Sarah jabbed a forkful of food off her plate and stuck it in her mouth, chewing harder than the soft food required. Mick picked up his fork even though his appetite had flown. As a director, it was clear to him that the food had become a prop, a way to give her a little emotional distance from what she had shared with him. “Kevin is a duplicitous, pathological liar.” Sarah speared another forkful of food. “He can put on a real good show. So convincing. The loving husband whose unhinged wife needs to be located for ‘her own safety.’ That’s why the cops are looking for me.” She lifted another forkful of food, and then, instead of completing its journey to her mouth, she angrily slammed the fork down. “I feel so ashamed I was ever involved with him. What the hell was I thinking?” Mick knew there was no right way to answer that question. “When I look back over the things I went through. The way he treated me. How rude he was to my parents. How he mocked and alienated all my friends. How he—” Sarah broke off. Her mouth compressed into a flat line, as if forcing herself to hold back additional words. She snatched a chip and bit into it, as if she wished the chip were Kevin’s head. “And you want to hear something real pathetic? We got married, all right, but I don’t remember a damn thing about it. Nothing. Not the preparation or making the decision to elope rather than follow through with the big wedding that was in the works—which, by the way, I was having serious reservations about. Literally. I was this close”—Sarah held her index finger and thumb a millimeter apart—“to canceling the whole damn thing. I was working up my courage to break the news to him. You see, since the engagement, I had witnessed a different side to the charming, charismatic man who had proposed to me, and it scared the hell out of me.” She shivered, looked lost for a moment, then picked up her mug of coffee, her hands wrapped around it tight. Took a sip. Kept the cup in her hands. “Yeah. Don’t remember getting married. Don’t remember going to the church, saying my vows, my wedding night. Nothing.” Sarah looked up from her mug. Her gaze met his, her eyes bleak. “That’s why I don’t drink alcohol anymore. I never want to be in a position where I’m that vulnerable, where I make such a life-changing colossal mistake like that again.”

“Were you a heavy drinker before?”

“No. Would have helped if I had been. Would have built up a tolerance. Nope. He flew us to Vegas for a surprise getaway, and the next day we’re flying back to New York, I’m sicker than a dog, and married.”