Grant heard the sirens and froze. Then he looked through the window, saw blue lights flashing across the neighbors’ cars, and let me go.
Elaine set down her glass. “What did you do?”
Before I could answer, Grant grabbed my phone from the counter and smashed it against the wall. “She called them. Dennis, lock the front door.”
Dennis finally stood up, irritated that the television had been interrupted. “Tell them it was an accident.”
Grant’s confidence snapped back. He kicked the broken phone under a cabinet, wiped the stove with a towel, and shoved the ruined steak into the trash. Elaine poured wine onto the floor near me.
“She slipped,” Elaine said. “She was drunk.”
They rehearsed.
Grant leaned close enough that I could smell whiskey on him. “You accuse me, and I’ll tell them you attacked my mother. Three witnesses against one unstable wife. Who do you think they’ll believe?”
The pounding on the front door shook the frame.
“Police! Open the door!”
Dennis unlocked it only after Grant arranged me beside the spilled wine. Four officers came in with body cameras running. Detective Mara Ruiz followed, her face controlled until she saw my hand.
Grant spread his arms. “Thank God you’re here. My wife had another episode.”
Elaine nodded gravely. “She burned herself, then started throwing things.”
Mara looked at me. We had agreed on a phrase if I was in immediate danger.
“I’m sorry dinner was disappointing,” I whispered.
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