So she knows that Henry is lying to her now. Or at least, he’s not telling her the truth. And maybe it is just one of his storms, she thinks. Maybe it is the summer heat. It is not, of course, and later, she will know the truth, and she will wish she’d asked, wish she’d pressed, wish she’d known. Later—but tonight, he pulls her close. Tonight, he kisses her, deeply, hungrily, as if he can make her forget what she saw. And Addie lets him try.
