“What do you mean? Is there something to explain, Ryan?” Amanda asked. “What could it possibly be? Can you explain it to me first? Your wife.”

“I’ll tell you everything when I get there,” I said. “It’s Blake . . . but I can’t blame him for all of it. It’s me too. It’s really about me.”

The other end of the line grew silent. I waited, listening to the silence that meant Amanda was gathering her thoughts.

“Ryan, are you trying to tell me . . . Were you involved with Jennifer? Was there more to it than the Facebook messages I saw?”

“No, not like that,” I said. “Nothing like that.”

My phone buzzed. I held the screen out where I could see the identity of the new caller.

Blake.

I told Amanda he was calling.

“I think I should take it,” I said. “I should see what he’s doing. He needs to know about Kyle. And that the cops are looking for me. All of it.”

“Then you’re coming over here, right?”

“Right,” I said. “I promise.”

“Be careful. Okay? Just come over here, and we’ll deal with all of it. I know you’re not perfect. None of us are. I’m certainly not. And all of this is making me afraid. The police, the questions. The way they want to tear into everything about us.”

I wanted to ask what she was talking about.

“Ryan, we can just go somewhere else. Maybe we should, somewhere all of this can’t reach us.”

“Why would you say that? What’s going on?”

“I’m just trying to help. Forget I said that.”

But Blake’s call kept insisting on being answered.

“I’ll be there soon,” I said. “Tell the police.”

I switched over to Blake’s call, and at first, he said nothing.

“Blake? Where the hell are you? Where’s my computer?”

The sound of breathing and then something shuffling.

“Ryan? I need you to listen to me.”

“No, Blake, you need to listen to me. The cops have cleared Kyle. He had an alibi. It’s us they’re looking for. Me. They’re looking for me. Some guy saw me by Jennifer’s house. They think I know something. They might think I killed her.”

“Ryan—”

“The cops are waiting for me, and I’m going to go over there and tell them what I know. They’re probably testing hair fibers or fingerprints or something from Jennifer’s house. You need to go along too. I can pick you up. But we have to come clean. Bring that computer so we can show them the stuff from Jennifer’s phone—”

“Ryan, listen. Listen.”

He shouted the last word. The sound came through the phone like the slicing of a blade. It stung my ear, so I had to move the phone away and then back into place.

“Are you listening to me?” I asked.