Clarissa seems to have left her car on the street, so I pull into the driveway to the right of the front door. After exiting the car, I cross the yard and greet her. She appears to be about fifty, with lightly curled brown-and-gray hair, and a wide, soft face. Though it’s over eighty degrees today, she’s paired her jersey pants with a matching jacket.
“You must be Katherine,” she says with a pleasant smile, stepping down from the stoop to greet me. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”
“Please call me Kiki. And no, none at all, thank you.”
“What did we ever do without GPS, right? Do you want to grab your bags before we go in?”
“Why don’t I just stick my groceries in the fridge, and come back for the rest later?” I suggest. I want to get the formalities over with so I can have the place to myself.
Inside, the house is even more charming than promised. The downstairs features a small living room that runs across the front of the house, a pint-size dining room, and a kitchen with white wooden cupboards, butcher block counters, and plenty of sunshine. The walls appear freshly painted, and the place is decorated in a slightly old-fashioned but inviting country style—rag rugs on the wide-plank wooden floors, faded chintz fabrics, table lamps with beige or black paper shades, and a rattan umbrella stand by the back door filled with walking sticks. I take a minute to place my perishables in the fridge before Clarissa resumes the tour.
The second floor is reached by an enclosed staircase from the living room, and as advertised, there are two bedrooms. The primary one, which I’m planning to use, faces the backyard and offers a lovely view from one window of several leafy maple trees. It feels a little like I’ve stepped into the pages of a fairy tale.
While we’re in the main bedroom, Clarissa takes a minute to discuss the contents of the linen closet and show me how to operate the white portable AC unit, whose accordion-like hose fits into a panel on the window.
“The owners opted for this instead of a window unit because it blocks less of the view and can be moved out into the room a bit if you want.” She smiles, resting a hand on the air conditioner. “Plus, it works just great, you’ll find.”
The machine bears a striking resemblance to R2-D2 fromStar Wars, which might make me laugh if I wasn’t feeling so heartsick.
Back downstairs, she goes over a few more details, including the Wi-Fi password, TV remote instructions, recycling rules, and where the ant traps are stored.
“Any questions?” Clarissa asks once she’s gone through her spiel.
“I think I’m all set. I just feel lucky this place turned up this week.”
“The owners mainly rent to friends or friends of friends, and only use Airbnb when they have an unexpected vacancy. I’m so glad you happened to see it.”
As soon as she’s departed, I unload the car, needing two trips for my roller bag and the totes I’ve used to transport dry food, wine, and work supplies. I unpack it all, and just as I’m wrenching open the living room windows, my phone rings. I’m pleased to see Megan’s name on the screen, but I also feel a twinge of guilt. When she called me yesterday, I was so crazed preparing for the trip that I didn’t have a chance to get back to her.
“Hey, hi,” I say. “Sorry we didn’t connect yesterday.”
“No problem, though I admit I’ve been worried about you. I was hoping you might be up for dinner tonight. Colin wants to see an old college friend who’s in town so it would just be the two of us.”
“Um, that’s so sweet of you, Meg, but I’m in Connecticut at the moment. At an Airbnb.”
“Wow, have the Larssons agreed to see you after all?”
“Nope, from what I know I’m still persona non grata. But I started thinking that if I spent some time in the area, I might be able to get a better sense of things, and even talk to some people who knew Jamie.”
“Talk to a few people?” she says. “You mean for closure?”
“Uh, yeah. I guess that’s part of it. But also, I still have so many questions.”
“I can understand that, Keek,” she says. “But be aware that you might never find answers to some of the biggest ones. That’s one ofthe hardest parts of grieving a suicide. We never fully understand the person’s motivation. And even if we did, it wouldn’t necessarily make things any better.”
“I know. But for my own peace of mind, I just need to be here. Anyway, can I take a rain check on dinner? Maybe in a week or so?”
“You’re staying that long?”
“I have the Airbnb for nine nights but I have an option to extend. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Okay. Let’s talk soon, okay?”
“You bet. Thanks for everything, Meg.”
As I set down the phone, I experience a flutter of unease. Megan clearly wonders what the hell I’m doing, and if I’m being honest with myself, the reason I didn’t tell her about my plans is that I worried she might try to talk me out of coming.
It’s a little early for dinner, but there seems no point in waiting. I retrieve the shrimp salad from the fridge, slice one of the tomatoes I bought, and then make up a plate.
