Page 59 of The Thinnest Air

Andrew’s demeanor snaps, and he rises from the table, pounding his fist against the wood.“Stop.”

My brows lift. “Stop what? Stop pointing out the things that everyone else refuses to acknowledge? Stop looking for my sister? What, Andrew? Stop what?”

He glares. “Stop being such a fucking bitch.”

When Andrew moves toward the doorway to the kitchen, he lingers, his fists clenched in the air and his mouth pinched, as if he wants to say more. But he stops himself. His arms fall at his sides, limp.

Isabeau pulls up a seat at the table, her dark hair ruffled from a night of sleeping in her princess canopy bed. She yawns, watching the two of us like we’re her personal entertainment.

“Now’s not the place,” Wade says, nodding toward Andrew’s daughter. “Perhaps you two should finish this conversation in private?”

“There’s nothing more to be said.” Andrew slashes his hand through the air. “My wife is missing, Greer. I’m under an intense amount of pressure and scrutiny. Do you have any idea what that feels like? And for you to sit back and judge me and look at me like I could have possibly had anything to do with this? Why should I let you stay here?”

“Andrew ...” My mother comes to my defense for the first time in decades. “Let’s not say anything we might regret.”

“I’m sorry, Brenda.” He turns to her. “I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. She needs to go. At least ... for a little while.”

Fuck.

The hotels in this area are insanely expensive, the cheapest one being $500 a night during off-season last time I checked, and we’re in the thick of peak season.

I can’t afford to stay here.

I can barely afford the rent on my studio apartment.

But more than that, I can’t afford to skip a few days of searching for Meredith.

“Maybe I overstepped my boundaries,” I say. “Maybe I came on a little too intense. I’m sorry.” I try to look him in the eyes, but he won’t return it. “I’ll go home for a few days. I’ll get out of your hair. And when I come back, we can start fresh. I’ll try to be more cognizant of what you’re going through.”

The thought of leaving here with zero answers to all these questions and not a single step closer to finding my sister makes my stomach twist, but Andrew’s heavy breathing and cold stare tell me he needs space. And I need somewhere to crash until we find her.

His lips flatten, and he nods.

Returning to my room, I pack my bag and book my flight home.

My red-eye leaves tonight.

CHAPTER 27

MEREDITH

Eighteen Months Ago

He’s home.

Sitting at the kitchen table holding an opened envelope from McCray, Prendergast, and Van Clef PC, I drag my fingertips over the torn paper.

“Hey.” Andrew passes by, his briefcase in his left hand, and presses a kiss into the top of my head. “How was your day?”

I say nothing, my blood boiling from my discovery a mere hour ago.

Boredom put me into a cleaning frenzy earlier, and I spent most of the day organizing anything I could find: desks, drawers, closets. But when I headed into Andrew’s study and found an opened letter dated six months ago and addressed to me hiding beneath a mountain of paperwork in his bottom left drawer, that’s when my world tilted on its axis.

“Why was this in your office?” I ask. “And why thehellwas it opened?”

I slide the torn envelope across the table, watching as his gaze narrows and his shoulders slump.

Andrew exhales, taking the seat next to me, sliding his hands down his cheeks as he gathers his thoughts.