Because what’s going to happen when Paul walks through the door? After the relief at having him back in one piece, I mean. We can’t just pick up from where we left off, those innocent moments before my early-morning trek down to the dock. I need answers, and to questions I’m terrified of asking. Especially now that there’s a baby on the way. He can’t keep me in the dark, can’t keep holding me at an arm’s distance. I need more from him.

Chet drops the bowl onto the desk and sinks onto the calf hide lounger by the window, swinging his feet up and crossing them at the ankle. “I know I’m supposed to be the ignorant one, but—”

“Don’t do that, Chet.” I shake my head, my shoulders slumping. “Don’t make those kinds of jokes about yourself.”

“Word on the street is it’s no joke.” One side of his mouth lifts into a half-cocked grin. “Anyway, you’re supposed to be the smart one in the family. So how come you’re acting so dumb?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Well, your husband skips town two seconds after you find a dead lady in the lake, and you’re running around here trying to pretend that you’re okay with it, even though anybody with a set of eyes can see that you’re not. Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” He pulls one hand from behind his head and ticks his points off on his fingers. “Lady asks about Paul. Lady turns up dead. Paul splits. You provide cover.” His hand wriggles back underneath his head. “You gonna tell me what’s going on here, or are you gonna lie to me like you did with Sam and Micah?”

I stare across the space at my brother, so much more observant than anybody ever gives him credit for. Chet didn’t come in here for my opinion on his latest food creation or help in finding him a job. He’s seen me poking around the house all afternoon, heard the silent debate raging in my head. He knows there’s something bothering me I’m not telling him.

I realize with a pang that I want his opinion. I need another person’s honest, no-holds-barred take, and I want that person to be Chet.

“You can’t tell anyone. I mean it, Chet—not a soul. If Sam or Micah or anybody else asks, you have to play dumb.”

“We’ve already established I can do that.” Another slow grin, more deadpan tone.

I roll my eyes. “This is serious. I’m being serious. You have to promise and swear you won’t say a thing.”

He draws an X on his chest. “Not one word, swear to God.”