“How do you like the house?” he asked.
“I love it. I love the heated floors especially.”
“You have Jo to thank for that.” He pointed to his wife, who was in a four-way conversation with Caren and Kenya and a woman wearing a medical mask. “That house was her project. She designed every square inch.”
“But you didn’t want to move into it yourself?”
“Oh no. Our kids are too settled. Plus, we had just done a big reno on the house. The next move we make will be somewhere with a view of the Mediterranean.”
She laughed, but she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.
“Anyway, there’s not much yard and we have a dog.”
“You have that cute little goldendoodle.”
He nodded. “Muffinhead. Van, that’s my son,named him that a long time ago. He’s getting up in years.”
“Your son or Muffinhead?”
“Both.” Daniel laughed—an open, easy laugh. He was the opposite of Shawn, whose fitted sports shirt accentuated his bulging muscles. Daniel was a big guy, muscular yes, but soft. She bet he was a great cuddler. “My son is a senior in high school, and Muffinhead is about to turn ten.” Daniel looked like he wanted to add something else but stopped. She liked his face. He wasn’t conventionally handsome, but he had kind-looking brown eyes and a distinguished nose. He was the kind of guy who’d only get better with age.
“Well, glad you like the house,” he said. “You have my number, but don’t hesitate to knock on our door if you need anything. There’s a little cut-through from our backyard to yours, where there’s a gap in the hedge.”
“I hadn’t noticed that.”
“It was there when we moved in almost twenty years ago. The previous owners said all the neighborhood kids use it to cut through to school, so when we tore down the house and built the new one our kids begged us to keep the hedge. Kids still use it. You’ve probably seen them.”
Tori smiled, but she hadn’t. She wasn’t home during school’s opening and closing hours. Besides, she knew nothing about landscaping and hadn’t spent any time in the backyard. But this decades-old tradition sounded sweet to her.
Tori watched Daniel make his way across the lawnand put his arm around Jo’s waist. A moment later, Shawn and Miguel joined their wives. It couldn’t be clearer—the happily marrieds, the landowners, all in a cozy little circle. And the divorced renter on the outside. An intense wave of alienation washed over her.
Tori downed the last of her Should I Get Bangs? and poured herself one more. She hated when she felt this way. The little monsters who lived in the attic of her brain would have a field day with this humiliation. She must not open the attic door and let them out. She needed to talk to Cyrus, bad.
Moving to Eastbrook was supposed to be a fresh start. If she let those little monsters out, even for a bit, there was no telling the damage they might do.
FIVE
In the shower, I repeat Miguel’s words like a mantra.It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.
A knock comes on the door. “You doing okay in there? You’ve been in for a while.”
“I’m fine,” I call, shutting off the water. “I’m coming.” I must have lost track of time in the shower. I wrap myself in a towel and enter the bedroom, so grateful that Miguel is here, that he came back from Rehoboth early. He’s so good in situations like this. My mind wanders back to the time Rachel cut her foot in the yard and needed stitches. I pause. That memory is so clear. How Miguel took charge, comforting both Rachel and me, cracking jokes as he drove to the emergency room. Why am I able to recall something that happened ten years ago in such vivid detail, yet last night eludes me? Is this a stroke?
It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.
Quickly, I change into clean clothes and head downstairs. Miguel is waiting by the front door, holding my cell phone in one hand and jiggling the car keys in his other.
“Where did you find my cell phone?” I ask.
“It was in the kitchen. Why? Where did you think it was?”
“I just… I’m not sure. Why didn’t I have it on me?”
“I don’t know. Let’s go.” His voice is calm, but I sense an underlying anxiety in the way he keeps jiggling his keys. After two decades together, I know him. He’s more worried than he wants to let on, and that scares me.
“Do you remember anything about last night?” he asks as the car rounds Westmoreland Circle and turns down Dalecarlia Drive. The hospital is only a few minutes away, thank God.
“I remember the party,” I say. “At the Allards’.”
