Later, I would think of my mother’s words when she told me about that first night with Forester-And then he kissed me. I’d like to tell you that I resisted. But I didn’t. My mother said that Forester had walked away then.

But that’s not what happened with Grady.

It was as if something was released inside me with that kiss-something primal and passionate and angry. And it only made me want to kiss him more.

He drew away from me for a minute and looked at my face, trying to read it, but I just pulled his head back toward mine and kissed his lips that were so different from Sam’s-wider, fuller. He kissed different from Sam, too. There was a hunger in Grady’s mouth that could only be delivered with a first kiss.

A logical voice inside my head was now shouting, Stop! You’re just exhausted. You don’t know what you’re doing!

But I knew exactly what I was doing-I was obliterating the week and whatever Sam might have done. Grady’s kisses seemed to suck something out of me-the grief, the worry, the stress, the confusion-leaving behind an undeniable desire that managed to easily drown out the logic.

“Let’s go somewhere.” He took my hand. “Your place?”

A sliver of guilt sliced through my desire. “No, I couldn’t.”

“My place?”

I felt more desire getting cut away. “I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be doing any of this.”

“Fuck it. Come with me.”

He got my coat, pulled me into Jilly’s, a jazz bar only steps from Prada. Inside, it was dark, the walls deep-red. A sax player was blaring.

Grady found a corner table, ordered two gin martinis. Before I could think about it too much, we’d had two and were making out like high-school freshmen under the bleachers.

And for the next few hours, that’s what we continued to do. There was little talking except for the few times Grady stopped, gazed at me and muttered something like, “I always wanted to do this,” or “God, you’re hot.”

I let myself be consumed. I didn’t think about the fact that Sam was apparently in Panama or the fact that my mother had slept with my client, thereby gaining me years of legal work that I thought I’d somehow earned. I didn’t think about Dr. Li or who had paid her to hurt Forester.

Until the next morning.

57

Day Nine

I woke up at first with a feeling of calm that I knew, in those bleary initial minutes, was different than the way I had felt for a while.

And then it all rushed back. The kissing, the groping, the gin, the kissing.

What had I done? I’d been so quick to judge my mother the day before, and within hours of that judgment I’d cheated on my fiancé. Not cheating in a sex way, but cheating in a making-out-like-it’s-the-last-day-on-earth way. But I couldn’t even claim love, the way my mother had. I didn’t love Grady. I did as a friend, of course, but it couldn’t be more than that. Or could it? I guess I’d never considered it before. I looked at the clock. When I texted him last night about the playdate, Mayburn had asked me to come to his house that morning to prep me for it.

Cringing a little at a small headache, I made my way toward the shower.

My phone rang. Grady.

“So…” he said when I answered. “Are you freaked out?”

“No small talk, huh?” I gave a nervous laugh. Luckily, I’d managed to get home and get to bed after those two hours at Jilly’s. He had said he would call first thing in the morning, and now he kept his promise.

“We’re past the small talk, I think.”

A memory burst in my brain-Grady’s tongue in my mouth, his hands grazing my breasts through my dress. “Yeah, I guess…”

“You’re freaked.”

“No, I…”

He laughed. “Hey, it’s still me.”

“Thank God, because no one in my life seems to be who I thought they were.”

He was quiet for a minute. “Look, I’m not going to push. I don’t even want to talk about last night.”

“Maybe we should. Maybe-”

“Nope. Don’t even do it. You’ve got a lot going on.”

He was right about that. I had to leave to get to Mayburn’s place, and then I had to borrow Kaitlyn again and pretend I was a mother. And then I had to start facing the fact that Sam was in Panama, probably trying to sell a corporation, which owned thirty million dollars’ worth of real estate.

“So, seriously,” Grady said, “just do what you have to do. And you and I…well…we’ll either talk about it or we won’t.”

I realized then that I did love him. At the very least, I loved him as a very, very good friend. He’d somehow known exactly what I’d needed in that moment.

“Thanks,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”

Mayburn’s place was just off Lincoln Square, a predominantly German neighborhood years ago, which left behind great bars like the Chicago Brauhaus. Lately, however, the Starbucks, Gaps and American Apparels of the world had crept in.

The streets surrounding Lincoln Square were populated mostly with wood-frame, single family houses. When I pulled up in front of Mayburn’s-three stories, white-painted wood with tan trim and a manicured lawn boasting a tall oak in the middle-I was surprised. It was so family looking.

“Nice house,” I said when he opened the door.

He seemed to sense my question. “Yeah, I bought it when I was with Madeline. Kind of hoping she’d want to get married and have kids here, but hey, things don’t always work out.”

I thought of Sam. “No, they don’t.”

He led the way down a long hallway with old pine floors, past a sparsely decorated living room and into the kitchen.

The kitchen cabinets were old wood, painted white, but the appliances were all silver and new.

“I stayed because I like the neighborhood,” Mayburn said, taking glasses from the cabinet. “It’s getting more crowded, but it’s pretty mellow, especially during the winter.” He ran the faucet. “Water?”

I nodded.

He filled a glass, didn’t ask about ice, and handed it to me. “So, how are you doing?”

“I’m going insane.”

He half grunted, half laughed. “I hear that. I’d probably be the same.”

“Did you find out anything about Sam, like where he might be in Panama?”

“Yeah.”

I put the glass of water down with a plunk. “Tell me.”

“Alec Thornton’s credit card was used to check out of a hotel in Panama City a few days ago.”

“What hotel?”

“The Decapolis. It’s a nice one. I’ve been working the phones, trying to figure out what ‘Alec’ did while he was there. I did find out he was a blond guy, Sam’s age, but the rest is a little tough because of the language barrier. Finally, I found some people who spoke English, though, and from what I could tell, he kept to himself, didn’t charge much at the hotel and then left.”

“Was he with anyone?”

Mayburn put a hand in his sandy-colored hair and rubbed it, like he was trying to shake something loose in his head. He said nothing, but looked at me, clearly thinking over his words.

“Tell me.” I moved forward, leaning toward him. “Please tell me and do not hold back, because I am sick of not knowing, and I don’t need to be coddled.”

He made a face. “Step back, my friend, I’m not coddling you.” He exhaled. “Fine, you want it straight, here it is. He had one charge at the bar. It was for four drinks, two were beers, two were wine.”

Sam didn’t usually drink wine. He was a beer guy. I bit my lip.

“I tracked down a bartender who was there that night,” Mayburn said. “And since you don’t want me to hold back, I’ll just tell you…”

He paused, and I felt the pain in my heart, even before he spoke.

“He was with a woman.”