Run: A Novel by Andrew Grant Page A

once the urge to throw up had subsided, I dosed myself with Advil then headed downstairs in search of caffeine. But when I reached the hallway, all thoughts of coffee were put on hold. I stopped dead in my tracks. Because the front door was standing wide open.
    My first thought was that Carolyn had come home. My heart raced, and the pain and sickness were forgotten as I called her name and ran to the kitchen. I pictured her standing at the stove, humming as she cooked something delicious for breakfast. Sitting by the French doors, reading one of the historical novels she loves so much. Even striding around the room, brandishing a random utensil and looking to reignite the fight over the memory sticks. Anything would be better than her not being there at all …
    There was no answer to my call. When I reached the room, it was as empty as it had been the night before. I shouted again, louder, and went to check the dining room. It was deserted. As was the living room. And the den. I even looked for her in my study. Then I wonderedif she could be upstairs, in one of the spare bedrooms. I started back along the hallway, and two other thoughts crossed my mind: If she was back, her car would be in the driveway. And if she was in the house, why had she left the door open?
    Maybe she’d gone outside to get something from her trunk? She hadn’t taken any luggage with her, but she could have bought clothes or overnight things after she left. I diverted to the doorway and looked out. My Jaguar was where I’d parked it yesterday. But there was no sign of Carolyn’s Beemer. Only the tracks it had left in the gravel when she’d sped off.
    What about a taxi? Maybe she’d continued drinking, and had taken a cab home? She’d always been responsible that way. And because the trip was unplanned, she may not have had much cash with her. She could have come inside to get enough to pay the driver. I went all the way to the street to see, but again, there was nothing.
    I stood at the end of my driveway, deflated, suddenly aware of the pain in my head, the cold pavement beneath my bare feet, and the wind tugging at my pajama top. I saw that I’d misaligned two of the buttons, causing it to gape open around my stomach. And then a question popped into my mind, far more hurtful than the embarrassment or the physical discomfort. The last time Carolyn had left the front door open, she was leaving me. Temporarily. What if this time she’d only been here to collect her things before leaving again, permanently? How deeply had I been asleep? Could she have sneaked in and dismantled our marriage without me hearing her?
    I hurried back to the house and shut the door behind me. Then I took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the throbbing between my temples. All our suitcases were still in the spare-room closet, so I moved on to Carolyn’s dressing room. I couldn’t be sure nothing was missing, because who could memorize every single outfit his wife owns—especially one as devoted to shopping as Carolyn—but there were no obvious gaps. What else would a woman need if she was going away for a while? Underwear? I checked her drawer, and it was full to overflowing with tiny scraps of colorful lace. Bathroom stuff? I looked, and the cabinet was crammed with all kinds of feminine things, the way it usually was.
    I had to face facts. Carolyn’s things were here, but she was still gone. I moved over to the bed, fighting the temptation to crawl back under the covers and wait for the disappointment to pass me by. But before I could lie down I realized that an ember of doubt was still smoldering away at the back of my mind like a warning beacon, barely visible through the mist.
    Something else was wrong.
    It had to do with something I’d seen. When I was looking for Carolyn. Something had been disturbed, or out of place. Not up here, though. And not in the kitchen. Not in the dining room. Or the den. In my study! Suddenly the picture in my head was as clear