“I’m fine now,” I add. He gives me a look. I know there is some football game tonight that he’s talked about a few times, so I try to distract him with that.
“Really. Grab your beer and watch your pregame whatever-it’s-called. I’m fine. I’ll start dinner in a little bit.”
“Why don’t you take a bath and relax for a little while first. That always helps,” he says. Except that it doesn’t, but I don’t say that. He’s already halfway upstairs to run the bath on his way to change out of his work clothes.
When I’ve bathed and changed into clean yoga pants and an oversize jumper, I make an Indian curry for dinner with jasmine rice and store-bought naan on the side. We sit on the front porch because the evening is breezy and cool. Lucas pulls Avery’s high chair outside and feeds her spoonfuls of carrot puree while I arrange the dishes on the small porch table. We eat quietly. Even though he’s recording the game, he often walks over to the screen door and peers through to the TV a moment when he hears cheering or excited sportscaster voices.
I want to talk to him about Cora’s visit—her invitation to come over one afternoon with Avery—but I don’t, because it’s not possible. Even though I fantasize about a life where, if I’m not able to go out into the world like a normal person, maybe I could at least create a small world for myself in the safety of the cul-de-sac and have some social interaction. It’s close. It’s still safe, I think. But I am too tired for this conversation. My face feels swollen from crying earlier, and it’s not a topic I can handle, not tonight.
After dinner I take Avery to the small park behind our house and push her on the baby swing. After my state earlier, I know, without having to look over at the back of our house, that Lucas will peer out the window now and then to check on me. But I wouldn’t put Avery in harm’s way for anything, so there is really no need.
I see some teenagers over by the small pond. They’re doing tricks with their skateboards and drinking cans of something out of a paper bag. Lucas has always said this has turned into a druggy park and to watch out, but I tell him I’ve never seen anything like that here. I’m squinting my eyes against the low sun and straining to see what they’re up to when one of them heads over to me. I instinctively glance toward the house to see if Lucas is there. I stop Avery’s swing and take a step in front of her when the kid approaches. He’s older than I thought: seventeen or eighteen, maybe. His head is shaved on one side, with floppy bangs that hang down over his eye on the other.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” he says.
“No,” I say sternly, picking up Avery and putting her in her stroller.
“Whaa!” He does some kind of bro laugh. “Whoa, I can’t ask you something?”
“Are you selling something?” I ask.
“Do you want me to be?” he says, smirking.
“Because only people selling something ask a strangerCan I ask you something?Like the guy at a mall kiosk trying to sell sunglasses or the guy outside the grocery store asking who your phone carrier is. I’m not interested in buying the burned CD your band made, but thanks anyway.”
“Daaamn. Rich lady got some attitude, for real. Nah, I ain’t selling anything,” he says and pulls out a tiny bag of weed from his shorts, just enough for me to see what it is.
“What makes you think you can come over here—where there is a baby, mind you—and try to sell me pot? Are you insane?”
“Chicks like you are my best customers. Plus, it’s free for you. This one time.” He looks around and then reaches out to hand it to me. I stand there with a hand on one hip and the expression on his face grows impatient. He’s careful, eyeing the surrounding area to make sure there are no cops or onlookers.
I want it. Ineedit. But what if Lucas is watching right now? How would I explain it? Especially with Avery right here. I couldn’t. I can’t take it.
“Shove it in my pocket,” I say quickly.
“What?” he says.
“Shove it in my goddamn pocket,” I snap. He laughs and mumbles some joke about knowing how I like it, but he does as I ask. When he does, I lift my hands up in protest and back away from him. Just in case Lucas sees, I look like I’ve been forced, assaulted even. I know it’s a little much, but I need it.
The kid gives another smirk and then a wink as he leaves, telling me he’ll see me again. I put the pot in my bra and walk quickly home, my heart beating hard in my chest.
This could change things. This could change everything.
6
PAIGE
Paige sits in the darkness of her upstairs study and fast-forwards her surveillance video of the Holmons’ house on her desktop computer. She stops now and then and zooms the picture in to make sure she doesn’t miss anything, even though there is absolutely nothing of note to see. He seems like the kind of slimeball who would sneak his lover out the back door while poor Cora simultaneously, and innocently, comes in the front door from a book-club meeting, tipsy and chatty about her evening, not even noticing him zipping up his pants and smoothing his hair.
The guy is good, Paige has to admit. She’d waited in the parking lot of his office every day this week and followed him after work. Three nights he went right home. One night he went to a fancy-schmancy steak house but was escorted to a reserved private room, so she couldn’t see anything after that. Now, what sort of person gets a private room at a restaurant? Of course, he would say he was courting some important clients and they needed to be able to hear one another talk—that was how she assumed he’d rationalize it. Maybe it was perfectly legitimate, but perhaps it was something else. She’ll never know.
The other night he didn’t go home after work; he met some people for drinks. Coworkers or clients, maybe. Paige watched, parked on the far side of the bar parking lot and peering in with binoculars. There was a handsy brunette in a tight pencil skirt that she made note of—and took a few photos of with her new Nikon D850 she bought specifically for her new task. All fairly disappointing so far, overall.
Then, Paige sees something odd in the frame and backs it up, leaning in to see what the movement next to the garbage cans is. A damn raccoon. Nothing more. She is so engrossed in her work, though, she doesn’t hear the footsteps come up the stairs or the figure stopping at the study doorway until she notes an inhale of breath. She flings her chair around in terror and stands clutching her chest.
“Goddamn it, Grant! You scared the absolute fuck out of me!” But Grant doesn’t immediately answer. He stands with a bag full of take-out boxes and stares over her shoulder at the screen.
“Oh, don’t get all self-righteous on me,” she says, before he can open his mouth to speak. “If I’d had cameras on the neighbors a year ago, we might not be in this situation. What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”
