Page 101 of You Know Why

Trey never told me any of this. Not about his time in the service, not about his dreams of living a small-town life, certainly not about his first wife. His childhood sweetheart. My God—that, I would remember, right? The accident hasn’t erased these fundamental truths from my head, has it?

There are references to additional transcripts, as well as the videos made of his several interviews with the police. He passed the polygraph—I have a momentary spark of pride in that. Of course he passed. Of course he didn’t kill his wife.

But he’d managed to hide his involvement, the accusations, the suspicions, for all these years.

What kind of person does that?

“One who loves you and will do anything to protect you,” his disembodied voice says.

I shove him away. If he didn’t do it, there was no reason not to tell me.

I close the file, no longer willing to fight that something dreadful has happened to Trey. He saw Eden Barrow, and his old life smash cut into his current one, and instead of just telling me the truth, he ran.

But that is the action of a weak man, and I’ve never known him to be weak.

What else could it be, then? And why are the police so convinced he was driving the car that hit me? The video of him looks wrong; so do the pictures. My brain is an unreliable place, though. Maybe it’s true. Maybe he did. Maybe he wanted me dead all along.

“Mom!”

There are calls from the foyer, the door slamming shut, and my children tear into the room. Neve is wearing her tutu, and Four is wearing a hockey uniform. My heart bursts with joy. I recognize them. My babies are home.

“Where are your coats?” I ask. The two look at one another and shrug.

“Here they are,” trills a voice that doesn’t belong. “They were playing at the Wolffs’ and left them in the car.”

Eden.

She is still here. And the kids have pivoted from my path to hers.

“Aunt Eden, are there cookies?” Four asks.

“You know there are,” Neve replies, then smiles toward me. “Aunt Eden makes us cookies every day.”

“All that sugar will rot your teeth,” I say, because what the hell? “Go wash up, and I’ll cut you an apple.”

Thankfully, they are too excited for me to be home to fight. They thunder upstairs, and I face Eden.

“I appreciate your help. I really do. But now that I’m home, I think it’s best if you go back to Atlanta.”

“Oh, but I have such wonderful news! Come into the kitchen and I’ll tell you and Margot and the kids together. But first, let me hang up these coats.”

I grit my teeth at her simpering smile and walk back to the kitchen. The kids come running down the stairs. I drop the file in Margot’s lap with purpose and go to the refrigerator, pull out an apple, get the corer from the drawer. Only . . . the drawers have been reset. I open and close three, noticing each has been changed, rearranged, before I find the corer in the third drawer with some other odd-shaped cutlery.

“I took the opportunity to clean everything out,” Eden says, appearing like a genie beside me. “The police searched this whole place, and it was a disaster. Covered in fingerprint dust, everything in disarray. I hope you don’t mind. I set things up in a more logical way, so it’s easier to find what you need. See? The silverware is right here by the dishwasher, all the towels are in a drawer together, the knives—”

I already have the corer in my hand, or else I would grab one of said knives and jam it into her eye.

“Yes, Eden. I see what you’ve done. Thank you.”

If my exaggerated graciousness is noticed, it doesn’t faze her.

“Okay, everyone, I have some news to share! Sit, sit.”

We sit. Margot is grinning like she already knows, or suspects, what Eden is about to say.

“My transfer came through! I am officially based out of Nashville now!”

The kids lose their minds. They are overjoyed, jumping around, cawing, “Aunt Eden is staying, Aunt Eden is staying,” and Margot is up and dancing with them.