“So what do the police seem to think?”

The question suggested that Philip had not yet read any of the news coverage. “I think they’re leaning toward murder.” Imani rested her back against the counter, suddenly too tired to support her own weight. “Apparently, Nate’s hands lacked gunshot residue.”

Philip wiped his mouth, dragging his former expression into a concerned pout.

“I think they may even suspect Melissa,” Imani added, “which is obviously ridiculous.”

Her husband’s eyes opened wide. “Jesus, really? That’s…”

As he trailed off, the whites of his eyes took on a wet gleam. In all the years she’d known him, Imani could count on one hand the times she’d seen Philip cry: the birth of their kids, their wedding day, and once back when they’d been dating and had a huge argument that they’d both assumed might end things.

He wasn’t crying so much as becoming teary-eyed. Still, Imani was surprised that Nate’s death had so moved her husband. Though Philip had hung out with Melissa’s spouse a good deal over the past ten years, it was always because of plans involving the families. Nate had been Phil’s counterpart in the Imani/Melissa, Vivienne/Ava package. Imani had always thought the husbands’ friendship akin to the relationship between her son, Jay, and Melissa’s daughter. Her boy was polite, and Ava tolerated him because he was tied to a dear friend.

“That’s terrible,” Philip whispered.

Imani suspected Philip’s tears were truly for Ava. Like Imani, Philip knew what it was like to lose a parent young. Both of his had perished in a car crash before his twenty-third birthday. At the time, he’d been living at home, fresh off a four-year enlistment with the marines, working the bottom rungs in a restaurant kitchen. Philip often brought up his parents after reaching milestones, regretting that they’d never seen him enroll in culinary school, let alone graduate or open his first restaurant.

Philip’s vulnerability activated Imani’s maternal instincts. Though she was still upset, she embraced him, wrapping her arms around his waist and placing her head between his pectorals. At six-three, Philip was nearly a foot taller than she, so a kiss wasn’t possible unless he bent to her level.

“I’m so scared for Melissa.” Imani felt her own tears on her husband’s shirt. “At first, I kept thinking that she was somewhere and hadn’t heard what had happened. But they would have found her by now. She has to be in real danger or…”

Imani couldn’t make herself say the obvious. Philip patted her head, unable to run his fingers through the curls that had reasserted themselves in the year since she last visited a hairdresser. “Maybe she’s somewhere getting her head straight,” Philip said. “She’s out there, figuring out what to do next.”