Chapter Eleven. Riley, Present Day
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RILEY, PRESENT DAY
I barely sleep, even with the luxury of stretching out in a real bed instead of curling up in my car.
I know I tossed and turned because of the first-night effect, which I learned about on a podcast. In unfamiliar surroundings, one hemisphere of the human brain stays partially awake. It’s essentially keeping guard.
But there’s another, more disturbing reason for my fractured rest: I’ve never seen another soul go inside that house.
Surely the neighbor was exaggerating. Betty and her husband couldn’t have been sequestered alone for decades. That sort of confinement could make someone go nuts.
The thought makes me feel a little claustrophobic, so I convince Betty to let me tackle the garden this morning. I’ve always loved being in nature, but even the satisfaction of yanking out stubborn weeds and feeling damp, cool soil in my hands doesn’t relax me.
At one point I straighten up and see Betty on the porch, watching me with an expression I can’t decipher. When she catches me noticing, she calls out, “Ready to break for lunch?”
“Sure,” I shout back, wondering how long she has been there.
Over a tuna melt—which I’ve never eaten before but is surprisingly tasty—I ask Betty to tell me more about Douglas.
“Oh, he was brilliant,” she says, her face lighting up. “He loved to read and listen to classical music. He could identify a composer from just a few notes of a melody. And he was always so calm and decisive. He had a wonderful temperament.”
I’m about to ask if he played any musical instruments, but Betty changes course.
“One of the things we enjoyed doing was having dinner parties with our friends. Kathleen and Ivy would bring their husbands—Helen wasn’t married yet—and us girls would gather in the kitchen while the men conversed in the living room.
Once for my birthday, Kathleen and Helen made the most delicious pineapple upside-down cake. ”
“Were those the friends you mentioned before? The ones you were so close to in college?” I ask.
She nods eagerly. “Yes. Kathleen was the sort of girl who did everything gracefully and made it look easy. Helen was shy and sweet. And Ivy—well, she was a ray of pure sunshine.”
I ask if she has pictures of them.
“We never took any. I guess we always thought we’d have lots of time together…
” Sadness draws down her features as she falls silent.
I have the sense she’s waiting for me to solve a problem she hasn’t yet divulged.
But I can’t figure out what it is. Once again, Betty shoos me away when I try to do the dishes and she tells me she doesn’t have any errands for me to run today.
I return to the garden, and by the time the sun is sinking into the horizon, I’ve deadheaded the last rosebush lining the fence. I head inside to wash up and at 5 PM sharp, as I’m walking into the kitchen, I hear the rattle of Betty’s cocktail shaker.
“I’m making sidecars tonight. They have brandy and orange liqueur in them. I think you’ll like them.” She pours the concoction into two coupe glasses.
I thank her and sink down onto Douglas’s chair, still thinking about what Betty really wants.
Companionship, yes. But my gut tells me there’s something more—something specific.
I take a stab at guessing it: “I was wondering, would you like to go out somewhere tomorrow? We could see a movie if you’d like, or just go for a drive. ”
“Hmm … that’s an interesting thought. I think I’d prefer to stay in the house.”
I suggest we play cards or listen to music together after dinner, but Betty says she’s tired and wants to go to bed early. “It takes me a little time to shower and change,” she explains.
“Can I help—” I start to ask, but she’s already shaking her head.
After I clean the kitchen, wiping down already spotless appliances and sweeping the few crumbs from the floor, I go into the living room, looking around for something to do.
I’m so used to losing myself in streaming a series or mindlessly scrolling reels that my hands are fidgety; I keep instinctively reaching for my phone, then remembering I don’t have service.
I finally climb between sixty-year-old sheets, my eyes gritty and my body aching to rest, but my old friend insomnia followed me here. It takes forever to fall asleep.
The next morning I take a quick hot shower and by the time I walk into the kitchen, Betty is waiting there, wearing a mint-green dress, her hair in a chignon.
I immediately sense a shift in her energy.
She looks nervous but determined. This is it: She’s finally going to reveal the thing that’s been on her mind.
“Would you care for some tea?” she offers.
“I’d love some, thanks,” I say. By now I know better than to try to help.
She twists the dial beneath the old kettle on her stove.
“All our talking about my old college friends made me wonder…” She clears her throat and starts again.
“If it isn’t too much of an imposition, would you be able to drive to Marquis and try to track down my old friends?
I would really love to talk to them again. ”
Relief washes through me. That’s all she wants?
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll need to drive all the way there to look up your friends.” I pull out my phone. “I can try to search for them online if you give me their full names.”
Her whole face lights up. “Truly?”
She reaches for a pad of paper and writes. Her fingers are trembling, I notice.
I stare down at the paper. Betty identified the women by their husbands’ names: Mrs. David Lennox (Ivy), Mrs. Ronald Moore (Kathleen), Ms. Helen Hopkins.
“I can go check right now,” I tell her. “I’ll just need to walk down the street to get my phone connected.”
From the look on Betty’s face, it’s like she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment.
I don’t even bother to grab a warm coat; that’s how confident I am that I’ll be back inside soon.
It’s usually easy to find someone online if you have a few specific details. But social media searches and Google dives only turn up a few women with the same names as Betty’s friends who are nowhere close to the right age.
I head back to the house, dreading the thought of watching the hope drain from Betty’s face. Maybe she won’t even want me to stay around now.
I straighten my posture; I can’t let that happen.
I make sure my voice is bright and confident when I reenter the kitchen. “It was a little tricky to do the online search, so I think your original idea is the best one. I can drive to Marquis.”
College campuses have old yearbooks, student newspaper archives, and alumni offices. There have to be clues leading to the women. I won’t come back until I’ve got some tangible news for Betty.
Betty hands me a cup of tea and I thank her and sip it, feeling some of the chill leave my body.
“When do you think you might be able to go?” Betty asks.
For once, I know exactly what she wants. “I can leave this morning if you’d like.”
Betty’s eyes are shining; she looks younger and fully alive. It’s from the anticipation of reconnecting with dear friends. None of this computes with what the neighbor told me about Betty and her husband being rude and standoffish.
“You may need to spend the night.” Betty gets her purse and extracts some cash she presses into my hand. “This should cover the cost of a motel.”
I quickly pack an overnight bag while Betty hovers just outside my room.
“I’ll be back tomorrow and I’ll do my best to bring some good news with me,” I promise.
Her smile drops away. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, Riley.”
I’m struck by the feeling that she isn’t talking about my driving.