“Your husband was assaulted and lost consciousness. He’s awake now and is going to be fine, but we’re monitoring him overnight.”
“Assaulted?” Marissa gasps. “By who?”
“I don’t have any information on that.”
Marissa is racing upstairs to her bedroom to pull on jeans and a sweatshirt. She can’t—won’t—process the words now. She only needs to get to Matthew.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Marissa says breathlessly. “Can you please tell him I’m on my way?”
She’s slipping on her sneakers before she realizes she can’t leave Bennett home alone. If he woke up, he’d be petrified not to find her here.
It’s almost midnight. The fastest solution would be to ask a neighbor for help. She looks out the window at Louise Johnston’s house across the street. The Johnstons have two children, and Marissa once watched their five-year-old daughter when their son had to be rushed to the doctor because he’d shoved a marble up his nose and they couldn’t get it out. But the Johnstons’ home is dark, and Marissa doesn’t want to wake them at this hour. The only house she can see with a light on is owned by Max Carrey, or, as Bennett calls him, Scary Carrey. He is clearly not an option.
Hallie is a junior in high school and probably asleep. She needs to be up for school in another six or seven hours, but Marissa taps out a text to her anyway. There’s no reply.
Marissa has no one else.
If only her parents lived nearby, Marissa thinks, or if she had a close friend to call for help.
Matthew’s father, Chris, lives just a few miles away, but Marissa knows her husband would be furious if she called him. Matthew has made it clear through the years that he never wants help from his father. She scrolls through her contacts, rapidly dismissing possibilities, until she gets to the Ws. Polly.
Bennett doesn’t know Polly well, but he has met her. Although he’d be startled to find his mother’s assistant here in the middle of the night, he wouldn’t completely freak out. Plus, Polly got a stellar reference from the family she worked for as a nanny last year.
With any luck—and she definitely could use some tonight—Bennett will stay asleep.
I wouldn’t ask unless it were an emergency, Marissa begins her text. Matthew was injured and is in the hospital-could you come to the house and stay in case Bennett wakes up?
Polly’s response comes so swiftly it is as if she were staring at her phone when the text landed: On my way.
Before Polly’s VW comes to a stop in the driveway, Marissa is in her car, pulling the seat belt across her body. She waves at Polly and watches to make sure Polly gets inside the front door Marissa left cracked open, then she presses down the gas pedal. As her windshield wipers swoosh fervently back and forth, her heartbeat keeps pace.
Who would want to hurt Matthew?
Perhaps that disgruntled employee, the one Matthew fired last year. Or maybe it was a random attack; someone could have seen Matthew pull up at a stoplight, the engine of his expensive car idling, and decided to carjack him. If Matthew tried to resist—and knowing her husband, he might have—it could have turned violent.
Between the heavy rain and her damp eyes, Marissa can barely see the road. When she approaches a stoplight on Macarthur Boulevard just as it turns yellow, she is tempted to accelerate through it. At the last second, though, she slams on the brakes. The only thing that could make this night worse would be getting into an accident of her own.
She finds a spot in the visitors’ lot and hurries toward the hospital entrance, holding her coat over her head to shield her from the rain.
She gives her name to the employee at the front desk and shows her driver’s license, and a moment later a nurse appears and escorts Marissa to Matthew. Navigating past the curtained partitions, Marissa hears the beeping of cardiac monitors and a patient loudly calling for more ice.
In all of their years together, the only time she and Matthew have been in this hospital together was when Bennett was born.
How lucky they have been.
The nurse parts the curtain to Bed Six, revealing Matthew lying on a gurney, an IV needle buried in his forearm. He’s wearing a blue hospital gown, his bare feet are sticking out from beneath the sheet that’s draped around his lower body, and a white bandage is on his forehead.
But his eyes are open, and he’s smiling at her.
“Hey, babe,” Matthew says as she steps toward him.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” the nurse says. “Just press the call button if you need me.”
Other than the bandage and some dried blood by Matthew’s hairline, he looks the same. He looks like her Matthew.
Although Marissa swore she wouldn’t, she begins to cry again.
“It’s okay. I’m fine. Just a few bruises.”
She holds his hand with both of hers, soaking in the warmth of his skin. “I’m just so relieved. I thought…”
“Shhh. I just wish I could’ve gotten a swing at the other guy.” He mock punches with his free hand.
With those motions, his torso shifts, and beneath the gaps in his gown, Marissa sees eggplant-colored marks on his ribs.
She gasps. “Why would someone do this to you?”
“No idea.” Matthew shakes his head, then grimaces. “I keep wondering the same thing. One minute I was about to get in my car, and the next I’m on the ground with some asshole kicking the shit out of me.”
Marissa winces, trying to block out the image of her husband being hurt.
“It’s not that bad.” Matthew pulls his gown closed. “I thought I could make it home. But, well, guess I was wrong. I passed out and crashed just as I was exiting the garage.”
“I don’t understand. Was he waiting for you in the parking garage? Did you see him?”
“I didn’t get a look at his face. He came at me from behind.”
A terrifying thought sears through Marissa’s mind. “Your keys! Did he take your wallet and keys?”
The assailant could have their address and be breaking into their house right now, sliding the key into the lock while Bennett sleeps just one floor above. She fumbles for her cell phone, but Matthew’s voice stops her.
“No, that’s the strangest part.” Matthew looks bewildered. “He could’ve easily grabbed my wallet, my watch … anything. Even the car. But it’s like the only thing he wanted to do was beat the crap out of me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
AVERY
I’M SO LOST IN THOUGHT it takes me a moment to register that the mailman on the sidewalk in front of my house is trying to get my attention.
Ever since Marissa phoned to tell me what had happened to Matthew, I’ve been sitting in a chair on my porch, pen and notebook in hand, diagramming the strange events surrounding the Bishops.
We’re five sessions in, and for the first time I worry that my ten-session method might not work for these clients.
“He gonna be okay if I bring this up there?” the mail carrier asks, nodding at Romeo, curled by my feet basking in a patch of sunlight.
I want to reply, He’s more scared of you than you are of him, but something holds me back. I didn’t get Romeo for protection, obviously, but I don’t need to advertise that my big, muscular dog is as aggressive as a cannoli.