Even the possibility that he had married Rosie because he had once loved me and wanted to remain near me.
I had not imagined murder.
One of the nurses bent to retrieve the paper.
Ben snatched it first.
“It’s private,” he said.
“Is she having a panic attack?” the nurse asked.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“You don’t look fine.”
“My sister is in surgery.”
The nurse’s expression softened. “You should sit down.”
Those were almost the same words Ben had used moments before.
I hated them now.
“I said I’m fine.”
The nurses exchanged a glance, then reluctantly returned through the doors, leaving Ben and me alone beneath the humming lights.
I stared at him.
“You knew?”
His jaw tightened.
“How long have you known?”
“Not everything.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Six months,” he said.
The words struck harder than the scream had.
“Six months?”
“Rosie found evidence last winter.”
“And neither of you told me?”
“She wanted to be certain.”
“My mother has been dead for seventeen years.”
“I know.”
“You were at her funeral.”
“I know.”
“You stood beside me while they lowered her coffin into the ground.”
