Page 54 of The Couple's Secret
“You’ll buy me those anyway.”
“I’m not keen on incurring Paula’s wrath,” Josie said but she was smiling. “You’re not a crier either.”
They were the same in so many ways even though Gretchen was ten years older. The steel in their souls had been forged in trauma. Processing it often felt like a full-time job that neither of them was equipped to handle, even with the help of their therapists.
“I’m getting better at it.” Gretchen shrugged. “You know, we could both be more committed criers if we sat with our feelings or whatever the hell we’re supposed to be doing.”
“Fuck. That.”
Chuckling, Gretchen looked around the parking lot. “Maybe Dalton was smart enough to make up the laughing detail. Maybe he’s lying so he can distract us from the fact that he’s a violent stalker piece of shit who can’t let go of his ex-wife even seven years after her death. He’s still a suspect as far as I’m concerned.”
“I’m with you on that.”
He certainly wasn’t credible. The statements he’d given Fanning over the years were riddled with inconsistencies.
Josie’s phone chirped. A text message from Noah. Wren’s making dinner tonight. Said she finally got Misty’s homemade pasta recipe right. We’re going to try it.
Her heart soared and then sank in the same moment. The three of them had dinner together whenever their schedules allowed but Wren barely spoke. She’d never been an active participant before, despite how much she enjoyed cooking with Misty. This had to be progress. Regardless, even if Josie and Gretchen left Brighton Springs now and broke some land-speed records, she’d never make it back in time to join them. Disappointment hit her hard.
But maybe they were also having dinner with Misty and Harris. Possibly Erica. Wren was always more animated and open with them around. Josie typed back.
Who else will be there?
No one. Just us. Wish me luck.
She sent him a bunch of fingers crossed emojis before tossing her phone into the center console and swearing under her breath.
Gretchen raised a brow, a silent invitation to discuss what was bothering her, but Josie just sighed and said, “We’ll need to talk with Hollis.”
“I’m sure he’s already back in Denton. Tomorrow we’ll track him down.”
Twenty-Nine
“Tell me everything,” Josie said.
From where he stood at the foot of the bed, Noah grinned at her. He tucked his polo shirt into his khakis. His hair was damp from a shower and tousled exactly the right amount to give her dirty thoughts. By the time she got home from Brighton Springs, dinner was long over and Wren had retreated to her room to study for her finals.
Noah and Wren had eaten all the pasta, so Josie ordered a pizza, which she dug into while she and Noah discussed the Lachlan/Stevens case. By tacit agreement, they didn’t dare discuss Wren where she might overhear them. She made a brief appearance to tell them good night before going to bed. After that, Josie and Noah had gone to their room. Unfortunately, he was due on the overnight shift, which didn’t give them much time together.
“It was interesting,” Noah said. “The food was good. Much better than either of us could have made.”
Josie rolled her eyes. “No shit. We suck. How was she? Did she talk? What did she say?”
“She asked me if I liked the pasta. I said yes. She gave me a long play-by-play on how to make it. I asked her about school. She said it was boring and that she hates that the only thing adults ever ask kids is ‘how is school?’”
“She has a point,” Josie said. Again, she had the sensation of her heart soaring and sinking almost simultaneously. This was huge progress. She was thrilled that Wren had spoken so freely, acted like a real member of the household, but sad that she hadn’t been there for it. Then again, would Wren have opened up if Josie had also been there? Was it easier for her to talk with them one on one? The morning Josie had come home from finding Tobias Lachlan’s sedan, stinking of rot and river, Wren had said more to her than she had in the previous month.
“She asked me what’s the most annoying question that I get as an adult?”
Josie laughed. That sounded like an icebreaker question that Turner would ask Dr. Feist. “What did you say?”
“Like you don’t know.” He sat on the edge of the bed and started pulling on his boots.
“It’s either ‘Do you have any plans for the weekend?’ or ‘Are you ready for the holidays?’”
Noah chuckled. “The holiday one is seasonal.”
“There are a lot of holidays.”
