Page 25 of The Followers

“Running isn’t a hobby,” she said. “Running is life.”

She turned up the speed, silently daring him to keep up. Most people wouldn’t have the stamina—not after sprinting up that hill—but he met her challenge with his own, forcing her to work hard to stay with him.

The city was waking up below, the streets filling with early-morning traffic. It would be another scorcher, and Liv wondered if they’d ever get a break from the heat. Durango was supposed to be temperate, thanks to the 6500-foot altitude, but this summer was smashing records nearly every day.

Jeremiah stayed with her back to her street, which meant she had covered at least six miles. Liv secretly hoped he had started out just before hitting the hill, that his fresh legs were the reason he’d kept up with her so easily.

“We’re almost to my place,” she said, trying to conceal her rapid breathing. “I’m in that apartment complex right over there.”

“Gotcha. I’m further the other way. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

“Thanks for the run, Jeremiah.”

He waved as he jogged off. A vague disappointment settled into Liv’s chest. She’d enjoyed talking to him, and she didn’t want it to end.

She made it another half-block before she heard his voice.

“Hey, Liv?” he shouted, and she turned around. He had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, hands on his hips. Staring her straight in the face, his eyes locked onto hers. It made her feel strangely naked.

“What?” she yelled.

“Do you have plans tonight?”

“Yes, sorry,” she said, disappointed. But she couldn’t miss Molly’s party.

“How about next weekend?”

She ran a hand over her face, trying to wipe away the embarrassingly wide smile. “That works. Friday?”

He sent her a grin that warmed her from toes to nose. “Friday.”

twelve

No matter how authentic I try to be online, I’m still only showing the highlight reel of my life. You don’t see all the stuff dropped on the cutting room floor. So please, please don’t compare your outtakes with everyone else’s highlight reel.

@InvincibleMollySullivan

Molly was ready for the party. Cupcakes on the kitchen counter, pink-and-purple goodie bags lined up on the table by the front door. Decorations hung, party favors ready, games prepped. She’d snapped pictures of the decor and sent them to Brookelle to edit. The unicorn party theme was going to be a huge hit, she was certain of it, and she needed a hit right now.

After years of steadily climbing, her engagement had plateaued, as Brookelle had reported the last time they chatted. Nothing to be worried about, Molly told herself, but a colorful, fun party-planning post was just the thing to get her mojo back.

But she still had time to kill before the guests arrived. A trickle of sweat rolled down Molly’s back as she contemplated what to do next. She wasn’t the type who could sit still, which she worried would drive Scott crazy. What if he realized he’d made a gigantic mistake in marrying her? He would discover she was neurotic and attention-seeking, loud and needy, that she had horrible PMS and bad morning breath. And then he would pack up the Westfalia with Ella and Hoopi and take off on a cross-country adventure and she’d never see him again.

Maybe an irrational worry, but “idle hands, idle minds,” as her mother would say, so she headed down the hall to her office. A few of Scott’s boxes were still haphazardly stacked on the floor by her desk, and she figured she could at least move them into the closet. Molly had plans for this room—an Instagrammable workspace that would double as a guest room should her parents ever decide to make the trip from Wisconsin.

Her mom was still bewildered by her daughter settling in this tiny southwestern town. “DurAHngo,” she would say, her mouth widening on the unfamiliar word. Molly’s dad, for his part, was more concerned about her marrying a river rafting guide. “I sure hope he has a day job,” he’d said, unaware that Molly brought in more money than his own dental practice.

Her parents had offered to help out after Molly’s first husband left her, but she’d wanted to be independent. As the middle child of five, Molly had grown up believing that her parents were too busy and overwhelmed to worry much about her. Now her siblings were married with kids of their own, all living within a few miles of their parents, and Molly felt out of the loop, like the distance between them was so much more than physical. Her parents FaceTimed to see Chloe every couple of weeks, but otherwise Molly was on her own. Still, she held out hope that one day they’d come for a visit to meet Scott and Ella.

Turning her attention back to Scott’s boxes, she carefully stacked them in her closet. As she lifted the last one, it slipped from her hands, and out tumbled a small safe. Black, locked, probably waterproof, and fireproof. Somewhere you might keep important documents, or a handgun.

A shiver ran down her spine. She wouldn’t be surprised if Scott owned a gun, and if he did, she knew he’d be responsible and keep it locked up. But it was something she should know about, right? Especially being home alone with two little girls.

She rummaged around in the bottom of the box for a key to the safe, but couldn’t find anything. Probably on Scott’s key ring, miles downriver on the Animas. Or—Scott kept an old cigar box full of random junk in his top dresser drawer. She saw it every time she put away his underwear. On a whim, she walked down the hall, into her bedroom.

The box was there, faded and yellowed, with an owl on the front. Inside were Father’s Day cards from Ella, a pocketknife, and old coins from foreign countries. And, at the bottom, a key ring that held two small keys, one gold, and one silver. She grabbed them.

Back in the office, Molly hesitated, wondering if she ought to be getting into Scott’s things. But, she told herself, she needed to know if there was a gun in her house. There was no way to reach Scott to ask him. And besides, they were married. They were supposed to share everything.