Jack pulled off his shirt and I couldn’t stop myself from licking my lips as I appreciated the definition of his muscles, the raw strength of his body. I vacillated between raging despair and carnal lust.

Part of me wanted to cry, because I knew how much of that muscle had been put on over the last two years, as he prepared himself for an eventual meeting with Junior’s killer. But a larger part of me just wanted to feel him on top of me, heavy and solid and real.

I pulled off my threadbare P!nk T-shirt as he stepped out of his gym shorts and settled himself between my legs. Propping himself up on his elbows, his erection twitched against my clit as he leaned down to kiss me. His kiss was slow and deep, stealing the breath from my lungs as I wrapped my legs around him.

He pulled his head back, looking down at me as he brushed away a tear from my temple with his thumb. “You took your pill today?”

My heart sunk as I nodded. He slid into me slowly at first, then he grabbed my leg, resting my ankle on his shoulder as he picked up the pace, slamming into me viciously. As my head bumped against the headboard, I closed my eyes, unable to look at him.

I’d practically begged Jack to try for another child, but it was never the right time for him. He finally admitted to me recently that, until he found the person who took Junior from us, he didn’t know if he could love another child.

I knew it wasn’t the answer to fixing our broken marriage, but I was willing to try anything. With every passing day, I was more convinced that Jack was willing to try nothing. Well, nothing other than sex.

We spent the rest of the waning sunlight fucking, showering, and picking at slices of delivery pizza in the living room, which was now devoid of all decor and photos.

I didn’t ask Jack what he meant when, in the middle of chewing his slice of pizza, he said he was “this close” to finding Junior’s killer. I’d heard those exact words before. And Jack never asked me how I’d felt while packing away my mother’s things today.

It was almost as if our feelings didn’t matter to each other anymore. Only, we were too lost in our own grief to recognize the moment we’d stopped caring.

We went to bed earlier than usual in my old full-sized bed, which seemed almost claustrophobic compared to the king-sized bed we slept in at home — the one I’d been sleeping in alone for most of the last few months. We normally slept in the guest bedroom when visiting my mother, but somehow we had ended up in here. And now, with my mother gone and all our personal items packed away, I felt like a squatter, taking refuge in a history I’d long abandoned.

“I promise I’ll fix that wall tomorrow,” Jack said as I settled myself in his arms while he spooned me. “I’ll run to the hardware store before you wake up and I’ll have it done before you take your first sip of coffee.”

I made an mmm sound to indicate my approval, because I’d heard these kinds of promises before. Like the time he told me he would take the boxes of Junior’s stuff in the guest room to a storage facility. Or a few months ago, when he promised we would spend our anniversary together today, only for him to back out last night, claiming he was slammed at work. When I saw him leaving this morning in his gym clothes instead of a suit, I knew our marriage was over.

Jack continued. “Remember when we went to that party at Kent’s in-laws and his mother-in-law flipped her shit when she saw you breastfeeding Junior on the sofa?”

I sighed as I adjusted the position of my head on his bicep. “She was such a bitch.”

“Do you remember what you said to her?”

I shook my head, though I did remember. I just wanted to hear him say the words, to know that his memories of Junior were still as traumatically fresh as mine.

“You said, ‘What’s wrong? Never seen tits bigger than your husband’s?’” He chuckled as he squeezed me tightly against him, burying his face in my neck. “I miss watching him fall asleep in your arms.”

I closed my eyes and took deep breaths as the muscles in my chest tightened. I wished we could lie here forever, talking about Junior and the good times. But I knew the only reason Jack was talking about Junior this way, without getting angry or bringing up the case, was because he thought this is what I needed to hear in order to stay.

“I love you, pixie,” he murmured in my ear, using the nickname I’d once told him was my favorite. “I know we’ll get through this. I just need some more time... more time to figure this out. I’m almost there. I can feel it.”

My stomach tightened into painful knots as tears streamed out of my eyes, down my temple, disappearing into my hairline. Jack was never going to let this go. He would never stop searching for a murderer who, at this point, almost felt like a fictional monster.

The murder case started out two years ago with a few promising leads. But with no witnesses, and my mother abandoning her phone to get to Junior before she could make a 9-1-1 call, there was nothing to go on except for our home surveillance footage.

Unfortunately, with the murderer wearing a mask, the only thing that separated him from anyone else was his stature and gait. The killer had seemed to slightly favor his right leg, as if he had a very old injury on his left leg.

Jack had been obsessed with the security video for a while. He would watch it every night and compare it to surveillance footage of other crimes committed in the area. He was convinced he would see something important that no one else could see, something more significant than a bum leg or whether the killer was right- or left-handed.

None of the leads or persons of interest they interviewed fit this description. Today, we were no closer to knowing who killed Junior and my mother than we were the night it happened.

I would lie here tonight and bask in the warmth of Jack’s skin against mine, and the comfort of his solid arms holding me together. I would inhale his woodsy scent and wrap myself in the familiarity of it, until it lulled me to sleep.

But come morning, I would text John Miller and tell him I needed to postpone the sale of the house for a while, at least until I could bear the thought of engaging in a legal battle with Jack. Then, I would do what needed to be done to save my marriage.

* * *

I hardly slept, waking almost instantly every time I dozed off, I squinted at the alarm clock on the nightstand. As soon as the red numbers flashed seven a.m., my eyes clicked wide open and remained so as I waited for Jack to wake up.

He was usually a restless sleeper, yet somehow — probably because of the size of the bed — he’d managed to stay in the exact position in which we’d fallen asleep. Even in his deepest slumber, he wouldn’t let go.

I wanted to take it as a sign that I should go home with him. This time it would work. This time, he was right. We would get through this.

Then I thought of the vile words he spoke about my mother and the sacrifice she made by trying to protect Junior the night they died.

A sacrifice I’ll always be grateful for, even if it was for nothing.

If he could say something so repulsive to me, he was nowhere near finished hurting me.

I thought of his confession that he might never be able to love another one of our children.

I thought of the wall in his office, obsessively wallpapered in newspaper clippings and maps dotted with thumbtacks. Despite his compulsive need to solve this case, he’d made zero headway. His tenacity would be admirable if it weren’t tearing us apart.

As I thought of our wedding day, a small fairy tale ceremony set against the backdrop of evergreens in the Hood River Valley, Jack turned over.

My heart galloped in my chest. Was I really going to do this?

I’d asked Jack to go to marital counseling or to see a therapist on his own. I’d read dozens of books on dealing with grief and saving your marriage. I’d tried herbal supplements and yoga and talking to my doctor. I tried looking for a group for grieving parents, but the nearest groups were an hour away in Portland.

I’d been thinking about moving into my mom’s house for months. Ever since Jack’s interest in the case began keeping him from sleeping in our bed. It was demoralizing and heartbreaking having to lie in bed alone while your husband hobnobbed with his fellow armchair sleuths on the internet.

My emotions betrayed me as my throat began to close and my sinuses stung with the effort of trying to hold back the tears. This was a decision I would either regret or be grateful for the rest of my life. But there was no way to know now how I would feel later.

All I knew was that I wasn’t happy living this way. And Jack had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t willing to see a therapist, or let go of the investigation, or get rid of his weapons arsenal, or have another baby. I was running out of options.

Finally, I held my breath as I turned over to face Jack. I reached up to touch the smooth skin on his back. I traced the tattoo of my name on his right shoulder blade. As I finished tracing the -el at the end, Jack let out a soft grunt and rolled onto his back.

He squinted at me through the pale morning light. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long,” I lied. “We need to talk.”

He blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust, before he sat up abruptly. “We can talk at home.”

“No, I want to talk now.”

He shot me a defiant look, as if he wanted to challenge me, but he decided against it, shaking his head as he turned to face me. “What do you want to talk about?”

I took a deep breath and sat up, folding my legs in front of me like butterfly wings. “I’m going to stay here at my mom’s for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because, in case you hadn’t noticed, our marriage is in trouble. I’ve lost faith.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve lost faith in me or our marriage?”

“Both.” I looked him straight in the eye, waiting for him to roll his eyes or put me down, but he said nothing. “We need help. We’ve tried doing this on our own and it’s not working. We need professional help.”

There it was. The infamous Jack Stratton eye-roll.

“This again?”

“Yes, this again,” I replied, just barely able to temper my anger. “I’m going to look for a marital counselor. If you’re serious about saving this marriage, you’ll go with me.”

He shook his head. “What does that have to do with you staying here? Why can’t you just come home and we’ll go to counseling over there?”

I narrowed my eyes at him as I willed him to remember the one time he agreed to go to counseling only to change his mind the very next day.

“I’ll do it this time. I swear.”

I shook my head. “I don’t believe you.”

He let out a frustrated sigh. “So you’re going to blackmail me into going to counseling by moving into your mom’s house? What if I do go? Will you come back?”

“I will, but not after the first or second session. I need to know you’re not going to back out.” I looked down at my hands, which I just realized I was wringing mercilessly. “It will also give me some time to fix up the garden.”

One of the things that brought me tremendous guilt was that I had let my mother’s beloved garden die along with her. Staying at my mom’s house for a few weeks would allow me to hold Jack accountable for attending marital counseling, and it would give me the opportunity to correct one of my greatest mistakes.

“How long?” he asked, and I knew he was asking how long it would take to fix the garden.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, three or four weeks, at least. It’s August, so I’ll need to get it done before the rain gets steady in October.”

He was silent for a while, then he nodded. “All right. I don’t like it. Not one fucking bit. But I don’t want to lose you.”

I scooted toward him and curled my arms around his neck as he pulled me into his lap. “I’ve been feeling like I lost you months ago,” I said, leaning my forehead against his.

“You haven’t lost me. I’m right here.”

I kissed his scruff then laid my head on his solid shoulder. “And I haven’t felt this happy in ages. I’ll do whatever it takes to hold onto this.”

He nuzzled his head against mine. “I love you more than you can imagine,” he said, echoing the words he’d said to me on our wedding day.

“I can’t imagine loving anyone more,” I replied.

Cuddling turned into very slow, very emotional sex, which almost made me change my mind about staying at my mom’s house. It was the first time we’d had sex that wasn’t initiated by a fight in more than a year.

As Jack got dressed in yesterday’s clothes, I watched him from the bed, marveling at his beauty. The sleek fluidity in the definition of his muscles as they moved beneath his smooth skin. The way the sunlight poured through the window and bounced off his bulging shoulders, his messy brown hair, his straight nose and full lips.

I was reminded of the first time we met with our wedding photographer and he asked if he could use our wedding photos to promote his business. I was a bit surprised, considering the photos hadn’t been taken yet. How did he know the photos would be good enough for promotional purposes? His reply: “Because you are the most gorgeous couple I’ve ever worked with, and beauty sells.”

I slid out of bed as he knelt down to tie the laces of his gym sneaker. “Why don’t you stay a while? It’s Sunday. We can have breakfast, then we can Netflix and chill all day.”

He stood up and flashed me an uncomfortable smile. “I wish I could, but I have to get home. I have a Q&A in the Facebook group at two p.m.”

My stomach dropped. I had just asked him to stay here and basically have sex with me all day and he would rather do a Q&A with some internet sleuths in the Justice for Jack Stratton Jr. Facebook group.

I blinked a few times as I attempted to recover. “Okay. Have fun.”

He rolled his eyes. “This Q&A has been planned for months.”

“Yeah, I get it,” I said, turning to leave the room. “I’m fine. I swear. I have to get started in the garden, anyway.”

He followed me down the hall toward the stairs. “Are you sure you’re not going to hold this over my head later?”

I bit my lip to keep from lashing out. I wanted to tell him that I had every right to hold this over his head, because this was one of the reasons I had decided to leave. But I had initiated this separation. He was simply adhering to the rules of living separately.

As we reached the bottom of the stairs, I headed straight for the front door. “I’m not going to hold this over your head, but I’m also not going to pretend it doesn’t bother me. We can talk about it later, maybe with the marital counselor.”

He sighed as he reached for the doorknob. “Great. Something to look forward to.”

I flashed him a fake smile as he pulled the front door open. “I’ll call you when I’ve scheduled our first appointment.”

He nodded. “Right.” He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something else, then he pressed his lips together to stop himself. “All right, well, I guess we’ll talk later?”

I nodded, but I remained silent, afraid my words would betray me and we’d end this conversation with an argument.

“All right,” he said, eyebrows raised. “This is really fucking awkward. Can we at least acknowledge that?”

“Acknowledged.”

“Okay,” he said, stepping toward me. “I’ll call you later.”

He planted a quick kiss on my forehead, then stepped out onto the porch. As I watched Jack’s truck drive away, I knew I’d made the right decision. How could two people who knew each other the way we did feel like strangers?

Standing on the front steps, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. The crisp morning air felt blissful on my fevered skin, which still smelled like Jack. The scent of dusty wood reminded me that I still hadn’t swept the porch, but I’d have plenty of time to do that later. Right now, I had to text John to cancel our appointment.

But as I opened my eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to go back inside. Guilt gnawed my insides as I stared at the rows of shriveled hydrangea and honeysuckle lining the walkway. Even the laurel hedges along the garden fence and the gardenia tree in the corner were overgrown and neglected. My mother’s heart would break if she knew I’d let her garden die.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whispered as I spun around to go back inside, turning my back on the graveyard of everything my mother once loved.

The sound of footsteps made me whip my head around again. A guy in a faded black T-shirt came down the steps of the house next door with the gray siding and American flag hanging from the eaves. Was that the neighbor my mom had mentioned on a few separate occasions before she died? The handsome guy with the green thumb?

The guy reminded me a bit of Jason Momoa, but with slightly less facial hair. His bulging muscles strained against his shirt. Tattoos covered almost every inch of his bronze skin. His chin-length, light-brown hair and the scruff on his face appeared naturally lightened by hours in the sun.

As he grabbed the newspaper out of the plastic yellow Oregonian mailbox at the curb, I couldn’t stop myself from making a snap judgment: he didn’t look like the kind of guy who got his news the old-fashioned way. But then again, he also didn’t look like the kind of guy who possessed a green thumb. This was probably a new neighbor who’d moved in after my mom’s death.

This realization was disappointing. It would have been nice to meet the young man my mom had seemed to have an innocent crush on in her final days. But as he walked back toward his front steps, I realized his grass was a technicolor green and his garden was extremely neat and healthy.

He glanced in my direction as he climbed the steps, and something about the dark look in his eyes sent a shiver through me. He turned away quickly and headed inside, but not before taking one final glance at my yard. It was almost as if he were saying, “It’s about damn time someone did something about that mess.”

I shook my head as I turned around to go inside. My guilt over neglecting my mother’s garden was making me believe that this guy was judging me. He probably couldn’t care less what my garden looked like.

As I shut the front door behind me and locked it, I suddenly felt very alone and scared. I hadn’t anticipated what it would feel like being alone in this big house without Jack and his weapons arsenal to protect me.

I would have to keep myself busy with the garden or I would soon be catastrophizing all the horrible things that could happen to me here. Images of that night flashed in my mind, making my skin ache. I leaned against the inside of the door as I was overcome with a familiar sense of impending doom. I slid down to the floor and hugged my knees to my chest.

Thirty minutes of deep breathing later, I grabbed the door handle and pulled myself to my feet. Maybe I should invite Drea out here to have some lunch.

I shook my head as I made my way to the kitchen. It was Sunday. Drea would be busy spending the weekend getting in some quality time with Barry and the boys. I’d call her later to chat, but I’d have to tough out the loneliness and fear.

I should have been more persistent about Jack spending the day with me.

Entering the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator only to be reminded that I had no food in the house. I didn’t normally eat breakfast, but I would have to eat something before I started working in the garden, or I’d risk getting lightheaded once the summer sun was beating down on me.

Come to think of it, I also needed to make a run to the garden store. But it suddenly dawned on me that I didn’t know if I was allowed to use Jack’s money while we were separated. Were we really separated?

Oh, God. Jack and I were separated. And it was mostly my decision. I definitely couldn’t use his money.

I closed the refrigerator door and fanned myself as I began doing some simple math in my head.

I still had a little more than two grand in a secret personal checking account that I’d had since before Jack and I merged our finances. I used it when I wanted to buy Jack a gift online, but didn’t want him to know about it. I really didn’t want to use the money, since it was my only emergency stash. And if I had to pay for utilities, food, and gardening supplies for one month, that money would dwindle pretty quickly.

I really underestimated how dependent I’d been on Jack.

I would have to use my stash. I would just have to figure out a way to replenish this account. The obvious solution would be to get a job. But did I really stand a chance of finding a job quick enough to get paid within the next few weeks? Especially since I hadn’t worked a single day since Jack and I graduated from OSU eight years ago.

I would have to find an inexpensive gardening store or I was going to blow through my cash fast. Maybe I should introduce myself to the neighbor with the nice garden, and ask him if he could recommend a place. But as I remembered the dark look he’d given me, he didn’t seem like the neighborly type.

I threw up my hands. Fuck it. I needed to get this garden fixed fast and cheap. I was going to have a chat with my neighbor.