For the most part, we avoided discussing that. Yes, we met for the occasional beer. And once we took a guys’ trip down to Nashville for a bland, booze-soaked weekend of watching football, which I regretted pretty much as soon as I checked into the hotel. But mostly we interacted as adults. And Blake seemed to do well at his job, his ability to talk anybody into anything clearly a huge benefit for a salesman. When he and Samantha were in the “on” portion of their on-and-off relationship, Blake came as close to being a normal member of society as I’d ever seen him.

I’d never received a clear answer about why Blake left Lexington and took the job in Rossingville. Sometimes he said it was a great opportunity, too good to pass up. Once or twice he alluded to his father taking early retirement from his corporate job, but he was vague about why. Blake’s dad was a classic workaholic, and I never imagined that he would leave his job when he was only in his late fifties. His dad’s decision to step down seemed to have coincided with Blake’s acceptance of the job in Rossingville.

The driveway in front of his half of the duplex was empty, and a lone light burned upstairs in the bedroom. The night had grown colder, the wind picking up. I still wore shorts, and I shivered as I walked up to the front of the house and rang the bell.

I left Jennifer’s phone in the car for the time being. It was like an explosive device I didn’t want to be caught holding when it blew. I’d seen enough to tell me I needed—really needed—to talk to Blake.

I waited with my hands in my pockets, my shoulders hunched to stay warm. The street was quiet, no neighbors in sight. I hit the bell again, pressing with as much force as I could muster, as though that might make the bell ring louder and summon Blake more quickly.

But I started to accept what I’d known all along—he wasn’t home.

And I had no idea what he was doing.

I rang one more time and was about to walk away when I heard the lock being undone. I perked up, hopeful, and when the door swung inward, I saw Samantha standing there in a T-shirt, old sweatpants, and no shoes, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.

She didn’t look particularly surprised or dismayed by someone showing up on her doorstep late at night.

“Oh, Ryan, hey,” she said. “I almost didn’t answer. I thought it was kids playing a prank. No one comes to the door without calling.”

“Is Blake home?”