“Well, well, if it isn’t Usain Bolt,” says Suzanne drily when she hears my voice.

“Hi, Suzanne.”

“That was a world-class sprint you made out of church, girlfriend. You training for the Olympics?”

“Yeah, my bad. I’m sorry. But in my defense, I told you I wasn’t a big fan.”

She snorts. “Had I known not being a fan meant you’d start cackling like a psychopath and burn rubber the second the poor pastor started talking, I’d never have brought you!”

I knew I’d have to eat some crow, so I apologize again, hoping to unruffle some of Suzanne’s highly ruffled feathers. “You’re right, I was completely out of line. It was disrespectful and uncalled for. I’m really sorry.”

“What you should be sorry for is all the gossip you started. Now everyone thinks you’re a nutcase!”

“Everyone is right.”

Suzanne doesn’t even pause to draw a breath before she answers, her voice dismissive.

“Oh, please, honey, you’re not crazy. Besides, if you were, you wouldn’t think so. The truly insane think they’re completely normal and we’re all off our rockers. Trust me, my uncle Roy was locked up in the loony bin because he was such a nutter. Screaming bloody murder about government surveillance and spiders coming out of his skin. Compared to him, you’re a shining example of sanity.”

I start to laugh. “That makes me feel so much better. As long as I’m not as nuts as Uncle Roy, I’ve still got a chance.”

“Exactly. Everything’s relative, babe.” Her voice sours. “Now here’s the part where you apologize for not calling me back for almost an entire week after I left you a bazillion messages.”

I adopt a solemn tone and try to sound as contrite as possible. “I’m sorry about that too. I’m very, truly, sincerely, utterly, and completely sorry—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, stop talking,” she interrupts crossly. “I accept your terrible apologies.” She sighs and changes the subject. “Have you eaten yet? I was thinking of doing brunch at Booger’s.”

“Actually, I was planning on running some errands. And, um…I wanted to ask you where someone lives.”

“Someone?” she repeats, laughing. “Gee, I wonder who it could be?”

“Please don’t bust my balls.”

“Sorry, that’s what ballbusters do. Have you heard from Theo since we last talked?”

When I don’t respond fast enough, Suzanne shrieks. “Wait—have you slept with him?”

It’s my turn to sound cross. “Why does your brain go right there? Seriously, you’re like a fifteen-year-old boy.”

“You did,” she says, a thrill in her voice. “Sweet baby Jesus in heaven, tell me everything!”

“No,” I say emphatically. “I will not.”

“Killjoy,” she mutters. Then, brightly, “Okay, how about this one thing—”

“I won’t tell you anything to do with his prowess in bed or the size of his penis.”

“What kind of a girlfriend are you? And who says ‘penis’? You sound like a doctor.”

“Can we please get back on topic?”

“Oh, you mean the topic of Theo’s home address?” she drawls. “That you don’t have but I do? That you would like me to give you? Without any reciprocity whatsoever?”

I huff out a breath. “Fine. I’ll tell you one thing.” When she squeals happily, I shake my head in disbelief. “Okay, let me think.” I close my eyes, trying to recall something that isn’t too revealing but will satisfy Suzanne’s horny streak. Instantly, I’m lost in memories of Theo’s eloquent eyes, his strong, possessive hands, his incredible intensity.

I murmur, “He’s so beautiful, it breaks my heart.”

At the top of her lungs, Suzanne shouts, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?”

I start to laugh, which only angers her more.

“You have GOT to give me SOMETHING here, Megan!” she hollers. “I haven’t gotten laid in about A HUNDRED YEARS, and I’m in no mood to listen to you chirping ‘penis’ this and ‘beautiful’ that like you’re a damn VIRGIN on her HONEYMOON! How big is the man’s DICK?”

I have to answer through my laughter. “It’s enormous. It’s big, brawny, and works like a champ. Satisfied?”

She starts muttering under her breath about shitty friends and the unfairness of life and various other things until I interrupt her tirade.

“Just give me the address, Suzanne. Please.”

“How are you sleeping together and you don’t know where he lives?”

I think about how to answer that. “We, um, actually…it never came up.”

She grouses, “Right. Because you were too busy having incredible, mind-blowing sex that you selfishly won’t share details of with your girlfriend.”

“Suzanne. The address. Please.”

“Wait a minute, I have more questions!”

I mutter, “Of course you do.”

“The last I heard, Theo had left town—because of you, I might add—but then within the space of a week, he’s back and in your pants? How did this happen? What am I missing here?”

“Honestly, your guess is as good as mine.”

I can almost hear her eye roll through the phone. “I know Coop gave you a letter or a note that Theo left for you. I pestered him after church to tell me what he wanted to talk to you about. So what was in the note?”

“A quote from the Bible.”

That shuts her up for a good fifteen seconds. Then she asks hopefully, “Was it a sexy quote?”

“Are there such things in the Bible?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t read the damn thing!”

“But you sit in a church every week and listen to someone who has.”

Her voice drips sarcasm. “I’ll ask the pastor if she’s been skipping all the juicy parts.”

“It was a quote about doors, if you must know, that related to something we’d been discussing earlier.” It also related to a tattoo my dead husband had on his back, but I’m trying hard not to be crazy, so we’re not going there.

Hearing my explanation, Suzanne is dubious. “So he leaves you a note about doors, then he splits for destinations unknown, then he’s back in a jiffy, tickling your lady parts? I’m not the brightest bulb, honey, but there are holes in this story bigger than my boobs.”

“In between the splitting and the tickling, I wrote him an email.”

She ponders that for a while. “Must’ve been some email.”

“Yeah, it was. So…skipping over the details—”

“Bad friend!”

“—what I can tell you is that I’ve seen him twice since he supposedly left town, but he’s not coming every day with the rest of the crew to work on the Buttercup—”

“Whoa, whoa, rewind! Hillrise is working on the Buttercup?”

“Oh. Yes. Did I leave that out?”

She groans in exasperation. “Do you even know how to do the girlfriend thing, girlfriend?”

“I’d apologize again, but I think my apologies just irritate you.”

“So does your god-awful storytelling! I’ve got a five-year-old niece who tells more coherent stories about her imaginary pet bunny, Mr. Nibbles!”

“Okay. Starting over. You were caught up to where I had a public meltdown in church. And you know Coop gave me Theo’s note, and now you know what was in it. Then, when I got home, I wrote Theo an email that basically explained how I was feeling about everything. Then later that night, he showed up and…uh…we…”

Suzanne scoffs. “Don’t pop a vessel trying to find a delicate way to say ‘We screwed our brains out,’ princess.”

I say softly, “We didn’t, though, Suzanne. We made love. Sweet, intimate, passionate love.”

She mutters, “Dear God in heaven, what did I do to deserve this shit?”

“I’ll assume that’s a rhetorical question and continue. Both times after we made love, he disappeared. When I woke up in the mornings, he was gone.”

She gasps in outrage. “He didn’t!”

She sounds so horrified, I feel defensive on Theo’s behalf. “But he left me flowers and a poem.” When she doesn’t respond, I sigh. “You’re right. It sounds bad when I say it out loud.”

She says sarcastically, “You think?”

“Are you deliberately trying to make me feel worse? Because it’s working.”

“So your plan is to do what? Go over to his house and confront him about why he’s acting like a dickhead and abandoning you after your ‘sweet, intimate’ lovemaking?”

She has a point. I don’t have a plan, I just want to see him. But what if he doesn’t want me at his house? What if he wants me to leave him alone?

Oh God—what if I’m not the only woman on the receiving end of his nocturnal visits? Maybe he has a trail of haikus he’s left on pillows all over town!

Suzanne intrudes on my dark musings with an annoyed “Hello? Anybody there?”

“Still here,” I answer, though my mind is taking a trip into Paranoiaville.

“Listen, I’ll give you his address, but why don’t you send him another one of your magical emails first?”

“I was trying to give him space.”

“Space?” she repeats, incredulous. “No, he doesn’t get to have space, he’s been inside you! You can crowd him all you want!”

“You make a good point.”

“Oh, I’m full of ’em. Here’s another one: showing up unannounced at a man’s home doesn’t exactly count as giving him space. Not that he’s allowed to have space, because he’s already dipped his willy in your honey pot, I’m just saying.”

“You’re ragging on me for saying penis while you throw out ridiculous euphemisms for genitals like willy and honey pot?”

She ignores me, switching into concerned-friend mode. “Tell me the truth now, honey. Are you okay? I’ve been worried about you.”

I stand from where I’ve been sitting on the edge of my bed and walk to the patio windows. Looking out at the restless ocean, I say, “Define okay.”

“That really doesn’t help my peace of mind.”

“I’m just confused, I guess. I don’t know how to handle this. I haven’t been with anyone since my husband died.” My laugh is small and uncomfortable. “I wasn’t with anyone before him either.”

A blistering curse comes over the line, then Suzanne says hotly, “And Theo has the nerve to ghost you after sex!”

Ghost. That word strikes a jarring chord in my ears. I back away from it as if it’s a hissing snake. “You said it yourself, Suzanne—he isn’t in his right mind. I’m sure this is as difficult and unexpected for him as it as for me.”

“It better be,” she says with vehemence. “Or I’ll rip off his balls myself.”

Despite how unsettled I am, I have to smile. “Not so long ago, you were defending him when I called him an asshole. Look at you now.”

“Yeah, take note. This is how you girlfriend, girlfriend. It’s us against them. Hoes before bros and all that. Now get a pen so I can give you your lover’s address—and call me the second you hear from him! I’m not letting you deal with this alone.”

* * *

After Suzanne gives me the address and we disconnect, I spend half an hour engaged in my new favorite form of exercise: pacing. Back and forth I march over my bedroom floor, chewing my thumbnail and working myself into a frenzy.

Why didn’t I ask him where’s he’s been when he was here? Why didn’t I ask him when I’d see him again? Is this what it’s like to date nowadays? Is this what I should expect, intense, soul-searing sex followed by a disappearing act that would make Houdini proud along with flowers, a fresh pot of coffee, and a cryptic poem on my pillow?

Okay, the flowers and the poem are nice touches. I’m calling the flowers a “nice touch” so I don’t have to call them what they really are: prime magical-thinking material. But the more I think about the disappearing, the more it bothers me.

I really hope he didn’t leave because of how loudly I snore.

On the other hand, compared to whatever else it could be, that’s not such a bad reason.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Megan, Suzanne is right,” I scold myself. “You and Theo slept together. If he didn’t want you feeling weird, he shouldn’t have run out in the middle of the night. Just contact him!”

That decision made, I feel better. I get my laptop and compose a short email to Theo saying I can’t wait to see him again. Then I spend five minutes afterward hating myself for every word, because on a re-read, it sounds desperate.

I forget all about my desperation when I receive an automatic response from Theo’s email server that says he’s out of the office and not responding to email.

A strange feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. I decide to try Theo’s phone. When it goes straight to voicemail, the strange feeling intensifies into anxiety.

I don’t know what it is, but something’s off.

When I hear the low rumble of engine noise coming from the street outside, I head downstairs. It’s Saturday, but Hillrise is working through the weekends to get the project as far as possible before the rainy season starts in full force. When I swing open the front door, Coop’s already walking up the steps of the porch, wearing his trademark smile.

“Mornin’, Megan!”

“Morning, Coop. Question for you: why hasn’t my deposit check to Hillrise cleared my account yet?”

Wearing his usual outfit of flannel shirt and jeans, he leans against the doorframe and grins down at me. “’Cause I haven’t deposited it.”

I inspect his face. “I sense there’s a reason other than that you just haven’t had time to get to the bank.”

His smile widens. When he doesn’t answer, an alarm bell goes off in my head.

“No. Oh, no, Coop, that’s not happening!”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” He blinks, the picture of innocence.

“You’re going to deposit that check first thing Monday morning. These guys need to get paid. You need to get paid. There’s too much material and labor costs on this project to do it for free!”

“Aw, that’s real sweet. But don’t you worry about me and the boys. We’re gettin’ paid. And the bills for the material and equipment are gettin’ paid. Hillrise’s got plenty of dough.”

I throw my hands in the air. “If you’re not taking my money, I’m firing you!”

He bursts out laughing. “Now there’s some female logic if I ever heard it! If somebody told me I’d get my house renovated at no cost, I’d be doin’ somersaults on the front lawn!”

“I’m serious, Coop, this is bullshit!”

He shrugs, as if there’s nothing he can do about the situation. “Sorry, ma’am, I don’t make these decisions. You’ll have to take it up with the owner.”

Fuming, I blow out a hard breath. “I would, but the owner isn’t available by email or cell phone. You have any idea how I can get a hold of him?”

He gazes at me for a while, his eyes thoughtful. “Carrier pigeon?”

I send him a withering scowl. “Oh, you’re funny. Ha. Friggin’. Ha.”

He presses his lips together to try to stop from laughing, which only pisses me off even more.

“Coop, what the hell is going on? Where’s Theo?”

Workers start to file up the pathway to the front door, talking and joking with each other. Coop pulls me aside into a quiet corner, then keeps his voice low. “He’s gettin’ help, okay?”

“Help? What does that mean?”

Coop drags a hand over his blond head and sighs. Then he props his hands on his hips and looks me dead in the eyes. “It means he checked himself into a facility in Melville.”

Facility. I swallow, fighting the same anxiety I felt upstairs. “What kind of facility?”

He says gently, “You know what kind.”

Horrified, I whisper, “A mental hospital?”

“They got a good program over at Acadia. Great success rate. And it’s not full-time, he can leave at night and over weekends if he wants to.” He looks uncomfortable when I keep staring at him in disbelief. “It’s not court mandated or anything. He volunteered.”

I stumble over to the stairs, cursing the lack of chairs in the house. I sit heavily on the second step and grip the banister, trying to stop the room from spinning.

Theo checked himself into a mental hospital. According to what Coop told me at church, he was stable before I moved here—but now he’s taking a vacation at a funny farm.

Images come back to haunt me with sickening clarity: the anguish in Theo’s eyes almost every time he’s looked at me; him so wrecked, standing wet and crying outside my front door; the email that brought him to me in the middle of the night, all the things I wrote about losing your mind to follow your heart, and not asking about each other’s crazy, and being each other’s hammers and glue.

“Oh God,” I say, shaking and sick. “Did I do this?”

Coop sits beside me and takes my hand. “Listen to me now. After his accident, Theo changed. It was like he became a different person. He never got the help he needed, because he was just too goddamn stubborn.”

Dr. Singer would say Theo and I have a lot in common. I laugh, and it sounds deranged.

“This is a good thing, Megan. He’s finally doing something to help himself. He wouldn’t admit it to me when he first left, but I got it out of him. And I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but…yeah. It’s because of you. You’ve inspired him to try to get better. He wants to get rid of his demons once and for all.”

Demons.

Theo wants to get rid of his demons.

My blood runs Arctic cold.

A theory blooms to life inside the cracked and shadowed corridors of my brain and quickly spirals out of control. It’s a theory that explains everything, start to finish, from the first moment I laid eyes on Theo and he reacted so strangely to my presence, all the way to his voluntary stay in a sanitarium.

It’s a theory that would have Dr. Singer in fits.

It’s Magical Thinking with capital letters, in blinking neon lights.

It’s a theory that goes like this:

Maybe I’m not the only one who thinks my dead husband has returned to me in the body of another man.