“That would be great,” Anne said. Anything to delay talking about Joe. She leaned back against the cotton upholstery of the couch and closed her eyes, listening to Nick in the kitchen: the clink of glasses being taken from a cupboard, the refrigerator door opening and closing, the beer being poured.
She opened her eyes when he sat down beside her and handed her a glass.
They each took a sip. Nick leaned against her and kissed her, transferring some of the beer in his mouth to hers.
He set his glass on the table in front of them. “Okay, let’s talk.”
Anne shook her head. “I don’t see why we have to.”
“Yes, you do. Now, I know this isn’t easy, but Joe—let’s face it—he’s insane. Everything in his journal points to it. It would be different if the journals were all like they were in his yo
