A week before the crash, someone left a note under my wiper: Drop it. Think of your wife.
For one sick second I just stared at her.
At the bottom of the page, Liam had written: If Mark gives you this, go to the storage unit. Toolbox. Underside. Don't tell Grace.
I looked at Mark. "Did Liam think Ryan would hurt him?"
Mark rubbed a hand over his face. "He hoped not. But he was worried enough to leave me that envelope."
I drove home in a daze and saw Grace through the kitchen window making pancakes with the kids.
For one sick second I just stared at her.
Then I went in smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
"Who wants lunch out?" I asked.
Then I went to the bank.
Ava looked up. "Can we get fries?"
"Yes."
Ben gasped like I had offered him a pony.
Grace frowned. "I thought I was making—"
"I know. Thank you." I kept smiling. "I just need to get them out for a bit."
I took the kids with me first. I dropped them at our neighbor Nina's house and said I had errands and might cry in public if she asked questions. She hugged me and took them inside.
That explained why Grace had been hovering over me ever since the funeral.
Then I went to the bank.
