Chapter 4: Hank's Truck

"Step back, Owen," Hank said.

He had crossed the gravel in six long strides, and he stopped between my husband and my sister's car.

"Stay out of this," Owen said.

"I'm out of nothing. Step back."

Owen looked at him, then at Wren, who had one hand on the driver's door and her phone in the other.

"She's recording you," I said.

Owen took one step back, and then another.

"Why are you standing next to my wife, Hank?" he said. "You've got a lot of nerve."

"I'm standing here because you won't."

Hank turned to me.

He had a chipped front tooth that showed when he was nervous, and it showed now.

"Libby. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I said one sentence in there last night." His voice was rough. "Then I sat back down. I should have said more. I should have said it years ago."

"You said one," I agreed.

He nodded and did not look away.

"Do you need somewhere to go?" he said. "There's a flat above the boatyard office. It's got a bed and a lock. Nobody would ask you anything."

"I'm staying with my sister."

"Then the offer's open. The door sticks, you have to lift it."

"Hank," Owen said behind him, "this is between my wife and me."

Hank did not turn around.

"There are things I should have told you," he said, quietly, only to me.

Wren opened the car door.

"Not today," she said. "She's had enough today."

Hank nodded once more and stepped back.

I got into the passenger seat.

In the side mirror, I watched Owen reach for Hank's sleeve and Hank take his arm away.

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