I pulled into the parking lot at Full Sail Brewing Company around five o’clock to meet for beers. Three-quarters of the building, which was painted a weird sage-green color and took up almost an entire city block, was dedicated to the brewery. The other quarter housed the restaurant.

The food was pretty good for your typical pub fare, but the reason we came to Full Sail more often than anywhere else was a sense of loyalty. Full Sail was a shining emerald in the craft brewery crown, which had been rightfully bestowed upon the greater Portland area.

Nate was already seated at the bar, wearing his usual uniform of slacks and a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I didn’t know how Nate had used his computer programming degree to start an investment firm, but he did well for himself. And he certainly had the cut-throat personality required to succeed in finance.

He held up his glass of beer as I approached. “What’s up, Biff?” he said, using the nickname he’d given me when I started bulking up after Junior’s death.

“What’s up, gangsta?” I said, nodding as I took a seat in the stool next to him. “You finally lose your virginity yet, or what?”

Zara, the hot bartender with the enormous tits, shook her head as she scooped ice into a tumbler.

“Still waiting for that special lady,” Nate said with a shrug. “Will I ever find her?”

“Not with that tattoo, you won’t,” Zara said, nodding toward the Dallas Cowboys emblem tattooed on Nate’s forearm.

I held up my hand and Zara gave me a high-five. “The woman makes a fine point. You should get that thing covered up already.”

“Dude, I was sixteen. Can you give me a break about the tat already?” Nate replied, shaking his head.

“You should cover it up with something,” I said, watching Zara as she slid the cocktail she’d just made to a guy at the other end of the bar.

“With what?” Nate asked.

“With anything. A tat of your mom’s hairy, pimply ass would be better than that.” I nodded at Zara as she gestured toward the tap behind her, asking if I wanted the usual.

Nate cocked one of his ginger eyebrows. “How about we lay off the topic of moms, especially since I just laid yours.”

“Damn. So you’re telling me you’re not still a virgin? You hear that, Zara? You lost your chance,” I said, grabbing the glass of lager she set down in front of me.

She flashed me a seductive smile. “That’s okay, baby. I’m still saving myself for you. You let me know as soon as you get divorced.”

Nate laughed at my uncomfortable smile. “You’re in luck, Z. Biff’s wife just left him.”

I shot him a deadly look. “She didn’t leave me, fuckhead. She’s just staying at her mom’s house to work on the garden for a few weeks.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Sure, chief. If that’s what you choose to believe.” He took a long drink from his glass and stared into it. “That’s what Michelle said before I got served divorce papers. ‘I just need some time to myself.’ And I thought nothing of it. She hadn’t visited her parents in months. I thought she was just going to spend the weekend or even the week there, then she’d be back.”

I shook my head. “Dude. You cheated on Michelle and worked sixteen hours a day for years. Of course she left you.”

He chuckled. “And you don’t think you’ve been unfaithful to Laurel?”

“No, I haven’t. I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to say, but I’ve never even thought about cheating on Laurel.”

He nodded. “Yeah, because spending your time on that fucking website sleuth thing, whatever the fuck it’s called, is not at all like cheating on her. Dude, wake the fuck up. Every time you choose your addiction over your wife it’s going to feel, to her, like you’re being unfaithful. She may not even realize she feels that way, but it’s the same fucking thing. Trust me. I learned that the hard way.”

We drank the rest of our first beer in silence, then we changed the topic to work. I left about an hour later feeling angry with Nate, for calling attention to a flaw in my marriage. And angry with myself for not having the self-awareness to notice such a fatal fault.

* * *

I wasn’t at all surprised when Laurel answered the phone after the first ring. She could run away to her mother’s house and play the part of the spurned wife, but I was in her blood, in every cell of her marrow. If she wanted to play a little game of cat and mouse, I’d play along, for now.

“Jack.” The volume of her whisper was multiplied by the sound system in my truck. “Why are you whispering?”

She sighed. “I don’t know, because I want to. Why does it matter?”

“You’re my wife. Are you not at your mom’s house?”

“Excuse me? Are you accusing me of something? Is this what you called me for? To make sure I’m behaving like a good little wife?”

I shook my head as I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you. I just want you to know that this marriage is far from over.”

“What is that, some kind of veiled threat? Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m not drunk. And, no, it’s not a fucking threat. It’s a promise. And here’s another one: I promise…” I clenched my jaw, hardly able to believe what I was about to say. “I promise I’ll go to couple’s counseling. None of that one-on-one shit. And… and if that goes well, I promise we can start trying for another baby.”

I had never been a quitter, giving up on my marriage was sure as hell not the right time to start being one.

She was silent for a moment. “Are you being serious?”

“Laurel, divorce is a pretty serious subject, and there is no way I’m letting it get to that point. So yes, I am dead serious right now.”

More silence, then she let out a soft breath that made me ache for her. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For loving me enough to try.”

I drew in a long, shaky breath. “Just come home. I swear to God I won’t break my promise. Just come home so we can do this together.”

She sniffed loudly. “I can’t,” she replied, her voice thick with anguish. “You’ve broken too many promises for me to take you at your word.”

“Fuck,” I whispered under my breath, wishing I could disagree with her. “I slept like a baby last night,” I said, rounding out the hard edges in my voice. “I’ve missed sleeping with you.”

I waited for her to say something like, “Well, you could have been sleeping with me if you weren’t spending your nights on .” Of course, Laurel surprised me again.

“But you hate my cold feet,” she teased me.

I smiled. “Believe it or not, I’ve missed your ice-cold feet stealing my warmth.”

“I don’t steal your warmth,” she protested. “It’s not my fault you have an unlimited supply. You’re like the sun.”

“Are you saying I’m a ball of fiery hot gas?”

She laughed. “Yes. You’re a walking talking unlimited supply of hot gas, which I will continue to steal until the day I die.”

“You can’t steal something that’s given knowingly and generously.”

She snorted. “Oh, Lord. So you’re like Mother Teresa for the cold people of the world?”

“Not the whole world, pixie. Just you.” This silenced her again, so I figured that would be a good time to say goodbye. “Get some rest, baby. I’ll call you later.”

She sniffed again, and I wished I could take her in my arms and soak up her tears. “Okay,” she whispered.

“I love you more than you can imagine,” I said.

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

I gritted my teeth to hold back tears as I hit the button to end the call, but the Bluetooth function took a couple of seconds to respond. A soft whimper echoed through the speakers right before the call disappeared.

I considered calling her back, to talk to her until she stopped crying, but I decided to let it be. This was our reality now.

With Laurel an hour away, I couldn’t be there for her the way I wanted or the way she needed. This separation was the consequence of our actions — and inaction. If it didn’t hurt, it would mean there was nothing left to fight for.

I just hoped the one-two punch of the separation followed by the new developments in the murder case didn’t spell the beginning of the end for us.