip off the Band-Aid, do it fast. ‘Last night, I saw Rachel, and she told me … she told me that Claire was pregnant.’ I swallowed. ‘She told me John took care of it for her. He took her to Planned Parenthood to get an abortion.’

Vera was so still that at first, I thought she hadn’t heard me.

‘Vera?’

Then I saw it, the pallor of her face, as if the blood was draining out, milliliter by milliliter. Carefully, she set down her wineglass, stood up, walked to the door, and wrapped herself in her poncho.

‘Vera,’ I said, but she didn’t stop. She slipped on her shoes and headed outside.

‘Vera!’

I didn’t know what she was going to do. Grabbing my coat and keys, quickly locking up behind me, I chased her.

‘Vera,’ I yelled, but she was already in the road, her pace brisk. ‘Vera!’