“Oh, it’s a crazy story. You know that guy with a weird moustache that walks around here all the time? His dog like jumped out of nowhere and bit me, and he gave me these shoes, I guess so I wouldn’t sue him. He lives in the Eliot estate, you should see it. It’s like something out of a movie—”
“You went to that guy’s house?”
“Yeah. He showed me around, and you wouldn’t believe this place, like something out ofGatsby.”
“That’s just great, Mack. I’m glad you’re chilling with retirees while our lives fall apart around us. Don’t worry about it, though, I’ll take care ofeverything, okay?”
It felt like the sting that hit Mack originated from somewhere inside him, instead of from Hailey. The two of them stood, not looking at each other, while Mack tried her own trick against her and waited to see if she would say anything else.
Eventually she did: “I’m late. I’ve got a meeting. I don’t even know why I came home.”
Hailey went to get her bag from inside. As Mack dove to grab Gulliver before he ran into the street, she brushed past him again on her way to the car, shaking him off when he tried to ask her about calling the police. “I told you, I’ll take care of it.” She sped off and left Mack standing beside an eggshell of a house that he had never wanted, holding a dog that had never loved him.
Fine.
Mack would focus on Simeon; if that prick had messed up their house, maybe he’d messed up the whole damn street of them. Maybe there was even some money to be had from his ineptitude. Mack dropped Gulliver back inside, retied his shoelaces, and made his way to the Wakefields’ front door. The layout of the porch, a mirror image of his own, gave Mack a slight sense of vertigo. Their doorbells were identical; he listened as the Wakefields’ echoed through their house. Betsy came to the door.
“Well hello neighbor,” she said dryly. She was wearing tennis whites and K-Swiss sneakers. Her bare legs were a similar shape to Hailey’s, but longer.
“Hey. Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to ask you something about the house... your house, I mean. Have you guys had any trouble with cracks?”
“You mean like in the windows?” She stared at him.
Mack looked at her blankly.
The golf ball!She was talking about Mack’s golf ball. “No, sorry, I uh—”
“I’m only kidding.” She opened the door wider, and Mack could see through into her big living room with its double-story windows. “See? All better now.”
“Looks great,” Mack said. “Those guys did a good job. And again, I’m really sorry. I hope your tennis game is better than my golf game.”
She laughed a little then, and Mack felt rehabilitated. This woman liked him, maybe, even if his own wife didn’t. He had to admit Betsy was attractive, in a prissy kind of way. He peeped into the house—he saw lots of pink and green and tassels, nothing like Hailey’s slick grays and whites—and Betsy caught him looking.
“Do you want to come in? It’s a little cold out to have the door wide open.” Her tennis skirt was short, and there were indeed goose bumps on her skin, Mack noticed.
“Nah, sorry, I’ll be quick. It’s just we’ve just got some cracks that have come out in the concrete in the house, and I thought I’d check to see if you’d had the same kind of trouble.”
“Cracks? No. No cracks here.”
“I just thought since the houses were built at the same time... well, anyway, be sure to check your basement. We’ve got bad ones in the floor and the walls. And then some outside too.” He glanced toward her brickwork. It looked fine from where he was standing.
“I’ll keep an eye out, thanks. Not teaching today?”
“No. I’m on leave.”
“I thought I’d seen more of you around lately.” Something in her voice let Mack know she was in on his secret, and he felt his confidence shrink. Betsy’s own husband worked so much that Mack had never even laid eyes on the guy.
“Yeah, well, anyway... thanks,” he said to her, though he wasn’t sure for what. He turned to face the street. He’d knock on the Sinclairs’ next—their house was across from the Wakefields’—but he wanted to be thorough. “I just realized I don’t know... Who owns the lot next to you on the other side here?”
“I don’t know,” Betsy told him. “The people who bought it got into a fight over their view, or lack thereof. I think they’re still trying to get their money back from Cletus.”
“From who?”
“Cletus. Cletus Simeon,yourbuilder? You know, the one who built all of our houses?”
“His first name isCletus?”
“Yes.” She looked at Mack with something like pity. “I’m going to close the door now, okay?”
