I carry the clothes into the bathroom and select the least gigantic pieces from the pile. A shrunken pair of sweats I roll up at the ankles, a light blue sweater that once belonged to a female. I fold my things and leave them on the sink to dry.

“Whose sweater is this?” I say, coming back into the kitchen.

“Yours now.” Micah is at the counter, filling two mugs with boiling water, dropping in bags of tea. He glances over his shoulder with a sheepish smile. “But if some angry woman comes up to you in town, demanding to know where you got it, maybe don’t mention my name. As I recall, things didn’t end well.”

They never do. Micah Hunt should come with a warning sticker: not husband material. His relationships rarely make it past more than a few months, which is why I don’t bother remembering their names until I’ve seen them more than three times by his side—and even then I sometimes confuse their faces. Micah has a type: young, blonde, pretty. His girlfriends all look the same.

He picks up the mugs, points me to one of the couches. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but the diver confessed to swiping the necklace. He says it was resting on the rear dash under the shattered back window, which had collapsed under the weight of all that water. The local cops have tossed him in jail. Tampering with evidence is a crime.” He settles my mug onto the coffee table and plops with his onto the opposite couch.

“So that puts Jax in the car.”

“That puts Jax in the car.” Micah grimaces, shifting on the couch. “You know, I have to think that whatever happened that night would have been an accident. Jax was a mess, but he was always a good guy. Reckless and careless, maybe, but not malicious.”

“No, what was malicious was leaving Bobby down there all these years and not telling a soul. For pretending he had no idea what happened. For lying about it for twenty years.” I’m talking about Jax, but the same would apply to Paul, too. How could I ever be with Paul after this? How can I share a house, a bed, a life with a man who lied about something so monumental? “So what do you think happened? Was Jax...I don’t know...hitchhiking and Bobby picked him up? Were they taking a joyride when the car slipped out of the curve?”

Micah swings a big arm over the back of the sofa and watches me across the coffee table. “Probably too many possibilities to think about.”

“Maybe, but you said it yourself. Jax and Bobby didn’t exactly run in the same circles. Most likely they wouldn’t have been palling around.”