Chapter 3
The phone slips through my fingers and lands on the bed, screen down. How long I leave it there, I’m not certain. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have a single coherent thought in my head, never mind words to form into sentences and questions.
Malcolm’s mother and Orson Yates? I don’t need to worry about keeping this a secret from Malcolm. If I told him, he wouldn’t believe me, not when I don’t believe it.
I wonder if the call is still connected. Then I wonder if it would look too obvious if I brushed my thumb over Cancel and disconnected it. My stomach is a bundle of knots, and my chest feels tight. I don’t want to talk about affairs and broken marriages. I don’t want to know how it all relates to my parents’ deaths.
Because clearly it does.
At last, I retrieve my cell phone. Ar
