Chương 6
There was a cereal bowl on the counter.
A towel lay on the living-room floor.
Liam stopped just inside the doorway.
Claire almost walked into him.
“What?”
He looked toward the stairs.
“Nothing.”
I set my purse down.
“We can leave.”
“No.”
“You don’t have to stay here.”
“I want my stuff.”
“You can get your stuff and we’ll go somewhere else.”
He frowned.
“But this is our house.”
There was no accusation in it.
That made it worse.
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“It is.”
He went upstairs with Claire while I took photographs.
The refrigerator held half a gallon of milk past its date, mustard, pickles, beer, a bag of carrots, two yogurt cups, shredded cheese, and three plastic containers of leftovers.
One smelled sour when I opened it, so I closed it immediately.
There was bread in the pantry, but the loaf had only heels remaining.
The peanut butter jar was nearly empty.
I photographed everything.
Then I found a stack of grocery receipts held under a magnet on the side of the refrigerator.
Brandon normally threw receipts away.
These were mine.
I checked the dates.
The last real grocery trip had been eight days before he left.
I remembered buying food quickly because I was waiting for the hospital to call about my mother’s belongings.
Brandon had said he would shop before the trip.
There was no evidence he had.
Claire came downstairs carrying Liam’s backpack.
“He wants to bring every stuffed animal he owns.”
“Fine.”
“There are nineteen.”
“Then bring nineteen.”
“Some of them are the size of livestock.”
“Claire.”
“I said fine.”
She disappeared upstairs again.
My phone buzzed.
Brandon.
Landing tomorrow at 3:20.
We need to talk before you do anything irrational.
I stared at the message.
I had apparently already become the irrational person in his version of events.
I sent it to Harris and took a screenshot.
Then I called a locksmith.
The woman who answered asked whether I owned the property.
“Yes.”
“Both spouses on the deed?”
“Yes.”
She paused.
“We can change the locks, but if he’s a legal owner, that doesn’t necessarily prevent him from having a right to enter.”
“I understand.”
I did not, actually.
I called a family-law attorney next.
The receptionist said the earliest consultation was Monday.
When I told her why I was calling, she put me on hold.
A different woman picked up two minutes later.
“This is Marlene Fox.”
Her voice was brisk and dry.
“Tell me only what happened in the last seven days.”
I liked her immediately for not asking how my marriage had been.
I told her.
She interrupted often.
“Whose name is on the deed?”
“Both.”
“Joint checking?”
“Yes.”
“Separate accounts?”
“Yes.”
“Does he have firearms?”
“No.”
“Any domestic violence history?”
“No.”
“Any threats?”
“Not exactly.”
“That phrase usually means yes-adjacent.”
I looked toward the stairs.
“He told me not to accuse him of crimes.”
“That’s not a threat by itself.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
She asked me to email the police incident number, the canceled-ticket screenshot, and Brandon’s texts.
Then she said something that knocked the air out of me.
“Do not empty the joint account.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I’m not trying to punish him.”
“Excellent.”
Her keyboard clicked.
“Because right now your job is boring.”
“Boring?”
“Protect your child, preserve evidence, stabilize money, avoid theatrical decisions.”
I almost laughed.
Nothing in my life felt boring.
“I can file for temporary orders Monday morning if you retain me.”
“What kind of orders?”
“Possession of the residence, parenting restrictions where applicable, financial restraints.”
“Liam isn’t his biological son.”
“Does Brandon have guardianship or adoption rights?”
“No.”
“Then that simplifies one thing.”
One thing.
The phrase followed me for the rest of the afternoon.
Claire and I packed enough clothing for Liam and me to stay at a hotel for several days.
I took my passport, birth certificates, Liam’s Social Security card, insurance documents, medications, my work laptop, and my mother’s folder from Milwaukee.
Five years of marriage taught me exactly where Brandon kept warranties for appliances and absolutely nothing about how to dismantle a shared life.
At five, Tyler called.
I nearly ignored it.
Then I remembered Harris’s warning not to influence him.
I answered and immediately said, “I’m not asking you anything about your statement.”
Tyler exhaled loudly.
“Okay.”
There was traffic behind him.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“If I’d known Liam was there—”
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
“Brandon told police you were supposed to check on him.”
Silence.
“I know.”
“Did he tell you why he said that?”
“No.”
Tyler sounded embarrassed.
“He texted me this morning and asked if I remembered him saying something about keeping an eye on Liam.”
My whole body went cold.
“What did you say?”
“I told him no.”
“Do you still have the text?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t delete it.”
“I already sent it to the detective.”
I sat down at the kitchen table.
“Good.”
Another pause stretched between us.
Then Tyler said, “Rachel, there’s something weird about the package.”
I looked toward Claire, who had entered the kitchen carrying a laundry basket.
“What package?”
“The one I brought inside.”
“You told police about it.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t open it.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“No, listen.”
His voice dropped.
“When Brandon asked me to bring it inside, he said it was expensive and he didn’t want it sitting on the porch.”
“So?”
“It wasn’t delivered that day.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The label was already on the box when I picked it up, but it wasn’t addressed to Brandon.”
“Who was it addressed to?”
“I didn’t really look at the name then.”
He hesitated.
“I noticed because Harris asked me to describe it.”
“Tyler.”
“It had Liam’s name on it.”
I stood.
Claire mouthed, What?
I held up one finger.
“Where exactly did you put it?”
“On the floor beside Brandon’s desk.”
May you like
I ended the call without asking anything else.
Claire followed me down the hallway.
