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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CELINE

When I wake up the next morning, there’s a sense of peace settled over me that I haven’t felt in a long time.

For once, I have an answer about Tate. I don’t know where he is or what has happened, but I know he’s alive. I know he’s coming home to me, even if it won’t be to give me the answer I’m hoping for. Even if it won’t be to tell me this has all been a misunderstanding, and he never wanted to leave and only took all our money so he could put it in a better investment account he just hadn’t had the chance to tell me about yet, at least I will know. And knowing is always better than wondering. If I know, I can move forward. I can choose strength.

As of right now, the only thing I can do is try to understand what feels impossible to understand.

The house is still quiet, which takes me by surprise until I realize that it’s nine a.m., and my parents must’ve already taken the boys to school. They let me sleep in, and for the first time, I was actually able to. It makes me sad I didn’t say goodbye to the boys and wish them a good day, but I’ll make it up to them as soon as Tate is home safe. Maybe I’ll even make a cake—or, let’s be honest, buy a cake.

I wash my face and brush my teeth, running a comb through my curls before tying them up off of my neck. I’m starting to feel better already. More normal. No one prepares you for how quickly that happens, how quickly an unthinkable reality becomes normal.

But it’s almost over. Just one more day. Less than a day, really.

In the hall, I pop my head into the boys’ rooms to make sure they’re both gone, and when I’m positive they are, I text my mom to say thank you and make my way into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed the silence. I guess I didn’t realize it until right now, but the entire house has been buzzing lately with concern and expectations. My parents and in-laws are well-meaning, of course, and I can’t fault them or say I wish they’d do anything differently, it’s just nice to have a few moments of silence for the first time in a while. To be able to feel what I’m feeling without an audience.

In a sort of cruel irony, a knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. My chest tightens, blood running cold.

Is he here already?

He said he’d be coming tonight, not today, right? Or was I just so tired and distraught I’d misunderstood? I run a hand over my hair and hurry toward the door, hoping the knock won’t wake up the boys. Then I remember they’re already at school for the day. Gosh, my mind is so frazzled.

When I reach the door, my heart sinks, then tenses again. It’s not Tate, but it is the police. I can’t tell them anything, can’t let them know I’ve spoken to Tate, but I’m not a good liar. Especially not to the police. I’m going to totally fail at this.

I swing open the door to see Detective Monroe waiting on our porch. He smiles without showing his teeth. “Good morning, Mrs. Thompson.”

“Good morning. Is everything alright?” Do they know I spoke with Tate? Do they know I’m lying? Have they bugged the house? Are they listening to me? Following me?

“Yes, I just wanted to bring this by while I was out on another call today. They were going to reach out to you about coming to pick it up, but I was in the area.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a plastic bag. Inside are Tate’s cell phone and wallet.

I suck in a breath when he places the entire bag into my hands. There’s writing on the outside. Tate’s name, a date, and more that I don’t understand. “I get these back?”

“Yep. Our IT team has run the phone through all of their systems and pulled the information they needed, so they’re all yours again.” He pats the doorframe. “Do you have any updates for me?”

It feels like a test. I feel like he knows the answer, and I’m about to fail. “Um, no. I don’t think so.” My entire body is a block of ice as I wait for him to respond.

He waits for several seconds but eventually nods. “Okay. Well, you know how to reach me if anything comes up. Take care of yourself, yeah?” He takes a step back, pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes before he turns around and heads toward the car.

In the kitchen, I cut the bag open and flip Tate’s phone over in my hand, pressing the button to turn it on. The screen stays dark. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. Of course his phone is dead at this point. I open the junk drawer and pull out an old phone charger, plugging it in with shaking hands and tapping the counter as I wait for the device to come on.

When it eventually does, a photo of the four of us at the petting zoo fills the screen, and my throat goes tight.

What if Tate doesn’t want this anymore? What if he doesn’t want us?

It’s a hard reality to consider, that this man isn’t who he swore to me he was. There were no signs that he was unhappy from what I can recall. He seemed as in love as I am. He was an attentive and present husband and father. A true partner. He never forgot a birthday or anniversary. He loved us and took care of us.

Was it all just a con? A trick?

On the phone, he said I’d changed him. Fixed him. Was that all a lie?

The only sign that there was ever anything wrong was…the text.

Tell her.

I open his text messages, wondering if it will still be there. To my surprise, it is. A number not saved in his contacts and a single message. Surely the police looked into this. They must already know who it is that sent it.

My thumb hovers over the screen for several seconds. What’s the worst that can happen? If it’s about work, I’ll just apologize and move on. But if it’s not…

Has Tate left me for another woman?

Does this number belong to that woman?

The curiosity is too much to bear. I select the number and place the phone to my ear.

“I wondered when you’d call.” The voice on the phone belongs to a man, and it’s one I recognize, but it takes me a few seconds to place it. “Your wife came by the other day.”

“Aaron.”

His voice comes out in a breathless whisper, and I know I’ve ruined it. I just know he’s going to hang up on me, but he doesn’t. “Who is this?”

I lick my lips, trying to pull myself together. “It’s Celine Thompson. Tate’s wife. I just got his phone back from the police.”

“Oh. I just assumed he had finally resurfaced.”

“No, still nothing,” I lie. “I saw the text on his phone. You told him to ‘tell her.’ Were you talking about me? What did you want him to tell me? Tate said it was something about a bad appraisal at work, but I’m guessing that was a lie.”

He huffs a breath.

“Please just tell me. Is Tate lying to me? Did he leave me? I know you don’t know me, and you don’t owe me anything, but please…if you know something, just tell me the truth. All I want is to know the truth so I can move on.”

“I, um, look, I can’t talk about this over the phone. Can you meet me somewhere?”

“At your work?”

“No, not here. There’s a restaurant near here. It’s quiet. We’ll be able to talk. I’ll send you the address. Meet me at…” He pauses. “Meet me at one, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Okay. And thank you.”

“I don’t know if you’ll be saying thank you after I tell you everything,” he grumbles. “I’ll see you soon. Oh, and obviously, don’t tell anyone we’re meeting.”

Before I can respond, he ends the call and I stare down at the screen.

One step closer to understanding the truth.