Page 119 of The Quiet Tenant

I told the officer okay. It didn’t matter who I told. She introduced me to Agent Something. I didn’t catch her name when she first said it and then it was too late to ask.

It doesn’t matter what her name is. It only matters what I told her, and those facts will remain the same. They will remain the same forever.

In a small room with the heating set too high, I sat with Agent Something and surrendered everything that used to be ours, every sentence a betrayal. The texts. That night in the pantry. I chose my words carefully, but there are things that don’t sound pretty, no matter how hard you think about your words.

Agent Something took notes. My phone had to stay, she said. Ditto the necklace. She took the scarf, too. “It’s just a scarf,” I told her. “What difference does it make?”

She shook her head. “We don’t know,” she told me. “That’s why we have to check. It could be evidence. Anything could be.”

I removed the scarf and gave it to her. A draft snaked down my neck. “Something else,” she said. “We searched his house overnight. We found some items pertaining to you.”

That was news to me. I never gave him anything aside from a box of cookies.

Agent Something leaned over the table that separated us. “Would you like to know?” she asked.

It was my turn to shake my head. “It doesn’t matter now,” I said.

She gave me a nod and turned a page on her notebook. Scanned it like she was searching for something, but wasn’t sure what.

“Listen,” she said, her hand falling back onto the page. “Maybe you can help me understand. Every person we’ve spoken to so far says this man was beloved. Or at least very well liked by all those who knew him. No one can remember a single argument, not one unpleasant interaction. And it’s my understanding that you were…very attached to him.”

She waited. I didn’t say anything.

“It seems to me,” she continued, “that people loved and trusted him because he was a normal man. Because he was a father who took his daughter to school and clothed and fed her and helped people around town.” She shifted in her seat, adjusted the service weapon hanging from her waistband. “I don’t know that a woman in the same situation would have scored as many sympathy points. That’s all.”

You have no idea,I wanted to tell her.You have no idea, because you didn’t know him like we did, and now you never will. He didn’t lay his eyes on you and make you feel like you’d never be alone again. You’ve never felt warmed by his laugh, comforted by the heat of his skin against yours.

You’ve never loved him, and so you’ll never know. You’ll never understand how he could be.

“I guess you’re right,” I told her. She let out a brief sigh and told me I was free to go.

Right before she opened the door to let me out, she paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Would it be okay if we contacted you further down the road?” she asked. I nodded.

Cooperating. That’s what I’ve been doing. Telling them everything I know. Showing them everything they can see.

I know what they’re thinking. That I must have known. How could I not have known? How could I have looked into his eyes, how could I have held him so close, and not known?

They want to believe I knew. They need to tell themselves I did, because if I didn’t, it means they wouldn’t have known, either.

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FOR THREE DAYS,I hide. I don’t go to the restaurant. I don’t open. I don’t close. No one asks. No one wants to come near me.

On the third day, Yuwanda walks into my bedroom, carrying a cup of tea and a mug of coffee. “I didn’t know which one you’d prefer,” she says. “I feel like there’s a lot about you I don’t know.” I wince. She says sorry. I tell her it’s okay.

We talk. Just a bit. Eric joins us and sits on the edge of the bed. They don’t want to ask too much, and I don’t have many answers to give. I tell them about the texts. I tell them Aidan and I had beenseeing each other. They don’t ask what it means, exactly, seeing each other.

One day, the police report will become public. They will read it. People I’ve never met—hundreds of them—will read it.

None of this belongs to me anymore.

Yuwanda shakes her head. “You were alone with him,” she says. “I can’t believe you were alone with him, all these times, and we had no idea.”

I raise my hand. She stops. I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to talk about why I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to try to explain.

I can’t explain.

Eric changes the topic.

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