“It was a terrible scene, a terrible scene.”

“What was a terrible scene? You’re not making any sense. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Christine said, blinking away tears, but she didn’t know when she’d been worse. She drove down High Street in the downpour and passed her hotel, realizing that she was going the wrong way. She hadn’t had a chance to put Griff’s address into the GPS, she’d been too upset when she got in the car.

“Come back to the office. We’ll talk about it.”

“I will, I missed the turn. I think he did it, Griff. I think he’s guilty. I think we’ve been working too hard and it’s all for nothing, for nothing.”

“Oh boy. What’s the matter with you? What’s come over you?”

“Everything is going to hell, Griff,” Christine heard herself saying, her heart breaking. She thought of Marcus and how much she loved him, and how she didn’t know if their marriage would survive this baby, Zachary’s baby.

“Christine?” Griff said, his tone gentler, and just the sound of it in her ear reminded her so much of her father, who used to talk to her just that way, and she realized that she would never hear that tone from him again, that her father was already gone, that she was losing everything, that nothing was left.

“Christine? Answer me.”

“I should go, I just want to hang up.” Christine blinked her eyes clear to take the next right turn after the hotel, trying to get back to town, but she was stuck on a slick, two-lane road that curved around a park. She looked for a street to turn right, but all the streets were one-way, going the wrong way.

“Don’t hang up. Now you have me worried about you.”

“Don’t worry.”

“This is ridiculous. Come back now.”

“I will,” Christine said, following the road that seemed to be heading out of town.

“I have better things to do than to worry about you. This is why I work alone.”

“I’m sorry, Griff. I’m sorry I screwed everything up.”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Where are you?”

“I don’t know, I’m lost,” Christine said, realizing the truth in the words.

“Help yourself then. Look for a sign.”

“There’s no sign.” Christine drove ahead while the houses disappeared, replaced on both sides of the road by three-rail fences bordering pastures with herds of grazing horses, their backs dappled dark with rain.

“Of course there’s a sign. Look for it.”

“No, I don’t see any.” Christine rounded a curve and spotted a white route sign through the rain. “I’m on Route 842.”

“Silly girl. You’re headed out of town. Turn around and come back.”

“Okay,” Christine said, wiping her eyes as she cruised ahead. There was too much oncoming traffic to make a U-turn, so she kept driving, past bucolic scenery that she was crying too hard to appreciate.

“Did you turn around yet?”

“I will when I can.”

“Stop blubbering. You’re going the wrong way. It turns country fast. There’s nothing out there but cornfields. Buck up.”

“Okay,” Christine said, but the tears kept coming, and her nose stopped up.

“I’ll stay on the phone. I don’t want you to kill yourself in a crash.”

“I won’t crash.”

“I’ll stay, nevertheless.”

Christine felt touched. “No, that’s okay, it’s not safe, you’re right. Let’s hang up. Thanks.”

“See you soon,” Griff said, then hung up.

Christine hung up, wiping tears from her eyes, heaving a heavy sigh, and trying to compose herself. She dug in the console for a napkin to blow her nose with, but there was only one left. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes as she passed horses and cornfields along Route 842 and drove through a tiny town of Unionville, only three blocks long. Raindrops bounced off the windshield, coming down harder, and the road wound through even prettier country, with no houses or farms except for tall white silos far from the road. Cornfields surrounded her, their green swaying in the rainy gusts.

Christine’s tears finally stopped, and she gave her nose a final blow with the soggy napkin, looking for a good place to make a U-turn. There was still too much oncoming traffic. She glanced in her rearview mirror and noticed that a white Mercedes sedan was flashing its headlights at her. She accelerated, realizing she must have eased off the gas during her crying jag.

She drove ahead, looking for a street to turn into, but it was hard to see in the driving rain, and there were only cornfields. She glanced behind her again, and the white Mercedes was still flashing its headlights at her, which she didn’t understand. There was no room to pass her, and Christine was going as fast as she could, so she put her right blinker on to signal that she would be turning soon.

She spotted a gravel road up ahead, slowed to get ready to turn right, then steered onto the gravel road. It was only one car wide, heading out of sight between the cornfields, and she braked to turn around, which would take some doing because it was so narrow. Reflexively, she checked the rearview mirror again. Oddly, the white Mercedes was still behind her.

She blinked her eyes clear, not understanding what she was seeing, but in the next moment, the driver of the white Mercedes lowered the window and stuck a hand outside, waving it frantically. The driver must have been a woman, and gold bangles lined her wrist.

And she started honking at Christine, trying to flag her down.

Chapter Fifty

Christine braked, startled to see the Mercedes driver get out of her car, slam the door behind her, and hustle toward her in tan heels, splashing through the watery gravel, heedless of the downpour. Rain flattened the woman’s fancy salt-and-pepper coif and drenched the shoulders of her pink pastel suit.

“Can I help you?” Christine lowered her window, blinking against the rain just as the woman got there, her forehead buckled with pain and her mascara running, as if she had been crying, too.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded, distraught. She hooked her manicured fingernails over the top of Christine’s window, her brown eyes desperate.

“What? Who are you?” Christine drew back from the window, and raindrops sprayed inside the car.