by Britney King
Across the street, Mr. Crowley shuffles down his driveway, leans over, and picks up his newspaper. He surveys his grass, seemingly blade by blade, before hobbling back to his front porch, where he slowly eases down into his faded wicker chair. He’ll sit there for the better part of the morning, giving the stink-eye to the dog walkers, a gentle reminder to clean up after their pets. It’s routines like this that bring me comfort. The simplicity feels like the kind of thing you can count on.
A man jogs by with a stroller, stopping to speak to Mr. Crowley. I smile as the old man hoists himself up. He makes his way to the curb, at a snail’s pace, delivering a lollipop from the stash he keeps next to his chair. My girls know it well. I add Crowley to my list and smile. Scenes like this make me believe that we made the right decision about where we chose to live. Greg had not been so sure about the house the first time I showed it to him. He didn’t outright tell me no, but I could tell he wasn’t in love by the way he pointed out minor flaws. And the name, he’d said. Who would want to live on a street with a name like that? He was testing the waters. He wanted to see how deep I’d sunk my toe in.
I would, I’d told him, and that was that.
My phone vibrates on the counter, causing my breath to hitch in my throat. I scramble for a dishtowel, quickly dry my hands, and then swipe to view the text in full. It reads that an offer was made on one of my listings. I smile at the heavens. Maybe Dana has a point. Maybe it can’t hurt to spend more time counting one’s blessings.
Before placing the phone back on the counter, I glance at the screen. There are two missed calls from my broker. I sigh and lay it face down, throwing the dishtowel over the top of it. It’s family day, so she’ll have to wait. Greg and I made a deal early on to be present when we were at home with the girls. So I try to keep my phone out of sight, and on vibrate as much as possible.
It vibrates again like a siren calling. I walk away. And then turn back. I can’t help myself. Another text has come through. Also from Dana. Girl, if you don’t call me back in two minutes, I’m passing this on to Sharon.
Tapping her name on my screen, I brace myself.
“Dana,” I say, scooting out the back door and onto the patio. “What’s up?” Rocky flings himself forward, knocking me into the doorframe with a thud. He circles me several times, stopping only long enough to press his wet nose up against my upper thigh. Before I can get my next sentence out, the girls are out the door behind me. They chase after the dog, making a proper game of it. Between his barking and their shrill giggles, I can’t make out a thing Dana is saying. But whatever it is, I can guarantee she knows I don’t want her to pass anything on to Sharon. I have every intention of hitting gold status this month, and I’m close, so close.
“Hello?”
“I’m here,” I say, before pressing the mute button. “Naomi, go find your shin guards. Tell your dad to help you with them.”
“Amy?”
“I’m here.” When there’s silence I realize the phone is still on mute. “Blair, stop coloring on the dog.”
Dana sighs so heavily I’m forced to pull the phone away from my ear. “Are you there? Maybe I—”
“Sorry,” I say, taking her off of mute. “It’s chaos around here.”
“I can hear that.”
I figure she’s about to launch into one of her tirades about how every time we speak it reminds her why she doesn’t have children, but today she surprises me. She must be pressed for time. “Anyway—,” she says. “Listen, I’m supposed to hold this open house at eleven—it’s the Clairmont listing—you know the one?”
“Sure.” I realize what’s coming next and I’ve already prepared my response.
“It’s pretty much a done deal, the sale—”
“That’s great,” I say, cutting her off.
“Well…sort of. A few clients are coming over to take a look. I wanted to hold the open house, just to see who else the cat might drag in… you know what I mean? A house like that draws attention. For sure, there will be multiple offers.”
“Right.” Blair changes up her color of choice. Instead of yellow, the dog is quickly becoming a pale shade of purple. I wave her off, but it’s pointless. My brow furrows. I remember specifically telling Greg to put the markers up.
As Dana prattles on about comps, and God knows what, a dry cough catches my attention. When I look up, Mrs. Crump is peering over the fence. I give a cheerful wave. She nods, a familiar look of disapproval written on her face. I don’t take it personally. Her face is always fixed like that. I sold her the house, and Greg likes to tease that I could have, that I should have found a more cheerful neighbor. At least she’s quiet, I tell him. And anyway, by the looks of it, I can’t imagine she’s had an easy life.
“So you’ll do it?”
The dog brushes up against me, smearing purple onto my favorite pajamas. “Huh?”
“You’ll handle the open house?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Dana—but Naomi has a soccer game.”
“You weren’t even listening, were you?”
“Of course I was…but…it’s family day.”
“Realtors don’t get family days,” she says dryly.
“I—”
“Well, if you were listening, you would’ve heard that I promised you a cut of two thousand dollars. With that and a little extra push, you’d be almost guaranteed to hit gold. You’d probably even have a little extra left over to put toward our couples trip.” She scoffs dramatically. “I knew I should have called Sharon.”
I smile. Bless her. She means well.
“Two thousand…” I say, but really all I’m thinking about is a white sandy beach with no children in sight.
“See! You weren’t listening.”
“Well—”
“I bet she won’t even notice you missed the game. Come on, Amy—do the math—the kid’s eight. How many more soccer games do you imagine she’ll take part in throughout her adolescence?”
This is why Dana runs the top agency in the county. She knows how to sell. She knows which buttons to push. I do the math in my head. “11:00 to 1:00?”
“Sure, you could probably even cut out by 12:30 if you want. At this price point, you know how buyers are. They don’t dilly-dally.”
She isn’t wrong. If I cut out at 12:30, I could make the last quarter of Naomi’s game. I want to say yes, but then I see Greg out of the corner of my eye. He’s bent down in front of our daughter, wrangling with her and the laces on her soccer cleats. I’ve never been more in love. He looks up at me and gestures with his hands. The signal for starting an ignition. He’s lost the car keys again. I mute the phone. “The spare set is in the drawer.”
“Amy? Are you there?”
“I’m still here.”
“Listen—Trevor’s absolutely beside himself. The cleaners dropped one of his singing bowls and it’s irreplaceable.”
Greg senses me watching him sift through the contents of the drawer. He makes a gesture as though to ask who’s on the phone and why this person is more important than locating our car keys so we aren’t late. I hold up one finger, signaling I’ll only be a minute. “What’s a singing bowl?”
“You know—a singing bowl. This one was valued at over five grand. From Tibet—he warned me, Amy, he did. I should have fired that crew long ago. They were even drinking our LaCroix. Can you believe that? Trevor counted,” she says incredulously. “Anyway, I really need to be around here to cheer him up. You know how it is.”
I do not, in fact, know how it is. But I think about easy money and gold status and the sand between my toes. “Okay,” I say. “I’m in.”
Chapter Three
The way she pets the dog brings a level of excitement he’d forgotten existed. So much raw potential. And how long has it been since someone looked at him that way? Too long.
A problem he intends to rectify as soon as the opportunity presents itself. And it will.
For now, there’s something uniquely satisfying about
watching a person when they don’t know they’re being observed. The way she fingers her hair when she’s nervous, he notices. The way she cocks her head when she laughs, he makes a note of that too. Her mouth, it does things to him. Only in theory at this point. But that will soon change. The thought pulls a smile across his entire face. This time will be different.
The furrow of her brow when she concentrated was what had drawn him to her in the beginning. It could have been anyone. Narrowed eyes and the way she chewed on her bottom lip, well—that was all it took. He ached to get closer. Watching her fascinated him. He enjoyed wondering what was running through that pretty little head of hers. He liked how he could never quite figure it out. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt like a changed man. Optimistic, even. This one would not be like the rest of them. She was different. Looking at her was like looking at the sun on a bright day, dangerous and exhilarating all the same. Like a very fun game, the kind he knew he wanted to keep playing.
Chapter Four
The house on Clairmont is exactly as I imagined it, more stunning in person than the photos on MLS convey. I arrive early, just in case. Even though Dana assured me everything was ready, I want to make sure for myself—a decision I would immediately come to regret. When I agreed to handle this, I had not foreseen myself in five-inch heels and a pencil skirt, white blouse rolled up to my elbows, dragging a three-ton planter around a walkway.
The overbearing seller, Dana had neglected to mention. A woman with sad eyes and a sour scowl who would insist on micromanaging my every move and make me question ever saying yes to anything again. Why don’t we put the flyers here? Let’s put down the rugs. No, let’s take up the rugs. I think we should move that planter…
The first five tries did not get the small potted tree to a position of her liking, so I’m not sure what she thought the sixth would do. And yet there I was, sweat dripping from my brow, dragging it back to its original spot. I smile through gritted teeth as she said, Are you sure the sign is in the right place?
I had assured her several times it was perfect, only to have her go out and move it herself. Then there were the balloons, something I do for every open house. I always bring them home to the girls. They add an extra touch, and also Blair painted the bathroom wall with the last of my mascara, so I had to stop at the store anyhow.
The seller insists they’re unnecessary. Tacky is the term she used, and I watch out the front window as she cuts them loose with her teeth and they float toward the sky.
She glances back at me once over her shoulder, shakes her head, and then, to my relief, gets in her Mercedes and speeds off. My phone rings. I think of Greg and the girls at the soccer field, and suddenly I am overwhelmed with a sense of sadness. Dana’s name on the screen instead of his makes my stomach sink.
“Gosh,” she laughs before I even get the chance to say hello. “You really pissed off Mrs. Saunders.”
“It wasn’t hard.”
“No,” she says. “It never is. Sorry…I forgot to mention that she’d stop by. She doesn’t want to sell the place—but you know how divorces go.”
Movement outside catches my eye. A young couple, wearing matching smiles and immaculate attire, are making their way up the walk, hand in hand.
“Hey, I gotta go.”
“Don’t forget to make a big thing out of the appliance garage.”
“Got it.”
“And be sure to point out the fire feature.”
It’s obvious now. This sale isn’t as cut and dry as she made it out to be. “I won’t.”
“Okay, then.” Dana sighs wistfully. “Ciao.”
The rest of the open house goes as expected. There was significant interest, and I didn’t showcase the appliance garage or the fire feature, not even once. I suspect the first couple will have an offer in by evening, given that they came back a second time with one set of parents and took measurements of several rooms.
I text Greg. Leaving in ten. Need me to bring anything?
His response makes me smile. Just your beautiful self.
I gather my things. Then I go from room to room, turning off the lights. I’m halfway down the rounded staircase when the front door chimes. “Hello,” I call to a man standing in the foyer. His eyes are at floor level; he doesn’t immediately see me.
When he looks up, surprise flickers across his expression. His gaze fixes on me, and he smiles. It is a friendly smile, but it’s shrouded in something else, something not exactly happy. “I was just closing up,” I say, making my way down the stairs. “But you could always make an appointment.”
“It’s okay.” He shakes the flyer in his hand. “I won’t be long. Actually,” he says, looking up at me with shielded eyes, “I think I’ve seen enough.”
The way he looks at me makes me uneasy. I grip the banister. My knees suddenly feel wobbly, and I don’t trust that I won’t trip down the remaining stairs. He is tall, even from my vantage point. “What’s something like this cost, anyway?” he asks.
He has a rough voice and a muscular build, thick, wavy blond hair, and shiny white teeth. He doesn’t make it easy to gauge his age. “The asking price is two point four.”
“Two point four, huh?” He makes a clucking sound with his tongue and scans the room. He’s dressed well and sports a tan like he golfs a lot or has just returned from vacation. Whichever the case, he’s seen his day in the sun. “And would you say it’s worth that?”
“I don’t need to. The comps say so.”
“Mind if I look around?” he asks, taking a step toward the kitchen. “I’ll be quick.”
“Um—” I check the time on my phone. My palms are so clammy it nearly slips from my hand. I take the remaining steps slowly.
As I follow him into the formal dining room, he pivots on his heel, startling me. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
There’s a familiarity about him, but I can’t place his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“You’re not sorry yet,” he says. “But you will be.”
My head cocks, and then he laughs as though the joke is on me. “That’s funny.” He plucks my card from the stack on the granite countertop and studies it for several long beats before looking up. “Because I know exactly who you are.”
Raw panic edges up my spine. A sense of dread twists in my gut. It’s silly, I realize. I grip my phone so hard my palm hurts. He doesn’t look like a creep, but there’s something not quite right about him either. “I’m sorry,” I repeat, scooping up my things. I scoot around and past him, making a beeline for the door. He steps backward in quick strides, placing himself in front of me. Not enough to block me in completely, but enough so I understand he hasn’t finished what he wants to say.
“You’ve really matured.”
For a second, my mind flits to what could be. To who he could be. But no, I don’t think so.
He holds his hands up as I push past him. This time he fully blocks the exit. “It’s not so fun, being caged in, is it?”
“I have to go,” I tell him, wielding my phone like a weapon, knowing if what he has come for is to harm me, it won’t do me any good at this point. “My husband is waiting.”
He looks toward the front of the house. “Outside?”
I press my lips together and nod.
“Oh, Amy,” he hisses. “Amy. Amy. Amy. Now that couldn’t possibly be true, could it? Greg is across town at the soccer fields.”
My hand reaches for the doorknob and makes contact.
“Dreadful game,” he smirks. “Don’t worry. You didn’t miss much.”
“Who are you?”
Placing one fist against the doorframe, he leans in, glaring down at me. He wears the same eerie smile. “Pity you’ve forgotten. But then, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
I twist the knob and pull at the door. It opens an inch before he puts his palm on it, holding it in place. “My face should be more memorable. Considering you held my fate—” He glances at the
phone in my hand. “You held it right there, in your hands. It meant nothing, though, did it?”
“I—”
“This house sort of feels like that.” He gestures with his free hand. “Like prison. Just a little shinier.”
Suddenly, memories come flooding back. The courtroom, the paneled walls, the enclosed jury box, boxed lunches, the entire experience. He is right. It was a long time ago, and I had forgotten. Also, he’s changed.
“There’s more than one kind of prison, you see.”
“Really, I have to go.”
“I know. The kids.”
My hand pulls at the doorknob. I consider turning and running, trying to escape through another exit, but decide against it. He’d catch me. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” he says. “About forgetting. I have a feeling we’re going to get reacquainted soon enough.”
“Please—” I nod at the door.
He removes his hand and steps away, but I sense that it’s a trap. “In fact,” he declares, his eyes trailing from my head down to my heels. “I’m looking for a home here in Sunset Canyon.” He holds up the flyer. “Nothing this fancy, though. I don’t plan on sticking around. Just long enough to take care of a little business.”
He opens the door and motions for me to exit, stepping out behind me. I can feel his breath on my neck, and I have the urge to bolt. I make a start, but I can’t force my feet to move the way I need them to. Straightening my back, I exhale. I’m outside. There are people around.
“Aren’t you going to lock it?” he calls after me. His tone is thick with amusement.
I turn back. As I fumble with the lock box, my hands tremble. He is watching, and my nerves cause me to fill the silence, although when I try to speak, my throat sticks. When I manage, my voice comes out as shaky as the rest of me. “And this business,” I say. “How long will it take?”
