Why is Grant here on a Wednesday? Paige watches out the window as he uses a leaf blower on the lawn. He looks like a Ghostbuster with the contraption strapped to his back, and there will be more leaves in an hour, so what’s the point? There are a few things she’d better get out of view before he comes in, which he will, for coffee or just to insist she take out the recycling more often or tidy up the mugs lying all around the house.
She doesn’t feel one bit bad about smashing Finn Holmon’s car window. She’s no stranger to sneaking into the neighbors’ garages. She’s quite good at it, actually. She saw Finn with the hatch of his SUV open after he pulled into the garage. He stood a moment with his head bent down, looking at his phone, texting, probably with one of his bimbos because he looked around in a covert, guilty way for a moment. She saw his laptop bag propped up next to his golf clubs in the back of his car. Distracted by his phone, he shut the hatch without taking the laptop bag and closed the garage door. She was sure he’d left it in there unwittingly, but it turns out he must have gone back out to get it between the late afternoon and her break-in, because it wasn’t there. That was a disappointment, but when she saw his day planner sitting on the passenger seat, she knew she needed it. Who locks their doors inside their locked garage? She certainly doesn’t, and she didn’t expect his to be locked. That’s his fault: she did what she had to do. She spotted a nearby fire extinguisher, grabbed it, and hit the heavy bottom of it against his window. She swiped the planner as quickly as she could, then hoisted herself back up on their recycling bin, slipped out the slim window she’d come in, and dropped back down onto the HVAC unit outside. They should really be more careful. Anyone could have broken in like that.
The planner is now sitting on her coffee table because she isn’t finished paging through it. He will be out of the office for a lunch meeting tomorrow. Good to know.
She takes the planner and brings it into the bedroom where a cardboard box sits with Finn’s name written on it in Sharpie. Hewillpay attention to her. It might just take some time. She drops the planner on top of the photos of him with the hooker and him with Charlotte in the hallway at the ball. She’s also printed out his passwords and contacts and has kept the rose he gave her at the bar. She pulls it out and smells it, even though it’s long dead and the petals are dried and brittle. She wraps the flower in a small towel to make sure it doesn’t get broken inside the box, then she shoves all of it into her wardrobe and goes back into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.
“Why the hell don’t you have gloves on?” she asks Grant when he comes into the kitchen, rubbing his hands together. The weather dropped last night, and it’s starting to feel like winter. He shrugs and pours a cup of coffee.
“Well, for God’s sake, you’ll lose a finger to frostbite,” she says and goes to the hall closet, where she pulls out a plastic storage container of winter accessories and drags it into the kitchen. She sits next to him at the table and starts to pull out mismatched gloves and mittens.
“I bought you Isotoners once. Where are those?” she asks.
“That was fifteen years ago,” he says.
“Yeah, so they should be here.” She pulls out a tangle of scarves and unknots them. “Ohh, I’ve been looking for this one,” she says, coiling a chunky knit scarf around her neck, and keeps searching. She sees him smiling at her.
“What?” she says.
“Nothing. You’re cute.” He sips his coffee and keeps the amused look on his face.
“I’m a middle-aged woman. I assure you I’m not cute,” she says and then presents him with a pair of brown leather Isotoners she pulls from the bottom of the bin.
“Would you look at that,” he says, taking the gloves and trying them on for size. He flexes his fingers and keeps them on as he drinks his coffee. “Thanks.”
“Need a hat?” she says, plucking a tragic brown ski cap from the pile.
“Absolutely.”
She puts it on his head, and she laughs at how ridiculous he looks, but he leaves it on and does a little dance.
“You’re laughing,” he says, sitting back down. She responds by stopping. “It’s nice to see. You seem...happier lately.”
“I don’t know about that,” she says.
“I do.” He smiles. Then he gets up and brings his mug to the sink. He rinses the dirty dishes that are piled up and starts to load the dishwasher.
“You don’t have to do that,” she says, pushing scarves and woolen hats back into the storage bin.
“Someone does,” he jokes, but she doesn’t appreciate the passive judgment. He picks up on her irritation.
“It’s a lot for one person,” he continues, looking out the window rather than at her. “The yard is a lot by itself. The gutters need cleaning.”
“I can hire a service for that,” she says flatly.
“The air filters need changing, the crack in the bathroom tile needs replacing—”
“What’s your point?” she says. He’s quiet for a while as he finishes loading the dishes and pushing the racks in, closing the dishwasher and starting it. He wipes his hands with a dish towel and turns, leaning against the counter. Paige is trying to sit on the plastic cover of the storage bin to force it shut.
“The point is maybe I should stay a few nights a week.”
“You want to come back?” she asks. “I thought we talked about this.”
“I’m just saying a few nights a week. To help out,” he says, a note of hurt in his voice. She thinks about it a minute.
“It’s your house, too. So I guess you should do what you want,” she says, giving up on the bin and sitting at the table. He purses his lips and nods slowly.
“What?” she says.
