Afraid now, afraid of being stopped by the police, of being barred from seeing Michael, of being on the news, I picked up the garage door opener and took Grace out of the back seat.

Walking quickly, I left the sidewalk and with purpose crossed my neighbor’s yard, positioning myself as close as possible to the garage. When I hit the button, it felt like three dozen people snapped their heads around to stare at me, but as soon as there was enough space, I ducked under, sliding Grace’s seat with me, and sent the door crashing down again.

Were the police still inside? Would they be expecting me?

At the door to the laundry room, I called out, “Hello?”

Michael answered, “Kacy?”

He was in the kitchen. I raced to find him, leaving Grace rocking in her little car seat in the hallway.

My husband looked like he had lost thirty pounds. He was wearing gray industrial sweatpants a size too big and a navy-blue T-shirt with Sugar Land Skeeters on it. A stranger’s clothes, and when I threw my arms around him, I could smell industrial detergent over the sour stench of sweat. He hugged me so hard that for a second I couldn’t breathe, but the pain was proof that this was real, we were together.

Then I pulled back to look at his face, and I was afraid all over again.

CHAPTER

17

ALONDRA HAD SAID not to discuss the case, but as soon as I saw Michael, every warning evaporated. I touched his cheek, his stubble scratchy against my fingers. “What happened?”

In the eight hours since I’d seen him last, the lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened, and his shoulders were hunched. “I can’t,” he muttered.

I hugged him again, pressing myself against the cheap T-shirt issued by the police. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

He looked into my face with an intensity that scared me. “If they charge me and we’ve discussed this at all, you could be charged too.”

Stumbling back, I knocked down a kitchen chair, its crash echoing through the house. “Charge you? Why would they charge you?”

From the hallway, I could hear Grace’s tentative cry.

“I don’t know what the police are going to do. But if we talk, you could be charged as an accessory. That’s what your friend the lawyer says.” He shook his head, the way he always did after running a personal risk analysis. “We can’t take that chance.”

“Nobody’s going to charge us. Nobody will even know.”

“She said spousal privilege is waived if we’ve talked. I’m not going to put you in danger.” I knew he’d walk away rather than change his mind.