I leave the office early the next day because I have some papers for my mom to sign, and I decide to take them to her and have a visit rather than have her come in to do it.

“—and Margaret are beside themselves with worry,” I hear George say as I enter the living room.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“You remember Frank and Margaret Lewis, from the wedding?” Mom asks.

“Of course. Frank was George’s best man, right?”

“Yes,” George confirms. “We just found out their daughter, Katie, has been missing since the day of our wedding.”

“That’s terrible. Any idea what happened?”

“Not really,” Mom says. “Her husband was here this afternoon asking if we’d seen or heard from her. The poor man has had to cut his shifts way back at the police station, so he can concentrate on following up on any leads. He’s a detective, you know.”

Jesus. This has to be the friend Georgia saved that day. The one whose husband is a potential problem. And he was here. Thinking Georgia had filled them in on what happened?

And I am in the awkward position of having information that George and my mom really should know, yet I can’t say a word.

“That’s awful. I hope she turns up soon, safe and sound.” I pull a small sheaf of papers and a pen from my briefcase and pass them to my mother. “Here are the papers I need you to sign.”

She takes them from me, reads each over, and signs and initials in all the places Nicole helpfully indicated with sticky tabs before handing them to me. I double check nothing’s been missed and stow them away.

“One last thing, I want you two to know that Georgia and I are…involved.”

George takes it far more calmly than I had expected. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, son,”

“Oh, pish, George,” Mom admonishes. “I think it’s perfectly lovely.”

“Right, I need to be going. I’m off to Toronto tonight and will be back in a couple of days.

“Good luck. We’ll have a family dinner when you get back.

By the time I get home, I’m livid. I’ve had time to think about everything I’d just heard about Katie’s husband.

I find Georgia in the living room reading a book. She looks up when I walk in. “Hey. You’re home early. How was your day?”

“I’ve had better. Look, I think you should reconsider coming to Toronto with me.”

“I go back to work this week, and I want to move back into my apartment and get it organized.”

“Damn it, Georgia, there’s a fucking wife-beating cop out there who is convinced you’re responsible for the destruction of his marital bliss. It’s not safe for you.”

“How do you know he’s a cop?”

“A conversation your dad was having with my mom about his friend’s daughter being missing and how her poor husband has cut back his shifts so he can search for his wife. Do you want to know how they found out? Katie’s husband came to their house this afternoon asking if they’d seen her. It sure as fuck didn’t take much to connect the dots.”

“You didn’t say anything to my dad or your mom about what I do, did you?”

“No. But only because I thought it might put them in a bad spot. I think if your dad knew, he’d be really proud of you.”

“Yeah, dream on. There is nothing on the planet I could do that would make my father proud of me.”

“Because you don’t give him a fucking chance to be. You let him go on thinking the worst of you. He’s not as bad as you think. He didn’t lose his shit when I told him and Mom about us.”

“You what?” Georgia yells as she shoots up from her seat. “You told them? Without talking to me first?”

“They were going to find out sooner or later,” I point out. It annoys me that she’s deflecting away from the issue, but I rein in my irritation before steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. “You’re constantly putting yourself in danger. It has to stop. Two days in Toronto, where you can relax and enjoy a mini-break from looking over your shoulder.”

“No. You don’t get to dictate how I live my life. You’ve already interfered enough. Have a great time in Canada, I’m going fucking home right now.” She jumps up from the couch and grabs her shoes and coat from the closet.

“Georgia, can we talk about this? If you really feel that strongly about not going with me, would you please reconsider going back to your apartment. At least until I get back?

“No. I’m done. I shouldn’t have stayed here as long as I did. I knew it was a mistake to get involved.” And with that she storms out.

My instinct is to go after her. But I know from experience, getting up in her face—and that’s how she’d interpret me going after her—would just make her pull further away. I need to trust that she’s going to make it back to her apartment. She’ll be safe there, now that all the new security protocols are in place.