“But you’ve got the kids.”
“Khalid will drop them off in the morning,” Lulu assured me. “I’ll ask their friends’ moms to take them after school until Khalid picks them up when he finishes work.”
“What about your work?” Lulu was a freelance graphic designer who arranged her hours around the kids’ schedules.
“Don’t worry about it. Just give me a day or two to arrange everything, and then we can get on the road.”
That night I got into bed early and was scrolling through my phone when I thought I heard footsteps.
I tried to ignore it. The house creaked a lot, even though it wasn’t that old. I never noticed the noises when Ali and the kids were around. Now that I lived alone, every rustle or groan was amplified. Sometimes it felt like the house was in conversation with itself. I called Nicki. Hearing her voice would make me feel less alone. The call went to voicemail. I dropped the phone by my side, feeling a little stung, unable to remember the last time we’d talked. Why wasn’t Nicki calling? She was at the funeral and had set up a Meal Train. But since then, I barely heard from her.
Something buzzed and vibrated next to my thigh. I startled, my muscles stiffening, until I realized it was my phone. Someone was calling. Maybe Nicki? But then the name of Ali’s accounting firm popped up on the screen. My heart jumped. For a split second, my brain believed my husband was calling.
But it wasn’t Ali’s extension. It belonged to Jake Barnes, Ali’s colleague. He must be working late. But why would he call? As far as I knew, I had no business left with Ali’s firm. The insurance money had been paid out, the pension benefits sorted.
“Amira, how nice to hear your voice,” Jake said when I picked up. “How are you and the kids managing?”
“As well as can be expected, I suppose.”
“I’m calling because there’s a box at the office of Ali’s personal effects collected from his desk. I can drop them by on my way home from work whenever is convenient for you.”
“Oh. I forgot all about his office things.” Shortly after Ali died, I received an email from his firm telling me his things had been boxed up. Did I want them? Where should they be sent? I meant to answer but got distracted. Everything was such a blur right after Ali’s death. When I circled back weeks later, I couldn’t find the email.
“Is there a day next week that’s most convenient for you?” Jake asked.
“I don’t want to trouble you.”
“It’s no problem. I’ll be out of town Monday and Tuesday, but I can bring it by when I get back, if that works for you.”
I didn’t want to wait that long to get Ali’s things. What if there was information in them about the secret house? But getting the box sooner meant picking it up myself, and I couldn’t face going to Ali’s office without him there.
“Sure,” I finally said. “Any time that is convenient for you is OK for me. I work from home, so I’m here all the time.”
“Great. I’ll get in touch once I’m back, and we’ll set up a time.”
“Thank you. It’s very nice of you to go to the trouble.”
“No problem. It’s my pleasure,” he reassured me. “Talk to you soon.”
When I disconnected the call, the house was eerily silent. A chill ran through me when I pictured all the empty rooms—including the basement with its sliding glass doors. There were lots of points of entry if someone tried to break in. Would I hear them?
I slipped out of bed and made my way downstairs to make sure all the doors were secured, including the ones leading to the basement and garage. Hurrying back upstairs, I locked my bedroom door behind me. Checking and rechecking the doors and windows was a habit I’d developed after Ali died and the kids went back to school.
I was a little paranoid now that I lived alone in a big empty house that used to bustle with family activity. I hated feeling nervous and uneasy in this home I’d made with Ali and the children. I’d lovinglydecorated each room, but now, at times, I was afraid to go into certain spaces at night. I definitely never went near the basement.
My sense of isolation was heightened by the absence of a couple of my closest friends. Aside from Nicki, I also never heard from Rula, my high school bestie, anymore. Before Ali died, we’d check in at least once a month.
I’d always viewed myself as a strong, independent woman. But was I? I married so young that I’d never been on my own. I felt like I was failing a critical litmus test regarding what it meant to be a self-reliant grown-up.
Two days later, Lulu and I were speeding down I-95 south on the way to Durham. Lulu drove my old van because I was too distracted, staring out the window while she listened to a crime podcast. As the trees zoomed by, my thoughts went to the last time I’d driven this route.
It was years ago, when Ali and I took the kids to Myrtle Beach for spring break. Longing panged through me. If only he were here. This mystery surrounding the house in North Carolina would be cleared up by now.But would it?a voice inside me asked. If Ali were alive, the house might very well still be a secret. He’d had eight years to tell me about it. I’d never felt more confused or unsure of what to believe.
I read once that pilots become disoriented, unable to distinguish up from down, when they lose sight of the horizon. Ali was my horizon. Without him, everything felt upside-down.
When we were about twenty minutes outside Durham, my mobile buzzed.
“Where are you?” Ayla demanded to know when I answered.
