“Right this second.” His tone shifted, just slightly.

“What’s going on?

Did you hurt your back lifting the mattress?” “I found something,” I whispered.

“Under the bed.

In the guest room.” There was a short pause, and then, through the phone and through the floor at the same time, I heard his footsteps start toward the stairs.

“Brenda, what are you talking about?” he asked, and there was a faint, humoring chuckle in it, the chuckle of a man who assumes his wife has found a dead mouse or a lost earring.

That chuckle is one of my favorite details of the whole morning now, because of the enormous gap between what Zachary thought was happening and what I thought was happening.