Chapter 8: February

The cruiser's blue light was still turning on the ceiling of my hall when I took my daughter out of Alastair's arms.

I carried her to the bassinet by the kitchen window and laid her down.

Hazel said, "I'll make tea," and left the room with her pan.

That was how I knew it was going to be bad.

I turned around.

Alastair stood in the middle of my kitchen with his hands open at his sides.

"What did you know in February?" I asked.

He didn't say it wasn't true.

"I saw them," he said. "The second week of February. I was driving past the Harbor Inn at two in the afternoon, and Brennan's car was in the lot."

"A car isn't anything."

"I stopped. I waited. At ten past three, the two of them came out of a side door."

His jaw worked.

"His hand was on her back. She was laughing."

I felt the counter edge against my spine and realized I had backed into it.

"Which one?" I said, though I knew.

"Bridget. My Bridget."

He said it with disgust, at himself.

"You said you found out the morning of the wedding," I said. "From her planner."

"I lied."

"You looked me in the eye and said it in my kitchen."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because I'd already said nothing for five months, and I couldn't make the next sentence be the true one."

Five months.

The dates lined up in my head.

In the week of Valentine's Day I had been four months pregnant and just starting to show.

I had been painting the nursery yellow, standing on a step stool while Brennan held the ladder and called me brave.