She whistled and shook her head. “Strong one. I’ve seen a few people come in here, telling stories like that. Usually it’s just someone looking for an excuse as to why their wife or girlfriend is acting differently. Like, ‘She can’t possibly be in her right mind to break up with someone like me, so she must be controlled by Satan.’ ”

Melissa made a confirmation noise. “Oh, I get that.”

The saleswoman gave her a questioning look, and Jess chimed in, “Grew up in a religious laser-light-show cult.”

“Ah.” She nodded, and then her brows knitted together. “But if this is real, and you decide to perform the ritual, make sure you have protection. Something physical, like a cross if that’s your thing, or crystals. Anything imbued with positive, protective energy. Something that your friend—wherever she is in there—will recognize.”

The book safely tucked under my arm as we left the store, I asked my friends, “So what’s our safety item for protection?”

“A gun?” Melissa said as she opened the car door.

“Very funny,” I said. “Maybe we can get some crystals?”

“The bracelets,” Jess said as she hopped into the backseat. “Remember those small woven bracelets that Liz gave us?”

“Absolutely. The bracelets,” I said as I started the car.

Stronger with You. Whether or not that would be the case, we would do this together, our fates joined.

CHAPTER
37

I poured myself the largest glass of wine possible, like a recent college graduate at a bottomless-mimosa brunch, and carried it into the family room, where Mark was watching a movie starring Mark Wahlberg. Mark Wahlberg’s character seemed to be combating terrorism with his signature sneer and abject confusion.

I sat down, and he glanced at my wineglass, looked back at the screen, and glanced at it again.

“Long day?” he said as he muted the television. His dark blue eyes stared at me intensely, one of the reasons I fell in love with him when we first met. He always wanted to give me his full attention when we talked. I knew from my friends that this was unusual. Their husbands always thought they could multitask, talking to their wives while they watched television or messed around on their phones. When, in fact, it seemed like the basic ability to do two things at once was relegated to the female species.

“On the way to the bookstore, we hit traffic from the White Sox game. The Eisenhower was a mess.” The Eisenhower Expressway was perpetually under construction. It was, without a doubt, the most poorly constructed and designed thoroughfare in the Chicago area, and it was the only access from the western suburbs to downtown. Dwight D. should have been turning over in his grave because his name had been given to such an atrocity.