“I found something in Ian’s tux.”
I fumbled my phone out of the robe’s pocket.
My friend’s grogginess vanished.
“Define something.”
“A key. A note I think is from a woman. Signed R. And a jeweler’s receipt from three weeks ago for an amount that could buy a used car.”
There was a long, careful pause.
“Okay. Breathe, friend. What does the note say exactly?”
I read it to her, whispering, my back sliding down the wallpaper until I was crouched in the stairwell doorway.
“Define something.”
“Marisol, he had this in his pocket on our wedding night. While he was saying his vows.”
“Stop. Stop spiraling. You don’t know what this is yet.”
“I have a pretty good guess.”
“You have a bad guess,” my friend said. “You have a scared guess. There’s a difference.”
I pressed the key to my lips. The ribbon was velvety, worn soft, as if someone had handled it a lot.
“Stop spiraling.”
“Who do we know whose name starts with R?” Marisol asked.
“Nobody. Not in his family. Not in mine. His mom is Beth. His sister is Kayla. I don’t know a single R.”
“An ex?”
“He hasn’t spoken to an ex in years, Marisol; you know that.”
“Okay, okay. What about the receipt? What did he buy?”
“I don’t know a single R.”
“It doesn’t say what. Just the amount and the store name. Bellamy & Sons.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Me neither. That’s the point. Ian’s never mentioned that place. Not once. And we tell each other when we buy socks.”
I heard her sit up as the sheets rustled.
“Sharon. Listen to me. I know your brain. I know it’s running through every bad movie you’ve ever seen right now. Do not go back in there and shake him awake.”
“Never heard of it.”
