Chapter Two
TWO
Walk away from Jo is what I do as soon as an arriving guest catches her attention.
The street is filled with cars parked on both sides, here for the party no doubt.
As I weave between them and the oncoming traffic, I think about the girl on the flyer.
The news had described it as a robbery gone wrong, a shooting, and it rocked the neighborhood for several weeks.
Shawn and Miguel held a few meetings about starting a neighborhood watch.
Kenya organized an event with an officer from the Montgomery County police, who came and gave a safety talk at the community center.
When there had been a rash of robberies earlier that year, we all felt that was just the price you paid for living adjacent to a city.
But the murder of a young nanny was so startling it set the whole neighborhood on edge.
And then it faded from our collective consciousness. School started up again in the fall. It was Rachel’s senior year and Zach’s second year of college. We all found other things to worry about, and the whole sad affair faded into local lore, even though the perpetrator was never caught.
Someone in the neighborhood, however, has not forgotten.
I am lost in thought, wondering who that might be, when my left foot lands in a divot in the road and I stumble. I catch myself before I fall, embarrassed at my clumsiness. A couple I vaguely recognize, who are just getting out of a parked car, rush over to help.
“Whoopsie daisy!” the man says, chuckling. “That good of a party, huh?”
“Thank you.” I indulge him with a smile but keep walking.
The porch lights on my block are just coming on, and as soon as I get home, I leash up Kugel so I can walk him before it gets too dark.
Afterward, I can order takeout, and if I get some more work on the yard sale done, terrific.
If not, I can binge-watch something and fall asleep in front of the TV.
That’s one of the few joys of being all alone in the house.
I sway a little as I head back out with the dog, woozy, but in a nice, early-summer kind of way. That citronelle shot really got me. Too bad I can’t drink like I used to. Another thing no one tells you about perimenopause. Yumi will understand, so I call her to keep me company on my walk.
“Yes, I’m glad I went to Jo’s party, and no, it wasn’t that bad,” I say as soon as she answers. “But you didn’t miss anything.”
Yumi laughs. I can picture my closest friend sitting in a wicker chair on her large screened-in porch where she spends most of her days.
Since Yumi became immunocompromised a few years ago, she’s had to stop going to these events.
She runs the neighborhood Facebook group, which is her way of staying involved, but she still likes to get the scoop from me.
“Did anyone ask about me?” Yumi asks.
“Everyone. It’s all people were talking about. ‘Where’s Yumi?’” I pause to let Kugel sniff a patch of grass for the third time in one block.
“Ha ha. I was on my back porch, and I saw a pileated woodpecker. So, who was there?” she asks.
“Usual suspects.” I list off who I saw. “Kenya and Shawn are acting like newlyweds, as usual. And Daniel was handing out Jell-O shots.”
“No!”
“There was a life-size cutout of Elo?se, an ice luge, oh, and Jo wants to hang out at the pool with me this summer. Before Provence, of course.”
I stand still a moment, enveloped by the thick night air. I can feel the June humidity press against my skin, or maybe it’s just the buzz from the citronelle shot.
“You sound a little drunk,” Yumi says. “You should come over to my porch and get even drunker.”
“Can’t. Have to go home and work on the yard sale.
” I don’t add that I want to work on the yard sale.
That the yard sale has become my reason for getting out of bed these past few weeks.
Ever since I was voluntold to take early retirement, it’s been a struggle to find meaning and purpose in my days.
They bleed together, an endless blur of waking and showering and sleeping.
There are only so many résumés you can send out.
“Ridiculous. You two have to pass that to someone else, Caren. Come over!”
“No one wants to step up. Kenya and I have been doing it for eleven years. Eleven years!”
“People won’t as long as there’s a chance you two will do it. Want to know what I think? You like being indispensable,” she says. “You’re terrified of what is going to happen once Rachel’s gone and you don’t have any mom responsibilities. And that goes double for Kenya.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil.” But she’s nailed it. I yank on the dog’s leash, turning back toward home. “I’ve got to go post a bunch of things before I fall asleep. I can’t drink like I used to.”
“Any good donations this year? If you see anything great, let me know.”
“What do you want?”
“A functioning immune system.”
I laugh. “I think I saw one. Just your size. I’ll put it aside for you.”
I am suddenly aware of how empty the street is. A rustling sound startles me and I whip my head around, heart lurching. Nothing. Just the hedges swaying in the slight breeze. A trick of the wind.
“Hello?” Yumi says in a singsong voice. “Caren? You there?”
“Huh? Yeah, I’m still here,” I say. “I thought I heard something. I think I had too much to drink.”
“You’re slurring your words. Where are you?”
I look up at the modern gray structure in front of me. “I’m on Earlston. In front of the Allards’ rental house.”
As soon as I say it, the smiling face of the nanny who was killed while living here springs to mind.
My heart picks up speed. I’m being silly.
I’ve walked past this house since that murder hundreds of times.
It’s my evening routine and I know every step of it, every house, every bush, every Little Free Library.
But tonight, the street feels different and the house, ominous.
I force a laugh, trying to shake it off. “Probably just my imagination.”
I walk faster, trying to put some distance between myself and the house, but my fitted dress constrains my strides.
I should have changed out of my wedge sandals before walking the dog.
I should be wearing my glasses. It’s time to accept that I really need them to function.
I hear another sound behind me and this time it’s not the wind. I recognize it as footsteps.
I spin around.
“Oh my God.” I let out a relieved laugh when I see who it is, bringing a hand to my heart. “You scared the crap out of me! I thought someone was sneaking—”
And then my world goes black.