Chapters (46)
- Cover
- Other Titles
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Friday
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- Saturday
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- Sunday
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- Monday
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
“It’s okay, honey,” her mother says. “Go sell some houses or something.”
On her way out the door, her phone rings. “I got your text,” Hanna says. “What’s going on?”
Katriina glances back, but her mother has already shut the door – heaven forbid any of the cool air escapes outside. “Shawn didn’t come home last night.”
“Oh.”
There is a long silence on the other end of the line. Katriina gets into her car and turns the key in the ignition. The radio kicks in, playing AC/DC’s “TNT.” She turns the volume down, then waits, her hands on the steering wheel, the phone tucked in between her ear and her shoulder. “Are you still there, Hanna?”
“He’s here.”
“What?”
“Shawn’s here. He’s sleeping on my couch.”
There are a million places where Katriina has imagined Shawn to be, and none of them are at Hanna’s place, asleep on her couch. “What the fuck, Hanna,” she says, banging her head back against the headrest.
“I’m so sorry, hon. He asked me not to call you. I didn’t think you’d be so worried.”
“You didn’t think I’d be worried about my husband not coming home?” Katriina tries to steady her breath. She reaches for her elastic and snaps, hard, before she can say anything more. She tries to recall the times she has seen Hanna and Shawn together, how they acted with one another, whether they touched each other on the elbow, on the shoulder, on the inside of the wrist, all those places along the arm that are safe, those places you can touch and it doesn’t mean anything until it means everything. “Did you sleep with him?”
“Katriina! Of course not.”
Of course not. They are both too good for that. “Sorry,” she says. “I guess I’m just confused.”
“He showed up after the bar closed. He was drunk, and he didn’t want to go home.” There is another pause. “He’s worried about you.”
“Oh he is, is he?”
“Yeah. Hang on.” There is a muffled sound, and Katriina realizes she must be talking to Shawn. She resists the urge to scream, to bite the steering wheel, to slam her hand through the windshield. Instead, she yanks the elastic over and over again.
“Hanna,” she says. “Hanna.” But her sister doesn’t answer, so she hangs up and backs out of the driveway. Her breath is ragged and uneven, and her wrist thrums with pain, but she ignores it all and turns the volume back up as she pulls out into the street, determined to keep this day under control.
10:30 a.m.