But during our reception, I noticed something I’d probably never have noticed without that key.
Ryan and Linda barely spoke.
His mother, Carol, didn’t speak to Linda at all.
At one point, I saw Linda standing alone near the bar.
She caught my eye.
Then she glanced deliberately toward my purse.
The key.
I gave the smallest nod.
She walked away.
That night, I almost asked Ryan.
But we’d had champagne.
We were exhausted.
And I didn’t want our first conversation as husband and wife to be an interrogation about a mysterious key.
I told myself I’d ask in the morning.
I didn’t have to.
At 8:15 a.m., while Ryan was downstairs getting coffee, I called Linda.
She answered on the second ring.
“Emma?”
“What does the key open?”
Silence.
Then she asked, “Do you have something to write with?”
I grabbed the hotel notepad.
She gave me an address.
It was 20 minutes from our house.
“What is this?”
“Go there.”
“Why can’t you just tell me?”
“Because you won’t believe me.”
That wasn’t exactly comforting.
“Linda, is Ryan in trouble?”
“No.”
“Is he cheating on me?”
Another pause.
“No.”
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