Amanda managed to sleep fitfully, while I once again stared at the ceiling and paced the house.
When I had left the police station, around one thirty, I went by my in-laws’ house to pick her up. Mercifully, Bill and Karen were asleep, and so was Henry, and Amanda had already arranged with them to leave the baby there overnight so the two of us could have distraction-free conversation in the morning. I desperately wanted to lay eyes on the little guy, but I knew he was safe with his grandparents. And I agreed with Amanda’s assessment that it would be nice to talk without interruption.
Since I was up long before Amanda, my mind swirling with the events of the previous evening, she at least came downstairs to the aroma of brewing coffee filling the house and the sight of me at the counter buttering toast.
She smiled when she came into the room, and we shared a kiss. But there was a strain in her smile, something that showed across her face. She wore a hoodie and baggy shorts, and I wished it were simple to pick up and return to our regular lives.
But I knew it wouldn’t be.
And I knew Dawn Steiner’s deadline loomed over the morning.
But would she really show up? Wouldn’t she be scared off by the news that everything was out in the open? She held no more leverage over me. She had nothing to push me with. For all I knew, the police had her in custody as well.
Before we sat down at the table with our steaming mugs, Amanda went out onto the stoop and grabbed the morning paper. She reluctantly slid it across the table toward me, and I saw Jennifer’s death and Aaron’s arrest taking up most of the front page. And when I saw the large type and Aaron’s mug shot, my heart jumped to a pace suitable for NASCAR.
“I thought about hiding it from you,” she said. “But what’s the point? Isn’t everything supposed to be out in the open now?”
“It is.” But I sounded less sure than ever.
I spread the paper out and scanned the first story. It revealed less than I knew and relied on a lot of “sources say” and “police aren’t sure.” I felt some relief that I hadn’t been mentioned, but that lasted about one minute. In the second story, which detailed the circumstances of Aaron’s arrest in greater detail, I saw my name. “Ryan Francis, local PR executive and small-business owner.” While it withheld many of the details—it didn’t mention my presence in Jennifer’s house the night she had died—it did say that the potential crimes being investigated stemmed partially from an “alcohol-involved accident during college.” And it made sure to tell the readers that additional charges could be filed against all of the men, including Blake and me.
I’d turned my phone off when I came home from getting Amanda, hoping to shut the world out so we could sleep. But something compelled me to reach for it. I went down the hall to my office, noticed the space on the desk where my laptop should have been resting, and picked up the phone. Amanda appeared in the doorway right behind me.
“Ryan, maybe don’t . . .”
But I’d already seen. Text after text after text. And calls and voice mails. I scanned the first few.
Hey, man . . .
Is this you?
Do you need anything?
Are they serious?
I looked away, my face burning.
Amanda took a deep breath in the doorway. She pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. “The same thing happened on my phone. And Facebook and Snapchat too. I thought you might want to avoid that for a while.”
“I thought people didn’t read the newspaper anymore. Do we know the only people who subscribe?”
“Well, you know the newspaper reporters Tweet all their stories. And the paper shares its stories on Facebook. At least people care,” she said. “We have a lot of friends offering support.”
“It’s ghoulish,” I said. “They just want prurient details. They want a glimpse of the disaster.”
Amanda remained quiet, but she wore a knowing look.
“What?” I asked.
“Look, Ryan, live by social media, die by it. We put a lot of our lives on there, so naturally people think they can ask whatever they want. It happens.”
“Just what I need to hear. Logic.”
She came across the room and took me by the hand, the hand that didn’t hold the phone. “Come on out to the kitchen. We can talk. You know, face-to-face like human beings used to. You can respond to those later. Or ignore them all. You don’t have to jump every time that thing chimes. None of us do.”
“Sure.”
But I made the mistake of taking one more glance at the screen. Another text popped up.
I know you’re pissed and I get it. But lets talk sometime.
“Crap,” I said.
“What?”
“Blake. Of all the nerve . . .”
“All the more reason to ignore that stuff.” She tugged on my wrist. “Come on.”
“Wait,” I said, slipping free of her grip. “I’m going to do one more thing.”
“Ryan.”
“Hold on.”
I went through and blocked Blake. I blocked his texts and his calls. I made sure he couldn’t contact me, no matter how hard he tried. I looked at my desk, where our barely used landline sat, the one we’d had installed when Henry was born. Amanda wanted a backup in case cell service went down and there was an emergency.
“Can you block someone on that?” I asked.
“Just don’t answer,” she said.
I went over and pulled the plug.
“Okay,” I said. “That actually felt good. Now you have my undivided attention. You should always have it.”