Page 141 of The Five Year Lie

Jay has defrosted some meat, and we make hamburgers, which Woody grills behind the house. We eat outside at the picnic table. I keep glancing at Jay, as if to verify that he’s really here.

And he does the same to me.

After dinner, I take Buzz upstairs and make him change into his pajamas and brush his teeth. There are two bedrooms up here, but only one of them is furnished. He’s working a bachelor vibe—a king-sized mattress on a blocky metal bed frame. The only other furniture is a dresser. And right in the center of it is a glass bowl. That I made.

My heart lurches as I lift the piece and cup it in my hands. It’s from a series of ombré glass that I did about two years ago, for the gallery on Exchange Street. The price was probably $150.

He bought it. Somehow. It’s the only decorative item in this room.

“Mama?” Buzz calls from the bed.

I set the bowl down and then tuck Buzz into one side of the bed. It’s a warm, sticky night, so I only use the sheet. I switch on a box fan that’s poised in the window. It makes a pleasant hum, which will probably help Buzz fall asleep.

“Where are you going to be?” he asks.

“Right there beside you.” I pat the mattress. “After I talk to the grown-ups.”

“I want my Frog and Toad book,” he complains.

“Tomorrow I’ll see if the library is open,” I promise. “It’s late, honey. Time to sleep.”

“Stay here,” he demands.

I lie down beside him, and Buzz closes his eyes. Soon he’s sleeping deeply. And my eyelids feel like lead weights.

But then Jay appears in the doorway, watching us with a soft expression on his face that I’ve never seen before. I get up and join him on the landing outside the bedroom.

“This is for you,” he whispers, pressing a clean T-shirt and a pair of boxers into my hands. “Make yourself at home. But there are a couple more things you need to know.”

“Like what?” I whisper.

He draws me to the doorway, where Buzz is sleeping, and taps the heavy wood door. “This is reinforced. And it locks with a bolt,” he whispers. “The closet is built the same way. It’s a safe room. If there’s trouble, lock yourself in this room. And keep away from the windows.”

I blink. “You built a fortress?”

His frown is grim. “I have enemies, and Woody is a paranoid guy. There’s a fire ladder under the bed, too. It hooks onto the window frame.” He points. “If you think someone is going to breach the door, leave by the window. Or lock yourself in the closet. The lights come on automatically.”

I grab his arm and pull him back to the staircase landing, where Buzz is less likely to hear us. “You think that could happen?”

“Anything could happen, baby,” he says, cupping my face in one broad hand. “I just like to be prepared.” Then he leans in and kisses me.

I’m not ready, either. There’s no time to brace myself against the gentleness of his kiss, or the drag of his thumb across my jaw. The pain of losing him is still a raw, ugly thing inside of me. I don’t know whether to grab him by the T-shirt or shove him away from me.

So I pick the second thing, pushing off his firm chest and taking a healthy step backward.

The result, I think, is that we’re both confused. We just stare at each other for a long beat, while I try to figure out what to say.

Until someone clears his throat.

When I look down, Woody is grinning up at us from the sofa. “Not to interrupt, but I’ve got something you should see.”

50

As soon as I sit down on the sofa, Woody hands me his laptop. There’s a news article on the screen:Portland homicide detectives take over the investigation of a drug overdose.

The piece is only a couple of sentences long, and it doesn’t mention Zain by name. But it does mention forced entry into a basement apartment on Grant Street. “It’s him. That’s where he lived.”

Jay rubs my back gently. “Maybe this time they won’t get away with it.”