“Not a close family, huh? Sounds like mine.”

“We’re close without being close, if you know what I mean. We see each other often, but no one really knows what’s happening behind everyone’s eyes.”

Lauren nods like she knows exactly what I’m talking about. Maybe all American families play the togetherness game—the one where you talk about sports and dine on casseroles (in the Pacific Northwest, it’s gluten-free and organic), fight about politics and act like you have meaningful relationships when you’re actually dying of loneliness.

“I don’t know if she’s okay,” I say of Hannah. “She was off the last time I saw her. She called me the next day, but when I called her back, she didn’t answer.”

“Maybe I can contact her,” Lauren suggests. “Does she have a Facebook or something?”

I give her all of Hannah’s details. I remember her address off the top of my head but not her phone number.

“Do you know where he met this girl?” she asks me as I walk her to the doors.

I shake my head. In all my detective work, I hadn’t asked Hannah where she met her husband, though I doubt she would have told me the truth.

“There’s a photo,” I say quickly. “On Regina’s dating profile. I think Hannah and Regina know each other.”

Lauren is startled; the plot has thickened. “Wait,” she whispers. “Seth’s other two wives know each other?”

I nod. “If you can find that photo we have proof. We can take it to Regina, make her talk...”

My plan is faulty. Thinking that Regina would come forward to back me up is far-fetched. Thinking that a photo could prove my claim that Seth is a polygamist is equally as far-fetched. But it’s all I have. I could blackmail them.

Lauren promises to come back as soon as she has something, and I feel such immense relief that I hug her once more.

“Lauren,” I say before she leaves. “You have no idea how much this means to me. I haven’t even asked how you are...”

“Yeah, well, in light of your current situation, you get a free pass.”

I smile at her gratefully before she turns in her visitor badge to the security desk and gives me a little wave. “I’ll be back soon,” she promises.

I walk back to my room, a renewed hope growing in my chest. I’m not alone. Seth wants me to believe that I am. He’s taken my mother...my father. He wants me to be solely reliant on him. But I’m not sure why. I became a liability when I snooped after he told me not to. I know things that could ruin his business, his reputation. Of course he wants to shut me up, lock me up.

What if...? What if Hannah doesn’t know about me? Maybe that’s it. All along I’ve thought that all three of us were in cahoots, like some secret girl alliance. Our man is so lovable he scored three women, and we’re just so happy to be a part of it! But Seth is going to great lengths to keep me locked away, sequestered. Perhaps to keep me from Hannah. To keep her from finding out. I think of the photo on Regina’s dating profile, the blond in the corner of the photo who looked suspiciously like Hannah. What if Seth used the same story on Hannah that he used on me? The barren wife, the need to be with someone who would give him children... I could be removed from the equation altogether...so Seth could once again get what he wants.

   TWENTY-TWO

Lauren comes back two days later, looking tired and wearing a puffy black jacket the color of garbage bags over her scrubs. She avoids looking at me as she handles a Starbucks cup, spinning it around and around between her fingers. Her fingernails aren’t painted; I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without her fingernails painted. I wonder if that’s an upper-class cry for help, Lauren in distress. I’m too distracted to spend any time on niceties and small talk.

“I got you one, but they wouldn’t let me bring it in.”

Got me what? Oh! A latte—she’s talking about a latte. I dismiss the coffee with a wave of my hand. “We’re not allowed to have caffeine.”

She nods, taking a deep breath before she begins, puffing out her cheeks and widening her eyes. I brace myself.

“She’s not on Facebook, Thursday, there’s nothing. I checked all of the social media sites—I even checked Pinterest and Shutterfly. She doesn’t exist. God, I even tried changing her name around—you know people have all those cutesie handles nowadays...”

I nod, thinking of Regina, how I’d had to be clever with her name to find her.

“She’s either deleted her profile or has extreme privacy settings,” Lauren says. She picks at the cardboard sleeve around her cup. “I Googled her, too... Nothing. Are you sure that’s her real name?”

“I don’t know. That’s the name I saw on the paper I found in Seth’s pocket.” I drop my head into my hands.

“What about the picture of Regina and Hannah? Did you find that?” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a folded piece of paper. Lauren’s face is washed of color. She slides the paper across the table and I reach for it. My hands shake as I unfold it. It’s a printout of the photo I’d found of Regina and the woman I suspect is Hannah. But when I look down at the grainy printout something is wrong. Regina is the same, her smile wide just as I remember it, but in the corner of the photo where I’d once seen Hannah there is a woman with dark hair.

“No,” I say. No, no, no...

“Is that her?” Lauren asks. Her finger taps the photo, right where Hannah should be. “Is that Hannah, Thursday...?”

I shake my head, pushing the paper away. I’m cold all over. I rock slightly, shaking my head. Am I crazy?

If I think I’m crazy, maybe Lauren thinks so, too. I look up suddenly. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes...” But there’s a catch in her voice. Her eyes dart around the room like she’s trying to find a loophole to my question. My heart does a little squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, looking out the window. Lauren, I notice, is slouching in her seat—another telling sign that all is not right. I don’t know if she’s bothered by my situation or if there’s a burden of her own she’s carrying.

“There’s one more thing...” She’s been holding on to this, saving it for last. Why won’t she look at me?

I feel the figurative knots form in my belly and my knee starts to bounce under the table. I just want her to spit it out, get it over with. Squeeze, squeeze, knot, knot...

“Tell me...”

“Look, there’s no easy way to say this. I made a few calls and...well...the house for the address you gave me... Ugh, Thursday! It’s registered under your name.” She covers her eyes with her palms.