Page 156 of The Five Year Lie

He flips over the paint chip.“Nacho cheese.”

“Get out of town. Really?”

Laughing, he hands it to me. The color is calledCorn silk. “You believed me, though.”

I give him a playful swat with the stack of paint chips in my hand. “It’s too bright, whatever it’s called. How about this—we’ll buy a sample of yours, and a sample of mine, and put them to the test?”

He hands me the paint chip. “Baby, you can choose all the colors. You’re the artist in this relationship. I’m just the comic relief.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Marker. You also look good in a tool belt.”

He laughs loudly, and heads turn in our direction. I don’t know if they’re staring because we’re rowdy or because they read about us on the internet. But I don’t actually care. We have a house to paint, and it will be a little easier to work on now that Buzz is back in school.

With my mother’s generous financial assistance, Jay and I have purchased a fixer-upper on Neal Street. Over the coming year, Jay’s going to restore it. He’s got the time—there isn’t a lot of demand for programmers who have identity theft in their résumés.

Although the new CEO of Chime Co. offered him a job.

He declined.

We spent the summer playing with Buzz, walking Buster aroundthe neighborhood and making renovation plans. There were legal appointments, and a lot of post-surgical care appointments for Jay. He’s healthy enough now to sand the floors and paint the upstairs rooms. This winter, Woody will come out for a visit, and they’ll renovate the kitchen together.

My role is to choose all the decor. Buzz wants a “space wall” in his room—deep blue with painted stars that glow in the dark.

I can’t wait to start. But choosing colors is tricky, so I buy samples of three different yellows for the upstairs hallway and two different blues for Buzz’s wall, and now I need something for the trim.

“Why are there so many shades of white?” Jay wants to know. “I thought white was just white.”

“There are cool whites and warm whites. I just need five more minutes.”

Jay looks at his watch. “Where do you want to have lunch after we pick Buzz up from school? I was thinking either the Black Cow or Duckfat.”

The idea of eating fried food is strangely off-putting at the moment. “Let’s make it a game-time decision.”

“Okay. Fair.”

We pay and head home again. Our new house is in the West End neighborhood close to my mother’s. It’s a brick-and-shingle home dating back to 1897. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a driveway so narrow that the Jeep barely fits.

I love it desperately. Every creaky board, and every drafty window. And I can’t wait to splash new paint on the walls. Everything upstairs is currently a murky beige.

“Uh-oh,” Jay says. “Wasn’t expecting to see him today.”

I look up to see an FBI agent on our front porch. Jim Hicksonis the lead investigator on the Chime Co. crimes. He and Jay have spent a lot of quality time together these past few months as the prosecution builds its case.

“Did you forget a meeting?” I ask. “Your lawyer will have a cow if you speak to Hickson alone.”

“Maybe it’s just a quick question,” he says. He climbs out of the Jeep and greets the agent with a wave and an outstretched hand.

I collect our bag of tiny paint cans and head for the door.

“Hey, Ariel?” Jay calls. “Honey?”

When I turn, Hickson is approaching me. “Sorry to interrupt your morning,” he says, offering his hand for a shake. “But the question I have is for you, not Jay.”

“Oh.” That’s unusual. “Will it take much time?”

He shakes his head. “Five minutes, tops. You either remember this detail, or you don’t.”

“All right. Come inside.” I lead him into the kitchen.