Truth is, Jason came home that night, and I could still look him in the eye. Truth is, he asked me how my night was, and I told him “Just fine.”

I am an expert on lying. I excel at pretend normal.

And some terrible, angry part of me was happy to once again be in charge.

I took Ree to school. I started teaching sixth grade social studies. I considered my options.

Four weeks later, I made my move. I’d been doing some research on the student population, and my dear friend, Mrs. Lizbet, was helpful as always.

I found Ethan Hastings in the computer lab. He looked up when I entered the room. Immediately, he flushed bright red, and I knew this was going to be even easier than I’d thought.

“Ethan,” I said, the pretty, respectable Mrs. Jones. “Ethan, I have a project for you. I want you to teach me everything you know about the Internet.”

D.D. was pissed off. She exited the Jones residence, slid into her car, and started punching buttons on her cell phone. It was nearly eleven P.M., well after the hour for polite conversation, but then again, she was dialing a state detective and he was used to such things.

“What?” Massachusetts State Detective Bobby Dodge answered the phone. He sounded sleepy and annoyed, which fit her mood nicely.

“Did I wake you, honey?”

“Yes.” He hung up on her.

D.D. hit Redial; she and Bobby went way back, had even been lovers once upon a time. She liked calling him at odd hours of the night. He liked hanging up on her. The system worked for them.

“D.D.,” he groaned this time, “I’ve been on call for the past four nights. Gimme a break.”

“Married life is making you soft,” she informed him.

“I believe the politically correct phrase is ‘balanced lifestyle.’”

“Please, in a cop’s world, balanced lifestyle is a beer in each hand.”

He finally laughed. She could hear the rustle of sheets, him stretching out. She found herself straining her ears, listening for the low murmur of his wife’s voice. It made her flush, feel like a voyeur, and she was grateful she wasn’t on video conference.

She had a weakness for Bobby Dodge not even she could explain. She’d given him up, but couldn’t let him go. Just went to show you that smart, ambitious women were their own worst enemies.

“All right, D.D., obviously you have something on your mind.”

“When you were a sniper with the state’s STOP team, did you sleep?”

“You mean more than I do now?”

“Nah, I mean, when you deployed, did you take a nap?”

“D.D., what the hell are you talking about?”

“You been watching the news? Missing woman in Southie?”

“Slept through the morning press conference, but Annabelle told me you had great hair.”