Chapter 2 - The Husband I Buried

Now

The next morning, I awoke on Luis’s side of the bed, my hand stroking the sheet like I would stroke his chest as we lay there. It hadn’t gotten easier, facing each day without him, and I found myself missing the little things, trying to recreate them, but it wasn’t the same.

Memories of the previous night came back as my brain slowly registered the morning sunlight. Had I really called Jess in the middle of the night, scared because a window had blown open?

My phone blared, startling me completely awake. I reached out to grab it, but it wasn’t on the bedside table where I usually left it.

I followed the sound to the ensuite bathroom, where I’d apparently left it on the sink.

It had occurred to me last night that I might be losing my mind, becoming forgetful, but the glass or two of Pinot Grigio was probably a better explanation.

Jess’s name flashed on the screen over a picture I’d taken of us together, cropped so it showed her smiling face, strands of my dark hair in the periphery of the photo, streaking across her blonde.

I answered, listening as she did her best to sound bubbly. ‘Hey, how did you sleep?’

‘OK,’ I lied, padding out to the kitchen, picking up my empty wine glass on my way.

‘You’re sure the house is secure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Kenz, I’m worried about you.’

‘I’m fine,’ I said.

A pause – Jess waiting for me to tell the truth.

‘Listen, about last night. I’m sure it was nothing. I just freaked out, that’s all. I’m not used to living alone—’ I stopped abruptly. Jess had been living alone since she broke up with her boyfriend, and she handled it fine. ‘I mean . . . I’m just used to his noise, you know?’

‘Yeah,’ she said wistfully. ‘It’s not that I don’t like being single, but sometimes I miss the little things. And, for the record, you’re allowed to freak out sometimes, and you can call me any time; you know that.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’m going to make coffee and get ready. I’ll call you later?’

‘Sure.’

The kettle clicked off. Steam curled. I turned to the cupboard and reached for Luis’s ‘best husband’ mug, a gag gift to say sorry for forgetting Valentine’s Day. A week later he went all out with flowers, chocolates and a weekend getaway to a spa, but I still kept the mug.

I stopped short when I noticed something out the corner of my eye, the mug almost falling from my hand.

The casement window frame was scratched. Not lightly. Deep enough to splinter the paint. The latch held perfectly, but the hinge hung slightly crooked where it had been torn from the wall, metal bent where it met the wood. A smear of dirt streaked the sill.

That explained the loud crack I’d heard the night before.

The hooked latch was useless. A safety measure that wouldn’t hold if someone pushed the window open now.

My breath slowed.

I ran a finger over the gouge. It was fresh. Sharp. It wasn’t there yesterday, was it?

I backed away from the window, eyes scanning outside as if whoever had tried to break in might still be there, and called Jess again.

She answered instantly.

‘What’s up?’

‘Jess, I wasn’t just spooked. The kitchen window,’ I said. ‘It’s damaged. Someone forced it open.’

Her voice shifted from casual to concerned. ‘Mackenzie, listen to me. I need you to get out of there. Now.’

‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘I just walked through the house. Whoever was here is long gone.’

‘You don’t know that,’ she said, ‘and your job . . . it’s dangerous.’

I swallowed. She was right about both things. She hadn’t said it, but we both knew I should call the police now. I was all too familiar with the kinds of complaints police heard, though, and the fear of being dismissed – or worse, being seen as hysterical – was greater than the fear of an intruder who was long gone.

‘You know, it could be old damage,’ I said. ‘And I just didn’t notice before . . .’

It sounded weak, like I didn’t believe my own words. If I argued like that in court, I’d never win a case.

‘Right.’ Jess was unconvinced. ‘Listen, I have to be in the office today,’ she said, ‘but I’d like to talk. Can we meet up after work?’

‘Sure,’ I said distractedly.

‘And get out of the house. Please. I’ll pay for a hotel room; I don’t care. Just . . . be safe.’

A breeze curled through a gap in the window that hadn’t existed yesterday.

‘I will,’ I said. ‘Love you.’

‘Love you, too.’

I ended the call, trying to steady my shaky hands.

Who broke into my house? It didn’t look like anything had been taken, but they obviously wanted something.

I stared down at my cell. Before I could talk myself out of it, I called the police.