Page 16 of The Girl in the Wind

“—and that you turn on the alerts for the exterior cameras, as well as activating the interior cameras when you’re asleep or away from home.” Another smile. “I know it’s an inconvenience. I know it’s not fun. I know it’s not fair, having to worry about things like that, because of someone else’s bad behavior. But once those things are part of your routine, you’ll hardly notice them.”

Theo still hadn’t said anything, and Auggie realized, again, he would be the one to speak. “Thank you.” It sounded so awful, like they were still saying their lines, so he worked some moisture into his mouth and tried again. “Thanks, John-Henry.”

He squeezed Auggie’s shoulder again, and the three of them headed for the front of the house.

“I meant what I said.” And now John-Henry’s eyes darted to Theo, their gaze quick and assessing before returning to Auggie. “If you need anything, call me.”

Auggie nodded.

“Yarmark and Nickels will let you know when they’re finished. And they’ll clean up when they’re done.” The last part was delivered in a louder voice.

“Roger that, Chief,” came Yarmark’s twentysomething enthusiasm.

Nickels didn’t make a noise, but Auggie thought he detected a psychic sigh.

John-Henry gave them a real smile, a commiserating one, and then he was gone.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Theo set the deadbolt. Then he started down the hallway and ducked into the bathroom. He checked the window latch and came back to the hall.

Auggie followed.

Theo skipped the office because Yarmark and Nickels were still busy, but he went through the master suite again, checking each window. He didn’t look at Auggie.

“I’ll do upstairs,” Auggie said.

Theo shook his head. He didn’t run into Auggie on his way out of the bedroom, but only because Auggie drew back, flattening himself against the wall to make room for him. To make room for his anger was more like it. For the massive rage that hung around Theo now.

He checked the slider in the living room.

“Do you want a beer?”

Another of those tight shakes of the head.

“I can go get Lana.”

“No.”

Auggie’s eyes stung. “I’m sorry about the window. I’m really sorry. I didn’t think—I mean, it’s been weeks since I had it open. I could have sworn I locked it.”

“But you didn’t,” Theo said, as he went for the stairs. “Did you?”

4

By lunch the next day, Theo was dragging. He’d snapped at two tenth-grade girls who wouldn’t stop talking, and he’d published the wrong unit on Canvas, so the kids had all seen the quiz they were supposed to take at the end of the unit, and when a junior boy had muttered something about Theo’s mood, Theo had sent him to Wieberdink’s office without an explanation.

He ate at his desk, alone, in a grainy haze of exhaustion. He kept thinking he heard a high-pitched note, like maybe overnight he’d developed tinnitus. The red of the digital clock glared back at him, and he thought, It’s only eleven-thirty.

After a bad evening, he’d spent a worse night on the sofa. It had been dramatic, which was a grown-up way of saying it had been childish. It had been petty. And, worse, it had been spiteful. All of it done to punish Auggie because that was, perhaps not so conveniently, the best way to punish himself. It had all been horrible, everything from the supreme dickishness of walking the house and checking the locks, making sure Auggie knew what he was doing, to the stilted carnival-house pretense of normalcy when Theo finally got home with Lana.

When it had finally been time for bed, sleep had seemed like a mercy, but, of course, it hadn’t come. He’d lain there, on the beautiful mid-century sofa that Auggie had agonized over, smelling the fading scent of the leather, under a throw that managed somehow to leave him both too hot and too cold at the same time. And he had been forced to stay there, victim to his worst nightmares—an intruder coming into their home while they slept, a gun, no, a knife, Lana’s screams, Auggie’s bloodied body crumpled on the floor. That had been his night: exile to his own private hellscape, population one. And now, trying not to get mustard in his eyes as he rubbed them, Theo thought maybe he deserved worse.

It wasn’t Auggie’s fault; the rational part of him knew that. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, but it most certainly wasn’t Auggie’s. They both used the office. They both occasionally opened the window, although Auggie, still a California boy at heart, relished mild days. If Theo were being totally objective about it, he could admit that it was more likely Auggie had been the one to open the window. And it wouldn’t have been out of character for Auggie to have left the window unlocked; he wasn’t absent-minded or careless, but those things weren’t a fixation for him, the way they could become for Theo.

Even last night, in the grip of terror and fury, a part of Theo had known it wasn’t Auggie’s fault. But the need to lash out, the need to externalize that pain rather than dying from it—which was what it felt like—had been too much. And now, eating a hastily made turkey sandwich (the turkey slimy because, of course, Auggie usually made him a sandwich, and Theo had grabbed the old stuff without realizing it), he hurt in all sorts of new ways.

When he and Auggie had been dating and then living together, when Theo had still been so…reactive, and when it seemed like every year sent them tumbling into a new disaster, he had understood, at some level, that Auggie wouldn’t put up with it forever. Auggie was patient. And Auggie was kind. And, in a way that still left Theo occasionally breathless, a kind of gut-punch surprise that caught Theo when the realization came on him unawares, Auggie loved Theo. But the thought remained, still surfacing when the fear came, and Theo had to struggle to master it: Auggie wouldn’t put up with it forever.

Before he could think about it anymore, he took out his phone and called.

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