But the pattern was there in the record for anyone who cared to look, and my daughter had cared to look, and had brought it to me — I remembered now, with a sick lurch — and I had told her to stop being suspicious of a woman who made me happy.

Emily had come to me with the truth in her hands, more than once, and I had handed it back to her and called it jealousy.

Chapter 8 — Daniel

I could not drive myself.

My hands would not have held the wheel.

So I called Daniel — my oldest friend, a retired police investigator, the man who was supposed to be standing beside me that afternoon as my best man.

“Come to my room,” I told him.