Problem number two was just as easy to solve but felt a lot more problematic. Dr. Reveno had sent over the confidentiality forms he needed us to sign, along with a bill to begin work.

So happy to be working with you, he’d written in the message. We’ll need to get moving if we’re going to make the eighteen-month deadline.

I opened the email and navigated to the payment link, my mind on the money in my bathroom closet.

Without giving myself time to think about all the reasons I shouldn’t do it, I scrolled down to the bottom of the screen and clicked Pay Now.

• • •

I went to work a late shift at the diner. It was quiet, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that Vanessa was out; I didn’t know if I could continue to keep all this from her. I walked to the back of the diner and picked up the phone. I needed to talk to Emma, but I couldn’t afford to use my own cell phone.

Not after everything that had happened.

I dialed her number, and it rang several times before going to voicemail. Sighing, I hung up and went back to work, focusing on the handful of customers who came in. It wasn’t the best distraction, but it would do. When I finally left, it was dark outside, and I drove home slowly.

I pulled into a parking space and shut off the car.

It had been a long day, and I wanted to sit in the car for a while before heading in to talk to Keith.

I was about to open the door when I saw movement by the passenger door of my car.

I sucked in a breath, and suddenly, the door flew open, and a figure slid inside.

The doors had unlocked immediately when I parked, a feature that I was usually pretty paranoid about—I typically either got out of the car immediately or locked them again while I gathered my things.

My mind reeled back to when I was younger and first learning how to drive.

“Always look in your back seat before you get into the car,” my father had said.

I remembered rolling my eyes and brushing off his warnings. “You don’t think I would notice if someone was camping out in my back seat?” I asked.

“It’s possible if you’re not looking, especially at night,” he’d said seriously. “Also, if you ever end up driving in a deserted place and a cop tries to pull you over—”

“I know, I know,” I had said, exasperated, my hands on the wheel of his gray Buick Skyhawk, itching to end the safety lessons and just drive. “Put on my hazards and drive slowly to a crowded place.”

“Exactly,” he had said. “And—”

“Dad.”