My breath catches in my throat. I watch Graham’s expression, which barely changes. He doesn’t seem at all worried. Does he realize the police are at the door? Does he recognize he’s about to get led out of here in handcuffs?
He rises from his seat, dabbing his lips with a napkin from the table. “I wonder who that could be. Camila isn’t coming for half an hour…”
I have no idea who Camila is, but my heart is pounding as I follow Graham to the front door. The lights of the police car are flashing through the front windows, and he stops short at the sight of it. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
Damn straight. That bastard is going to get nailed.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key to unlock the front door. A single officer is standing there in a blue uniform. My shoulders sag with relief. Thank God. This nightmare is about to be over.
“Hi, Mr. Thurman,” the officer says. I don’t know who he is talking to, but then I realize Thurman must be Graham’s last name. “Sorry to bother you, but we got a 911 call from this house…”
I grit my teeth. I don’t understand what’s going on here. Why is the officer so chummy with my husband? And why is he apologizing for responding to a 911 call that I’m being imprisoned? Why isn’t he handcuffing Graham as we speak?
Graham shoots a look in my direction. “Christ, Tess, did you call 911 again?”
My mouth falls open but I can’t get any words out.
“I tried to disable it on her phone,” Graham says to the officer. “But I couldn’t figure out how. I’ll have to give it another try. I’m sorry about bothering you.”
The cop tips his head. “No worries, Mr. Thurman. I just wanted to make sure everything is okay.”
With those words, I finally find my voice. “Everything is not okay!” I burst out. “Look at the door to our house! This man is holding me hostage here! He’s drugging me!”
The officer exchanges a look with my husband. “Mr.
Thurman…”
“It’s okay, Frank,” Graham says. “I’ll deal with this…” “Deal with this!” Tears jump into my eyes. “You locked
me into this house!” I run over to the front door and point to the lock. “Look at this! What kind of psychopath would do this to his wife?”
“Tess.” Graham’s voice is gentle. “I’m not keeping you prisoner. The lock is for your own protection. You… you have a tendency to wander away. It’s not safe…”
“Not safe!” A tear escapes from my eye and I swipe at it helplessly. “I’m an adult. If I want to leave the house, that’s my right!”
“Mrs. Thurman,” the policeman says. I bristle at that label. Mrs. Thurman. I’m not Mrs. Thurman. I’m Tess Strebel. And by now, I’m supposed to be Tess Finch. “Your husband here is just trying to keep you safe. He’s your legal guardian because of the memory problems from your accident. He’s got the paperwork to prove it.”
My hands ball into fists. “You’ve seen that paperwork?” “Yes, ma’am. I have.”
My cheeks burn. There’s blatant pity on the officer’s smooth face. I look over at Graham, and he just looks tired. It hits me that we have probably played out this exact situation many times before. Maybe dozens of times.
Graham doesn’t look scared. He just looks like he wants this to be over so he can get on with his day.
“Camila will be here soon,” Graham says to the officer. “I’ll make sure she takes Tess outside to get some fresh air. We’ll be fine.”
The policeman nods, and just like that, he takes off. He just leaves. Like Graham did absolutely nothing wrong, and I’m just some crazy woman who doesn’t know what’s going on.
And the worst part is, I’m worried maybe that’s the truth.
As soon as he’s gone, Graham turns to face me. His eyebrows are bunched together. “Tess, you can’t keep calling 911. It’s not right. They have better things to do.”
I start to accuse him of trying to poison me, but the words die on my lips. He doesn’t look like somebody who wants to poison me or keep me hostage. He looks like a man who is struggling to juggle work and a wife who has lost her memory. Maybe the message I left myself was wrong. Maybe I was just confused when I wrote it.
After all, my husband drugging me? That’s pretty crazy thinking.
My whole body deflates. “I’m sorry. I thought…”
“Aw, Tess.” He comes over to me and almost looks like he’s about to hug me, but then at the last second, he drops a hand onto my shoulder. His is large and warm. Despite everything, it’s comforting. “I know how hard this must be for you. Come on. Let’s go back to the kitchen and finish breakfast.”
Mutely, I nod and follow him back into our kitchen.
