Chapter One—Julie #2
“You have frosting on your chin.”
Her hand flies to her face.
I laugh. “You don’t.”
She glares at me while Dalen gives her another slice of cake as compensation.
By the time Meg leaves, it’s nearly ten. She helps me carry glasses into the kitchen while Dalen wraps the leftover cake. I rinse plates and hand them to her, and she loads the dishwasher correctly because I trained her better than my husband.
Dalen watches her put a bowl on the upper rack. “Julie has corrupted you.”
Meg shakes her head. “She explained water pressure.”
“Repeatedly. For her, it stuck.” I stick out my tongue at my husband.
Meg leans against the counter to finish her water, and the tiredness I noticed when she arrived is back around her eyes.
I dry my hands. “You okay?”
“Just tired. Apparently, folder replacement is physically demanding.”
I touch her shoulder. “Call me tomorrow.”
“I always do.” Before she leaves, she takes my hand and rubs her thumb over my knuckles. “You need moisturizer.”
“I washed my hands about six times at the Salish house.”
She clicks her tongue. “That’s why they’re dry. You always forget to take hand lotion with you.”
I hug her. “You’ve been telling me this since you were fifteen.”
She nods once, firmly. “And someday you’ll listen.”
I wouldn’t count on it. I usually carry whatever fits in my pockets when I’m working, and there’s rarely space for a tube of hand cream.
She hugs Dalen and heads down the walk with her cake. I wait until she reaches her car before closing the door. Dalen comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. “You know she’s twenty-seven.”
“I know.”
He kisses my check. “You still watch until she gets in the car.”
I shrug a shoulder. “I’ll do it when she’s fifty-seven.”
His chin settles on my shoulder. “I know.”
There’s no teasing in that answer. I turn inside his arms and kiss him before nudging him toward the kitchen.
He takes the pans while I finish the dishwasher.
We work around each other in the familiar way two people do when they know the same space.
Dalen hands me things before I ask. I close cabinets he leaves open.
He dries the wineglasses because I hate doing them.
If left to my own devices, I’d use tumblers because they can go in the dishwasher.
Before we go upstairs, I make my usual circuit. The patio door Dalen opened during the smoke emergency is closed, but I turn the deadbolt and tug the handle to make sure. I check the mudroom door next, then the front.
Dalen sets the alarm while I turn off the last kitchen light. “You know the alarm tells us if somebody opens a door, right?”
I take his hand as we start upstairs. “Yes, but the locks keep them from opening one.”
He grins. “Very advanced security theory.”
“I charge by the hour.”
“Can I afford you?”
I pretend to think about it. “Probably. I married well.”
He laughs and pulls me up the last stair. “I hear you’re successful in your own right.”
“I do okay.” If six-figures a year is just okay.
Upstairs, he gets into bed with his tablet while I wash my face.
I remember Meg’s inspection of my hands and use moisturizer, mostly because I resent the possibility that she’ll ask tomorrow.
When I come out of the bathroom, Dalen looks over the top of his reading glasses at the old college T-shirt I’m wearing.
I climb beneath the covers. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
He goes back to his tablet, but I catch the smile.
His glasses migrate to my nightstand twenty minutes later when he finishes reading and leans across me to turn off the lamp.
They always do. Every morning, I put them back on his side.
We’ve never discussed that either, though I did suggest he get a lamp for his side.
He said it wasn’t necessary, so I suspect he just likes having an excuse to reach across me every night and steal a kiss... sometimes more.
Our marriage is full of small habits neither of us decided on.
He starts coffee before I come downstairs.
I leave the lamp on when he’s working late.
He cooks on Sundays, and I make the food edible when possible.
He takes my hand in crowded rooms as comfort for both of us.
I check the doors before bed. Thousands of ordinary things we’ve repeated until they became our life.
Dalen settles behind me, one arm curving around my waist.
“Your chicken was dry.”
His laugh warms the back of my neck. “I knew you were saving that.”
I turn enough to kiss his jaw. “I love you.”
His arm tightens around me. “I love you too.”
I fall asleep there. Sometime later, I wake with Dalen’s arm still across my waist and no idea what pulled me out of sleep.
The room is dark enough that I can’t see the clock from this angle.
The curtains are closed, and the only light comes from the small green indicator on the alarm panel near the bedroom door.
I lie quietly and listen. The house gives me nothing. No footsteps, floorboards settling, or doors closing downstairs. Dalen’s breathing stays slow against the back of my neck.
I almost close my eyes again, but then I sense someone is beside the bed.
I stop breathing for an instant. I can’t make out a face or even a clear shape in the darkness, but the space beside my side of the mattress isn’t empty.
Every nerve in me recognizes the threat before my mind finds a rational explanation.
Someone is standing close enough to touch me, and I scream.
Dalen jerks awake and reaches across me for the lamp.
Light floods the room, but the space beside the bed is empty.
I scramble backward until my shoulder hits his chest. He catches me with one arm while looking toward the place I’m staring.
“Someone was there.” I point toward the nightstand. “Right beside me.”
He gets out of bed immediately and checks the space beside the bed, then the closet and bathroom. By the time he returns wearing his robe, I’ve pushed myself upright and reached for my robe.
Dalen slips his phone into his robe pocket. “Stay here while I check downstairs.”
I shake my head. “I’m coming with you.” I’m still trembling.
He sees my face and nods. “Stay behind me.”
He opens the secured nightstand drawer and takes out the handgun he keeps there.
The sight of it makes the situation real in a way the empty room didn’t.
I knot my robe as I follow him. He checks my office, the guest rooms, and the upstairs sitting room before we move downstairs.
Nothing has been disturbed. Our dinner plates are in the dishwasher, and three wineglasses are still beside the sink, dry now.
Dalen checks the mudroom and garage, then returns to the alarm panel. “No doors or windows opened after we set it.”
I look toward the kitchen. “I know someone was there.” I try to put the certainty into words and hear how impossible it sounds. I didn’t see a face. I’m not even sure I saw a shape. I woke because I knew someone was standing beside me.
Dalen doesn’t point out any of that. He crosses the kitchen and takes both my hands. “I believe you.”
The certainty in his voice helps me stave off some of the shivers still coursing through me. I move closer, and he pulls me against him while my body catches up with the fact that we’re standing in an empty kitchen. After a minute, I lift my head. “There’s nobody here.”
“No, but we’ll check the cameras.”
We stand together at the island while he pulls up the exterior feeds. The driveway shows both our cars and nothing else. The patio is empty. The side gate hasn’t opened. He works backward through the footage and finds nothing.
Every minute of nothing makes me feel a little more foolish. “Maybe I dreamed it.”
His thumb stops moving on the screen. “Did you?”
I think about the instant I woke. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Then I’m not going to tell you that you did.” He checks the house once more before we return upstairs. I don’t sleep again, and Dalen doesn’t either. He lies beside me with his hand resting over mine until morning starts creeping around the curtains.
At six-thirty, I give up. I get quietly out of bed so I don’t disturb him again and go the bathroom. I shower, dress, and tell myself daylight should make the whole thing embarrassing. Instead, it gives me enough distance to wonder whether my certainty deserves to be trusted.
Dalen wakes up and gets ready while I’m drying my hair and apply make-up.
By the time I follow, coffee is waiting beside my bag on the island.
He’s wearing dark trousers and a white shirt, though his jacket is still hanging over a stool.
There’s a tie looped over the top that he’ll reluctantly put on in the elevator to his office. He hates ties.
I take the cup and lean into him when he kisses my forehead. “You look tired.”
“So do you.”
I pull back. “Wrong answer.”
That gets the smile I wanted. He smooths a hand over my hair before reaching for his jacket, and for a few seconds, the kitchen looks exactly like it does every weekday morning.
I head toward the mudroom for my bag, but cold air brushes my legs before I reach it.
The back door stands open several inches, pale morning visible through the gap.
I stop with my coffee halfway to my mouth as I remember turning the deadbolt last night and tugging the handle afterward.
Dalen comes up behind me and follows my stare.
“I locked that.” I lower the cup. “I checked it.”
He sets his jacket down and moves past me. He pulls the door open, checks the lock, then steps outside long enough to look across the patio and along the side of the house.
I haven’t moved when he comes back. “I checked it twice.”
Dalen meets my gaze, looking troubled. “You always do.”