Concordia has always been more of a mythological place I escaped from than some small rural town tucked in the back of an Idaho hillside. Death seemed to be liquid here, constantly in motion, the inertia of which you could never escape. It held the stench of death, of dying, of far worse things than death could ever bring—those were the things I told Allison just once in the beginning of our relationship like some deep, dark confession. There are some things that shouldn’t be repeated or even said to begin with.

My gut wrenches tight as the urge to howl at the sky takes over. Reagan is out there somewhere, like a grain of sand I unwittingly tossed out over the horizon, so easy to lose, impossible to find.

I pace the creaky floors, cursing under my breath at what a fucking idiot I’ve proven myself to be.

My father shows up before the cops ever get here.

“Where’s Allison?” He storms in to find her tucked in a ball on the sofa, weeping into her hands, and recoils at the sight. My father and I share the same height, same straight nose and cheekbones that my mother said drove the women to the brink of insanity, but that’s where the similarities end. His thick hair is gray, his face weathered with time, eyes watery and red as a stoplight. He wears fatigue like a mask these days. My father is a ballbuster, a super-achiever who suffered more loss than anyone should ever have to face, and yet here I am with a fresh loss of my own. But Reagan is coming back to me. I can feel it.

In truth, this all feels like a waking nightmare, like I’m walking numbly under water and any moment I’ll be startled awake by the shrill of the alarm. If I could guess, I would say the nightmare began the day the Odens moved in next door all those months ago.

“Look, she’s pretty upset.” My voice is tight. It’s been hours since I’ve last seen my child in the flesh and it’s all I can do to keep from dropping to my knees and wailing. “I wouldn’t say anything that might set her off.” I glare at the old man a moment. Allison may not realize it, but it was my father who planted the idea in my head that we should move back to Concordia. He promised a peaceful life, a quiet existence like something out of a storybook, and I bought the Cinderella story—hook, line, and shattered glass slipper. But at the end of the day, it was simply my company he was craving. He suggested a change of lifestyle as if that was the panacea that could easily save my marriage, and that was exactly what I was hoping to do. I never told him directly about Hailey, about what really happened between the two of us, the dark turn it quickly took. But he guessed there was someone else right out the gate, and I suppose that’s all he needed to know. He shed his favorite phrase like oil, the wages of sin is death, and God knows I came close to killing my marriage. His son was a cheating fool who had lost his marriage just moments before he quite literally lost his child. But I feel like far more than a fool. I’m an asshole who should never be near Reagan again for the sake of her safety.

The whoop of a police siren fills the night air as a flashing red light strobes through the darkness. “That would be Richard.” He nods past me as I make my way outside. Richard Olsen, my first cousin on my mother’s side, is a bona fide police officer, and right about now, I’m damn glad he is.

“James.” He jogs around his patrol vehicle and offers me a hearty embrace. Something about the sight of that heavy, weighty black and white parked in my driveway makes all of this real and sends a whole new shrill of fear bumping up my spine.

Richard looks the same since the last time we met—dark crimson hair, same pale freckled face as my mother. Tears come to my eyes, and I give a hard blink trying to stave them off. The Olsens all carry on the Irish traditions as far as those rosy features go, that hair of fire as my mother called it. She once called me her little dark knight who rushed into her life to save the day. How I wish I could have saved the day when we lost Wilson and Rachel—Aston, too, but that was my boneheaded move and one I will never forgive myself for. My mother, however, forgave me right off the bat, stoic and stiff as if she had no say in the matter. Live twice as hard for the both of you, she charged me with. As an unemployed civil engineer with a wandering eye and a badly misplaced daughter, I’d say I was fucking up for the both of us instead. And I’m sure as hell no hero—least of all to my own daughter.

We head inside and Allison and I give him a detailed description of both Reagan and Ota. Alarmingly, Richard asks more questions about Ota than he does Reagan.

“We don’t think she has anything to do with this,” Allison mumbles through the tissue wadded up over her mouth. “She’s a little kid for God’s sake.” Her eyes bulge crimson and swollen as if I took a baseball bat to her, and I cringe because that’s what this surreal pain amounts to in the end.

Before Rich has the chance to offer any comfort, my father escorts a petite woman with a mop of dark hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a heavy frown this way.

Rich stands to greet her. “James, Allison, this is detective McCafferty who will be assisting us this evening.”

“Detective?” Allison squawks. “We don’t need to open up an investigation. What we need is to send an officer knocking on every damn door in this town!”

I wrap my arm around my trembling wife as I pull her in. “I agree. Let’s get people combing the area. Have Ota’s parents called in yet?”

“No.” Detective McCafferty kneels next to Allison, studying her face as if examining a corpse. Allison is a beautiful, strong woman, and something about the way this chick in her gray zoot suit is sizing her up makes me feel like I want to punch a hole through every wall in this house. “I’ll call the schools and see if there’s a student who goes by that name. It might have been a misunderstanding. We should work well together as long as there are no secrets between us. Every little detail could help bring home your daughter.”

“I agree.” Ally nods. “The girl’s name—it isn’t Ota,” she says it slow like the vital information it’s panning out to be, and that knot in the pit of my stomach gets a little tighter. “It was Otatay or something like that. I remember thinking it sounded like pig Latin. But she mentioned everyone called her Ota.”

Allison and I give them a detailed description of the girl, along with the odd detail of what Allison calls her affinity for Easter dresses.

I strip a few frames of Reagan’s pictures and give one each to Rich and Detective McCafferty. “She’s a sweet kid.” My voice breaks as I swallow down the painful knife in my throat. “So now what do we do?”

Rich looks over his shoulder at a couple of patrol cars that have pulled up to the front of the house. “I’ll have my guys comb the woods. McCafferty will call the schools like she said, and I’ll run a scan on that name. It’s unique, so if she’s ever been in a talent show, science fair, Girl Scout troop—we’ll know about it soon.”

McCafferty steps in, only a little more than half his height as she sheds a crimson-lipped smile. Her skin is pale, pulled back too tight, and there’s something corpse-like about her in general. “Why don’t you comfort your wife? I should have information to you in about an hour or so.” She scowls over at Allison as if she didn’t harbor one good thought about my wife. “Maybe get her a glass of water. She looks like she needs it.”

She fucking needs vodka, but I don’t say a word. Instead, I do as I’m told and Allison nearly knocks the glass out of my hand.

“Are you kidding? Our daughter is out there somewhere. She could be wandering the hills freezing, hungry, and afraid.” Her voice hikes to terrible heights on its way to the stratosphere. “We can’t just sit around all night and hope for the best. Nobody is going to look for her the way we will.”

She snaps the keys off the table before pulling the heavy flashlight from the hall closet. “Are you coming with me or what?”

Both Rich and McCafferty give a subtle shake of the head as if advising against it.

“I’m coming with you.”

Reagan is out there.

I’ll be damned if I’m not looking for her.

---

All night and well into the morning, Allison and I scour the back hills beyond our property, scaring off coyotes and raccoons alike, looking into the startled eyes of a small mountain lion, but there’s not a single sign of human life.

At about five thirty, while the sun is busy flirting with the horizon, I drive us home and Allison does a thorough room search in the event Reagan has decided to turn this into a game.

“That little demon she’s with probably talked her into playing some twisted version of hide-and-seek.” She drops her head into her hands and sobs convulsively.

“Come here.” I pull her in and carefully stagger us over to the bedroom. “Lie down. I’ll make some coffee and call Rich. He said I could reach him anytime.”

“Good.” Her tired eyes look up at me with hope for the first time in hours. “The detective said she’d call the schools. Call her, too. Tell them to screw the red tape. We’ll head over to where this Ota girl lives ourselves. I don’t want anything to get bogged down in some shitty police protocol. Reagan is scared and she needs us.”

“Will do.” I plant a wet kiss over her forehead and help her lie onto the mattress before heading downstairs. In the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee hits my senses, and for a brief moment I expect to find Reagan playing the part of barista. She’s been known to whip up a cup of cocoa on the Keurig. She knows how it works. I’ve seen her make a cup of tea for Allison on occasion. But it’s not Reagan whipping up anything spectacular. It’s my father dressed in an unremarkable sweater vest, his corduroy pants a little too baggy. It’s fair to say he’s dropped a little weight since Mom passed, and if my lack of appetite is any indication of what happens when you’ve lost your mind, then I suppose I’m not too far behind on wasting away to skin and bone.

“What’s going on?” He whistles out a quick tune and I stop short. My father has been an impenetrable bastard when it comes to dealing with death, with unimaginable situations in general. The day my sister died he whistled long into the night while my mother screamed as if her flesh were on fire. That whistling of his unnerved my brothers and me to no end, but that was simply who he was, the whistling bastard. He did it the night Wilson died as well. In all fairness, my father is prone to whistle on most days, but the fact he chose those occasions and this one above all of them offends me.

“I’m making coffee.” I blow past him and retrieve a mug for Ally.

“I beat you to it.” There’s a rise in his inflection that grates on me.

“Why are you so damn happy?” I pluck the creamer from the fridge and the sight of Reagan’s thermos stops me cold.

“I’m not happy, son. You know that. I’m trying to help you out. I thought I could—”

“Well, you can’t.” I shut the fridge with a slap. “Look, Reagan is missing. If Allison hears you down here dancing around, whistling fucking Dixie, she’s bound to run after you with a hatchet. She’s losing her mind and so am I.”

His forehead erupts with thick lines, but it’s my agitation, not Reagan’s disappearance that’s sponsored them, and it pisses me off. “You’ll find her. Reagan is probably off having the time of her life.”

“She’s six for God’s sake!” My voice riots throughout the cavernous space. “She’s not sixteen.” I tone it down a notch as I make a quick cup for Ally. “Reagan is a little girl. She’s scared is what she is. She’s in a new state, with a girl she’s only known for five minutes.”

“Then why in God’s name did the two of you let her run off like that?” His voice comes at me hungry with accusation. “Any fool knows you don’t let your kid head to some stranger’s house for the night. I don’t care how comfortable you felt with the little demon she was playing with.”

Little demon. That’s exactly what Ally called her upstairs. “Look, nobody is accusing the little girl of anything. As far as we know, she’s a victim in all this just like Reagan. They probably went off for a little adventure and got lost.” Who am I kidding. My mind skipped to the worst-case scenario as soon as Allison staggered out the door last night—a band of hippies, an evil man with nefarious intentions.

“But who is this little girl? Where did she come from?” His voice peaks in an odd manner as if those were lines from a play and we were starring in some bad summer stock. Nobody grates on me like my father. I have never understood why. Yes, he was oppressive as hell to live with, but you’d think I’d be over it by now.

It’s best I leave him before my coffee finds its way to his face.

I tread lightly upstairs, only to find Ally fast asleep. I head back down and plant myself on the couch next to my father, putting in a call to both Rich and McCafferty. About an hour later, they both show up on my doorstep looking like shit and I offer them a cup of coffee.

“No, thanks.” Rich bows his head at my father as we make our way to the sofa.

“I’m fine, too.” McCafferty pulls out a paper and pen, old school, and something about that technological setback makes me wonder about the care my daughter’s case is getting. Case. My blood runs cold at the thought of Reagan’s picture plastered on telephone poles, on milk cartons for God’s sake.

McCafferty looks up at me with those stone-cold eyes, her features unmovable like a death mask. “I contacted every school district in the state.”

“The state?” A fist builds in my throat because instinctively I know this isn’t going to end well.

“Private and public. There’s not a teacher who’s heard of a child who goes by the name of Ota—Otatay or anything like that.” She glowers at me a moment as if I had the audacity to make the whole thing up. “We’d like to send a sketch artist to the house this afternoon to work with you on a composite.”

“Yes, of course.” My pulse runs wild. Holy shit. Little demon is right. “You think this was a setup?” I look to Rich with his plain open face, and for a moment I can see my mother in his features and I fight the urge to bawl. For so long after she died I wished it were my father instead. I have always imagined he would go first and, somehow, he had weaseled his way out of my death fantasy scenario. I bet he was whistling Dixie the second that impact took her life.

“A setup?” Rich looks to McCafferty as if asking for permission. “It’s too soon to tell. You mean one of those child porn rings or something?”

“Shit.” I slap my forehead because for fuck’s sake the thought of someone harming my baby in that way hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“Whoa, whoa.” Rich pulls my hand away. “It’s not like that. My boys are still combing those woods. The fire department has pitched in, and we’ve got a volunteer league that’s due to meet at the Boys and Girls Club in a few hours. You want to be there for that?”

“I don’t know. I think I’d better stick around and make sure Ally’s okay. We’re going to want to keep looking ourselves. We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“Good.” McCafferty clicks the tip of her pen. “I need you to tell me a few things about yourselves.”

“Such as?”

“Have the two of you had any marital problems lately?”

I shoot a quick glance to my father. So help me God, if he starts whistling away, I’m going to throttle him myself. “No, of course not. Nothing out of the norm. We’re here, excited about our move. I’m looking for work.”

“So you’re unemployed,” she says, jotting it down as if it were a point of interest.

“Yes, but so is half the damn country.”

“And your wife?” She never looks up from that yellow notepad.

“She’s staying at home. She used to work real estate for a time before we moved, but we agreed we didn’t want nannies raising our child. She’s been home ever since.”

“And she’s happy with this arrangement?” McCafferty scowls up at me as if I’ve imprisoned my wife to a form of servitude.

“Yes, she’s happy.” The words spit out like razors. “Up until last night, we were both very fucking ecstatic.”

“Calm down,” Rich whispers. Rich has always been the levelheaded one, the voice of reason, but at this moment he feels more like the devil’s advocate. Between my father’s chipper mood and Rich’s command for me to cool it, I’m about to shoot through the roof.

“Are there any weapons in the home?” McCafferty gives the place a quick once-over as if she might see one.

“Yes, I’ve got a gun with a hair trigger sitting on Reagan’s nightstand. No—I don’t have any guns. Allison and I both frown on it. We had a security system at the house back in L.A. We didn’t think we needed one here.”

“You didn’t think you needed one?” Her penciled in brows rise into her forehead, giving her an alien appeal, and it unnerves me.

“Concordia is safe—or so we thought.” I lean into the sofa, good and pissed at the fact I ever ventured out this way. What the hell was I thinking? You could smell the stench of death all the way back to L.A. on a clear breezeless night. Deep in my heart, I knew it was a mistake before the suggestion ever left my lips.

“It is safe.” McCafferty clicks her pen shut and leans in with those sad, drooping hound dog lids. “Or at least it was until last night.”

“We’ll know more this afternoon.” Rich slaps me on the knee and rouses me from my stupor. “The first forty-eight hours are critical in an investigation like this. Just keep those prayers going up. My mom has the entire damn town on bended knee.”

“Good to know. Thanks, man—appreciate it.”

The four of us walk outside, and I watch as McCafferty hops into her midsized SUV and whips out of the driveway.

“You like her?” I nod to the dust she left in her wake. I’m not sure why I don’t have an easy feeling about the woman, but something about her rubs me the wrong way.

“She’s good people. Means well. A little butch if you ask me, but that’s just how she rolls. She’ll get to the bottom of things, though, and that’s what you want. That woman knows her shit. There’s never been a case in Concordia she hasn’t cracked.”

“How many missing children have you had around these parts?” I didn’t really need to ask the question. I already know the answer.

“None up until yesterday. But the girl knows her stuff. Mark my words. She’s going to have a solid lead before the sun goes down.”

“She’d better have two solid little girls.” Dad nods to Rich before ducking back into the house and out of the icy air.

It’s so cold out Reagan could have frozen to death last night. I wait until the door shuts tight before stepping in close to Rich.

“What was up with those questions?”

“Just routine, man.” He slaps at the back of his neck and his face lights up like a plum. “She asked me a few things in the hall, but in all honesty I don’t know the two of you well enough to answer any of it. What have we seen of each other? A few holidays here and there? I told her to ask you herself. It’s not so bad. She has to do a thorough investigation.”

“Of what, us? Dude, there’s some motherfucking maniac out there—”

He raises a hand and winces. “And that cussing of yours. I get it. You’re on the brink, but I’d hate for you to give her the wrong impression.”

“What do you mean the wrong impression?” It takes all of my self-control not to knock him back into that patrol car and remind him there’s an angry, hostile world he’s sworn to protect and serve. “I get it. Life moves at a snail’s pace around here and old school values and morals still reign supreme, but so do perverts and you’d be a salty son of a bitch too if your daughter was out there somewhere and you didn’t have a clue.” I give his tire a kick before thrashing my shoe into his front bumper. “You fucking piece of shit.”

Rich waits until I settle down, remaining calm, cool, and collected like he always is, like he always has been. “You know where the Boys and Girls Club is. We’re starting the meeting at noon. Bring your wife. Everyone’s looking forward to meeting her.”

“I will.” I scratch the back of my head and watch as he gets into his comfortable car and pulls out of the driveway with that comfortable look on his face.

Hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was whistling Dixie.

---

Noon comes like a bastard without my daughter and both Allison and I force ourselves to throw some fresh clothes on and drive down to the Boys and Girls Club. The lot is brimming with cars and so is the overflow in the street. A police officer stands in the middle of the intersection directing traffic and flags us over.

I roll down my window as he slows me to a stop. “You here for the missing kids?”

Ally leans in past me. “God—have you found them?”

“No, ma’am. We’re just getting the volunteer league together. Park to the left if you’re here to help.”

“We’re here to fucking help,” I mutter as I land a spot at the distal end of the lot. Ally and I stagger the long way across the city park, across the street before finally hitting the short box of a building that houses the Boys and Girls Club. Dad volunteered to stay back at the house this afternoon. I asked him to hang around in the event Reagan and her friend came strolling back like nothing happened. Although something tells me that girl was no friend.

Ally leans in while holding my arm as if she needed it to keep her upright. She managed to run a brush through her hair, but her face is bloated and blotchy from tears.

“Who the hell do you think she was—an actress?” she asks the question as if reading my mind. “How could she not exist?” Her fingers pinch into my arm, crushing right down to the bone.

“She does exist. Maybe you misheard her name. Maybe she made it up. Maybe—I don’t know, maybe she’s in on it.”

Ally stops short and I take a quick step back while looking into the blood-red eyes of my exhausted wife. I had already put her through the ringer, and now we’re both in another fresh hell. I’d give anything for this to have been some other horror that we’d have to deal with. An illness, another affair, ten damn lovers in a row—anything but Reagan.

“There was something.” Her voice scratches below the surface.

“What?” I pull her in by the shoulders and steady my eyes over hers. “What was it?” I give a quick shake to her petite frame without meaning to and spot McCafferty in the distance, slack-jawed and taking those damn notes as if her career depended on it. A part of me wants to run over and rip that stupid notebook she’s cradling to shreds. “What happened?” I wrap my arm lovingly around Allison’s shoulders and drop a gentle kiss to her cheek for show.

“That first day we met. I—I don’t know. It was stupid.”

“It doesn’t matter—just tell me.”

“That first day—when she took off to find Reagan, the grass where she was standing—it looked pale, dried up, and yellow as if her feet had the power to kill it.”

A shiver runs through me, ice cold and foreboding as I plant another kiss over the top of my wife’s head. I glance back at McCafferty and give a solemn nod in her direction. Here we are—a happy little family minus one. Now get back to finding my daughter, you judgmental little bitch.

I dip my mouth close to Ally’s ear and whisper, “I’d keep that one to yourself for now.”

The hall inside the Boys and Girls Club is buzzing to life with an uncalled for level of jubilation and the scent of stale coffee. People of all shapes and sizes sit shoulder to shoulder as Rich takes the stage and fills them in on the anemic facts we know. The energy in the room is palpable. You could power an entire city off the tension and the undercurrent of excitement.

Rich clears his throat into the mic. “Over there are little Reagan’s mother and father.” He points our way, and I lift my finger in lieu of a wave. “We’ll be taking sign-ups for the next hour or so, and then we’ll organize into groups for the sweep. It’s looking like a storm is about to push through, so please dress accordingly.”

The meeting wraps up and bodies swirl throughout the bustling hall as people hurry to get their names down for the sweep as Richard called it. Sweep. You sweep rivers for bodies, snow fields, deserts. Who knew it would be a simple word like sweep that has the power to insight a holy terror in me?

An entire throng of bodies line up to wish us the best of luck, offer up their prayers while encouraging us to never give up hope. Every other face is more familiar than the last, which doesn’t surprise me. Hell, going to the grocery store in town has sponsored an unwanted high school reunion just about every time.

“James Price?” a female voice calls from my left and I look to find the one familiar face that I was hoping to never see again. But here she is, right where my shitty luck dictated she be.

The tall brunette with thick layers of caked on makeup, red glossy lips, eyelashes up to her eyebrows would be my old, long-forgotten train wreck of an ex.

“Monica.” Shit. Monica Phillips was the high school homecoming queen to my king, my long-time girlfriend who some might say I up and abandoned when I took off for western pastures, to Wake University. But that wasn’t the case at all, and Monica knows it. Monica Phillips is as batshit as they come, and the truth is, I couldn’t get out of Concordia fast enough to get the hell away from her destructive behavior. She is rabbit boiling insane, hack off your balls if you’re not careful psychotic—and I fake a smile just to greet her. “Monica,” I say her name once again because there are no real words I’d like to exchange with her now or ever.

“Rumor has it, you’ve been in town for weeks. Have you been avoiding me?” She digs a jovial finger into my gut and I cringe. “And I take it this lovely little thing is your poor wife?” Monica’s voice hits an all-time high as she offers a look that mimics something just this side of sympathetic. She’s not fooling anyone, least of all me. I doubt she gives a shit that my daughter has gone missing. Nope. Her little trot to the Boys and Girls Club in spiked heels was just for me, and I’m about to get ten years of pent-up bullshit tossed my way.

“Allison Price.” Ally extends a hand to the viper, and I carefully monitor the situation in the event she gets it bitten right off. But if anything, it’s Monica who had better watch out. Ally may come across as a soft little rose, but she has a bite stronger, deeper, and darker than just about any woman I have ever known. My left eye twitches at the thought because that’s not entirely true. That title goes to another woman, one I’m afraid to let invade my thoughts in fear she could hear them.

“I’m Monica Percale, nee Phillips.” She touches her hand to her chest.

Percale. I do a quick scan of my mental yearbook. Don’t know the poor sap, don’t want to.

“Jamie and I dated off and on. I’m sure he’s mentioned me a time or two.” Those hazel eyes of hers skirt my way and cut me to the quick the way they always had the capability to do. It’s only then I note the hard lines around her lips, the crow’s feet around her eyes that have infiltrated skin that once looked so pristine.

“Actually, he hasn’t.” Allison tips her head back and steals a moment to close her eyes. The fatigue of the hell I’ve dragged her through on top of Reagan vanishing into thin air is about to swipe her feet from under her. I feel the same way. “Maybe he did. I’m sorry. My mind is all over the place right now.”

“Of course, it is. It’s understandable in such situations.” Monica lifts those heavy eyes to mine and her left lid depresses just a notch.

Was that a wink? Is she fucking winking at me?

“I’ll be on the front lines. I’m not giving up on your little angel, Jamie.” She swims past Allison and dives over me with a strangulating embrace, her tits pressing into my chest as if they were hell-bent on leaving an impression. “If you need someone to lean on, I’m living at the old Ghost Ship.”

The Ghost Ship. I carefully extract her from my person and offer a brief thanks as the crowd mercifully sweeps her away like unwanted debris.

But the Ghost Ship resonates in my mind long after Monica is gone. It’s a house off Main Street that used to scare the pants off all the kids in town when we were younger. The old owner erected a statue of a ship in his front yard and it was quickly dubbed the Ghost Ship, thus the Ghost Ship House. I never did visit as a kid, and I don’t plan on knocking on its door anytime soon, unless, of course, that’s where my daughter is holed away. In that case, I’d knock down every wall, tear up every floorboard until I found my sweet baby girl.

My phone buzzes in my pocket so I fish it out. I glance to the screen and my heart seizes before I sink the phone back where I found it.

I lean into Ally a moment, interrupting her conversation with a woman I recognize as the old middle school librarian, grayer and far more fragile and wrinkled than I remember.

“I’ll be right back.” I head to the corner and pull my phone out once again to see the name Hannigan scrawled over the screen—a moniker that sounded like every other last name down in the district where I once held a paying job with the promise of lifetime benefits and a meager retirement. If Ally saw it, she wouldn’t think twice. But there was no Hannigan down in any district that I know of. This was and is my other nut job of an ex if you can call her that—Hailey Oden.

A tap comes over my shoulder and I quickly bury my phone in my pocket before spinning around. McCafferty stands there with her lips pulled tight, her hands behind her back as she rocks on her heels. “What is that you’re hiding from the world, Mr. Price? And who was that gorgeous woman who offered such a generous embrace?”

A dull smile comes and goes on my lips. There are some things McCafferty doesn’t need to know.

Allison is welcome to keep secrets from her.

And so am I.