Chapter 2: Forty-Eight Hours
PART 2 ⬇️
I stood there in the driveway staring at him.
"What does that mean?" I said.
"What am I not asking about?"
He ran his hand through his hair and looked away.
"Just come inside.
Please."
"No.
Tell me right now."
He lowered his voice.
"The kids on the street can hear you."
"I don't care."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he said something I was not expecting.
"That hair isn't from a woman."
I blinked.
"What?"
"It's not what you think it is."
"Then what is it?"
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then he said, "I need you to trust me for about forty-eight hours."
Forty-eight hours.
Seven years of marriage.
A six-year-old daughter eating cereal ten feet away.
And he was asking me to wait forty-eight hours.
"You need to give me something," I said.
"Anything."
He looked down at the exhaust pipe.
Then back at me.
"There are people involved in this that I can't talk about yet.
If I say the wrong thing to the wrong person right now, it gets worse for everyone."
I felt the ground shift under me.
"What people?"
He didn't answer.
But his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He looked at the screen.
And every bit of color left his face.
---
What was on that phone?
And what did he mean by *people*?
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The truth goes somewhere no one saw coming.
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