Breton relays her entire gas station experience for me while I start pumping. “Damn, baby,” I groan, “you should have called me. I’d have loved to see that.”

“There wasn’t time. I needed it right away and—and I wasn’t thinking, I just...had to.”

I nod. “I did it in the airplane bathroom.”

She gives a weak smile; I turned up the vibration twice during her story, and it’s starting to wear her down. “Really? Were you thinking about me?”

“Of course. I couldn’t stop thinking about that day in my kitchen.” I lick my lips; the memory’s getting to me again. “When you started mumbling in French because you came so hard.”

“Which made you come pretty hard, if I remember correctly.”

I can’t argue this, so I just turn up the vibrator again.

“This is weirdly hot,” I say, “doing this over the internet. I mean, I wish we were together for real, but this is cool. Like...like porn, only way better.”

Breton bites her lip, smiling. “Teague,” she whispers, “tell me I’m your good girl.”

“You love when I call you that, don’t you?” It’s not the first time I’ve noticed, not by a longshot, but still turns me on as though it were. “My good girl,” I growl, “fingering herself in a gas station bathroom. Just couldn’t wait, could you?”

“No,” she whimpers. “I couldn’t wait....”

“You needed to come so bad, didn’t you, baby?”

“Yes...fuck, yes, I needed it so bad….”

She’s close. I reach for my phone and turn the toy up to maximum power, then sit back, pump myself harder, and enjoy the show.

Teague tells me not to hide my face, but I can’t help it; I have to let out a moan. I push my mouth against one of my pillows just before the sound comes out. Before it’s over, I force my eyes open to see his orgasm unfold. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, watching me watch him.

We lie there afterwards and catch our breath. “I miss you,” he says, cleaning himself off with some tissues. “I wish I could talk to you all night, but I should sleep soon. The pain pills they gave me for my nose are kicking in.”

I grab my clothes, some old leggings and a shirt from high school drama club. “About your nose...I still don’t understand what happened. Someone just punched you, out of nowhere?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“What’s ‘basically’ mean, though?”

“Breton,” he says sternly, which takes me by surprise and makes me defensive. “Why are you picking a fight?”

“I’m not picking a fight, I’m just asking some questions.”

“Okay, but your tone sounds like you’re trying to start some shit and—and we just had this great time together, and now it’s all tense—”

“Only because you’re making it tense!” I take a breath, tamping my volume before I wake up the whole house. “Look, if you don’t want to tell me the truth, fine.”

Teague is quiet, staring at me, even though I won’t look at him. “It is the truth,” he says, finally. “I just don’t feel like going into every little detail right now. All right?”

“Okay.” I cross my arms and sit back against my pillows. Whatever leftover endorphins I had swimming in my brain are long gone. I’m a little mad at myself for asking now, ruining the moment, but I’m madder at Teague for not giving me a straight answer.

We make up, kind of—he offers an “I love you” and I say it back, with just a hint of edge to my voice—and disconnect.

I wash the toy in my bathroom sink, stash it back in my luggage, and climb into bed. It takes me a long time to sleep, even though I’m exhausted; my brain replays every word Teague has said since I found Jennifer’s name. Can I trust anything he’s ever told me?

I love you. Can I even trust that?

* * *

When my mom knocks on my door for breakfast the next morning, I’m still groggy. Colby hands me a big mug of coffee at the top of the stairs, where we sit and drink while Dad fries up some leftover ham. The smell wafts up to meet us, and for a few minutes, I manage to forget my problems and just enjoy being home. Sundays were always my favorite: a big breakfast in the morning, a lazy afternoon, and Chinese food and a movie in the evening.

“Hey, Breton!” Mateo rolls into view at the bottom of the stairs. His feet are strapped into roller skates. “Did you know I have school tomorrow?”

“I did know that. I’m driving you, I think.”

He grins, his smile missing at least four teeth. “Really?”

“Yep. All the way till Wednesday.”

“I don’t have to go the whole time Wednesday,” he says, and skates himself right into the umbrella stand by the door. The noise echoes through the house. “It’s a have day.”

“Half, Mattie.”

“Have,” he says again, before skating off into the kitchen. I can hear Mom reprimanding him to take off his skates in the house, but he’s still got them on when we come downstairs and take our seats.

Mealtime conversations in my house tend to happen in French, but for Colby’s benefit, everyone sticks to English. “When do you girls go back?” Mom asks, sliding another pancake onto my plate.

“Friday morning,” Colby says, before I can answer, “Sunday night.” I look at her, confused, but she just winks.

“Why not through the weekend?” Dad refills all the coffees, then gives Mattie some more orange juice. “Traffic will be terrible on Friday morning.”

“We both have a lot to do before final exams.” Colby nudges my foot with hers under the table, until I nod at my parents to confirm.

They leave us alone the rest of breakfast, turning their questions on Mateo, who’s still young enough to be excited when people prod him about his life. We slip away with our coffee while he tells Dad about the second grade Thanksgiving skit he’ll be performing at lunch tomorrow.

“Does your family even celebrate Thanksgiving? It just occurred to me that it’s, like, an American holiday.”

I laugh; Colby isn’t the first person to ask me this. “My parents and I have dual citizenship, and Mateo was born here, so we are American. Why wouldn’t we celebrate?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, the whole...being French thing, I guess?”

I laugh again and shake my head. “What’s your family do?”

“Nothing fancy. Mom makes turkey and mashed potatoes, buys a pumpkin pie, and we eat in front of the TV so my dad can watch football. That’s about it.”

I wonder how Teague will be celebrating. Is his family even in Tennessee, or just Jennifer? I imagine him at a restaurant with her, the thought of me far from his mind. They sip wine—she’s old enough to drink it. He realizes he missed that, a woman who can order her own alcohol. Then he feeds her dessert and whispers all the things he’s going to do to her that night. Whispers that he loves her.

It makes my stomach turn.

We sit on the sofa. I push my worries to the back of my mind for now, trying to focus my attention on anything else: the smells of breakfast again, still lingering; the Christmas movie Dad put on TV, as usual; or Mateo, chattering on about the Pilgrims.

“So,” I ask Colby, “you have a lot of projects before finals, or something?”

“Oh, my God, Bret,” she laughs. “No! I said that so we could go to Tennessee.”

“What?”

“Okay,” she says, pulling her feet under her and turning towards me, “if you don’t want to go, I totally get it, but hear me out first. You said Teague probably won’t tell you the truth about Jennifer, right? But if we catch them together, he’d have to admit to it.”

“But if we do catch them, then....” I can’t bear to finish my sentence, even though the words keep running through my brain like a news ticker.

Colby waits, then says, quietly, “Then...you’ll have to end things. Yeah, I thought about that.” She traces the stitches in the back cushion of the couch, up and down, down and up. “But isn’t it better than not knowing?”

She has a point. I’m just not ready to admit it.

“Anyway, we know his hotel is a Holiday Inn—”

“We do?”

“Yeah, remember? He said it during the video chat before dinner. So let’s go. We just need to find out the city, search online for the hotel there, and wait for him to come out.”

“I don’t know….” I pick at my lip as a thought occurs. “Why is he even in a hotel? If he’s seeing his wife, wouldn’t he stay at her house?” My throat hurts when I correct myself. “Their house?”

Colby considers this. “Maybe,” she says slowly, “he’s not really staying in the hotel. He’s only there when he video chats with you. Like, Jennifer obviously has no idea this is going on, so he’d have to sneak off, right?”

I have to close my eyes, picturing it.

“I’m not trying to upset you.” I feel her foot nudge mine, and I open my eyes. “I’m just looking at this objectively. You said you want proof before you confront him, so…that’s what we’re gonna get.”

I shake my head, but then, after a moment, her idea settles. It makes sense.

“Let’s say I agree to this. How will I figure out which city he’s in?”

Colby shoots me a look like, Give me some credit.

After lunch, we go up to my room. She sits in the beanbag chair again while I start the video chat with Teague.

“Hey,” he says, but he sounds on-edge, impatient. “What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” I see trees behind him, the corner of a brick building. “Did I, um...interrupt something?”

“No, no, not at all. I’m just, uh....” He pauses, then sighs. “Okay, look, I’ve got a secret to tell you. Promise you won’t get mad?”

My breath catches in my throat. Behind me, Colby freezes.

“Um...I—I don’t know. Depends on what it is,” I stammer.

Teague holds up a cigarette, smoke billowing from the tip. “I’m smoking.”

His words don’t make sense to me, at first. I blink, looking from the cigarette to him and back. “What?”

“I didn’t want to tell you, because I know you hate sitting next to that kid in class who always smells like smoke, but...yeah. I only do it now and then—maybe once a month, when I’m stressed. If that helps.” He gives a sheepish smile. “Go on, yell at me. I deserve it.”

My mouth is moving, but it takes me a while to push the words out. “That’s the secret?”

“Yeah.” He ashes it and takes a drag. “So? Are you mad?”

“Um—no, I...I’m not mad.”

Behind me, Colby whispers, “Do it now!”

“Oh, uh, so how are you liking Memphis?” I ask, just like I rehearsed with Colby downstairs earlier, after she told me the rest of her plan. “I went there with my family once—”

“Memphis? I’m in Kingsport.” Teague takes another drag, oblivious.

“Are you sure? I could’ve sworn you said Memphis.”

“No,” he laughs. “That’s, like, seven hours into Tennessee. Kingsport’s practically in Virginia.” The phone shakes as he stomps out the cigarette. “Hey, can I call you tonight? I’ve got some stuff to do.”

I resist the urge to ask him what, exactly, “stuff” means. “Yeah, that’s fine. Seven?”

He winks at me, smiling so sweetly that I forget about everything but how much I miss him. “See you then.”

As soon as I hang up, Colby bursts into laughter.

“I told you!” She throws a pillow at me. “If you ask about the wrong information on purpose, a person will almost always correct you, without even thinking. All the crime shows say so.”

I laugh, too. “I really can’t believe that worked. You were right.” I pick up the pillow she threw, turning it in my hands. “So...Kingsport. Wonder how many Holiday Inns there are. I guess we could just look at all of them, ask for him at the desk or—”

“Nope,” Colby says, scrolling on her phone. “There’s only one.” She shows me the screen. “Finding him will be way too easy.”

With a solid plan ready to go, I feel better. A little less out of control, at least. But for the rest of the day—and the four that follow—I can’t stop myself from worrying about what we might find, when the plan’s all over.