I extricated myself from Henry’s grip and sat on the bed. Amanda stood in the closet door, sliding clothes around on the rod, the hangers making a scraping sound.

“This Kyle Dornan guy is bad news,” I said. “He got into Blake’s house. He came over here. He’s jealous. Very jealous of Jennifer and Blake. Maybe he found out that Jennifer had sent those messages to me somehow. Maybe that’s why he came over here. I don’t know. It’s scary.”

“Sure, right. I agree with you about all of that,” she said. She took a dress off the rod and stared at it. Why did she need to look at a dress when she was rushing off to her parents’ house with a six-month-old in tow? I couldn’t answer that. But I’d learned to never question her packing strategies. “I mean, I really agree. I stood here face-to-face with the guy. He didn’t seem right.”

I thought back to my own encounter with Kyle. And she was right. The broken bottle waved in my face. “Obsessed” seemed like far too mild a word.

“But I’m talking about Sam,” she said.

“What about her?”

“What did you think about how she handled everything?”

Henry spit his pacifier out onto the floor as if he couldn’t stand to hear his mother question Sam. I went over and picked it up, wiping it on my pants leg. Seven months ago, I would have run from baby spit. I no longer even noticed it. I stuck the plug back in his mouth.

“She’s scared too. If Blake . . . if he did this, her life is over. Or, I guess, the life she thought she was about to have is over. Imagine if I had gotten arrested right before our wedding. Arrested for murder, Amanda. Blake could still be facing that. Even if he’s innocent, he’s a suspect. A lot of mud is going to stick to him.”

“That’s true.” She put the dress back and nodded to herself about something. Then she turned and leaned against the jamb of the closet door, facing me. She rested one foot on top of the other and tilted her head. “You’re probably right.”

“What else are you talking about?” I asked. “You seem to have something in mind.”

She took her time answering. “Sam just looked scared. That’s all. And you gave a plausible reason why. She’s getting taken away by the police because her fiancé might have been involved in a serious crime.”

“Let’s get you out of here,” I said.

But Amanda remained in place. Her face wore a distant, thoughtful look. I knew she was working something out. She was always one step ahead of people, and it was one of the things I loved most about her. “She was afraid—that’s for sure. But it was a different kind of fear. Something more . . . visceral.”