Patrick let out a laugh. “Really? That’s not a huge surprise, to be honest. She liked her beverage a little too much, if you know what I mean.”

“I have an idea, but maybe you can elaborate,” Claire said.

Patrick shrugged. “She was quiet at first, but after a few, she became very talkative. Talking about relationships and loyalty and stuff like that. It was weird and not a little awkward,” he said with a laugh. “And then she was out of it. One moment, she was bouncing off the walls; the next, she was dead asleep behind the couch. So, like I said, I’m not surprised she left one of her shoes there.”

“What time was that?” Claire asked.

“That I saw her knocked out?” he asked. “I don’t know. Maybe midnight, maybe a little after that.”

“And what time did you see her leave?”

“She must have left around twelve thirty or twelve forty-five or something, because, like I said, we left at one.”

Something about the phrasing made Claire pause. “She must have?” she said. “Did you see her leave?”

Patrick started to nod and then he paused. “Well, no, I didn’t see her walk out the door, but she was definitely gone before we left.”

He said this last part slowly and tilted his head as he looked at his own couch, which was positioned in much the same way as Emma’s upstairs.

He looked at Claire, then back at the couch, and then back at Claire again.

“Well, shit,” he said with a small chuckle. “At least I think she was.”

PART 3

the week after the night

Chapter 19

Paula

The day after

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that my cheek was wet.

Everything hurt, and I do mean everything. Places on my body that I did not know could hurt throbbed—the joints between my fingers, the bottom of my tongue. It all hurt so much.

I took a few long, slow breaths to steady myself.

I was in a bed, which was a good start. The feel of the pillow beneath my head was familiar, the smell soothing.

I was at home.

Good.

Still, I couldn’t grasp how I’d gotten there, what time it was, or, importantly, where Keith was. I only knew he wasn’t there beside me.

I moved my head, my brain alert just enough to know it desired a dry spot. As I shifted, sunlight stabbed through the blinds, sending a sharp pain through my head. I winced and moved again, planting my cheek back in my own drool. I felt my stomach flip over in disgust. I needed to get up, to get away from my own filth, to take a shower and rinse away my shame and disappointment.

Instead, I flipped the pillow over and let my head drop back down.