As I walk back to the dry warmth of my vehicle, the wind passing through the trees sounds very much like the cries of dying children.

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

The first thing I notice when I pull into the gravel lane of the farmhouse is that Tomasetti left the porch light on for me. As I drive around to the rear, I see his Tahoe parked in its usual spot. Butterflies flutter in my stomach when I think of how we left things. I’m not sure what I’ll find when I go inside. I have no idea if he’s angry or sorry or somewhere in between. I don’t know if he’s seen Ferguson. Or if he listened to what I had to say.

I unlock the back door to see that the light above the stove is on. The kitchen smells of coffee and vanilla potpourri, and for an instant, I’m overwhelmed with a sense of homecoming. I’m standing just inside the door, taking off my jacket, when the light flicks on.

On the other side of the kitchen, Tomasetti stands at the doorway, looking at me. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

He’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. His feet are bare. Hair damp from a recent shower. I take a breath, and even from several feet away, I discern the scent of his aftershave.

“I could be,” I reply.

Amusement flashes in his eyes, but he doesn’t smile. “I brought home sandwiches from Leo’s Deli.”

Leo’s is a mom-and-pop eatery in Wooster, and in the last months has become our favorite “quick” dinner. “What kind?”

“Paninis. They’re in the fridge.”

I’m staring at him, but I can’t seem to stop. I’m not hungry and I couldn’t care less about the sandwiches, from Leo’s or elsewhere. What I do care about more than anything else in the world is this man standing before me. Instead of responding, I ask the one question I swore I never would. The one question that strips me bare. The one that requires the truth from him. A truth I fear because I know he’ll give it, no-holds-barred, and I have no idea what it will be.

“Do you love me, Tomasetti?”

He’s not an easy man to read, but I perceive surprise in the way his eyes dart away, in the way he shifts his weight away from me, as if there’s a part of him that would like nothing more than to slink back into the darkness and not deal with this. With me. But it’s too late to take back the words.

“You know I do,” he tells me.

“Actually, I don’t know or I wouldn’t have asked. Sometimes you say things, and I’m not sure you mean them.”

“I’ve never lied to you, Kate.”

“You haven’t lied. But you haven’t been completely honest, either.”