The Housewife(56)

I can’t stay here. I have to leave and pretend none of this ever happened.

I put my gloves back on, wipe the phone with the tea towel and put it back in her hand. I wipe everything I’ve touched, which fortunately isn’t much, but still. I use a clean corner of the tea towel to wipe the French doors. I go back to the living room and wipe the arms and back of the chair I sat on. I wipe the laptop even though I don’t think I touched it, but you can’t be too careful. In the kitchen, I get a trash-can liner from the cupboard under the sink and shove the tea towel into it. Then I ball it up and push it deep in the pocket of my jacket. I take one last look around, grab my wedding album, and leave the house.

Back home, the garage door makes a clunking noise when I press the button on the remote. I hit the steering wheel with my forehead in frustration. I should have left the garage open. I considered it, but then I worried that someone might hide inside while I was gone. You hear stories like that all the time: the woman of the house getting assaulted in the garage because her husband didn’t shut the roller door and a vagrant took advantage.

Well, maybe not all the time, but it could happen. Anyway, that’s why I closed it and now I hold my breath as I drive in, hoping that Meredith isn’t the type to look through her shades wondering who’s coming home so late.

Inside the house, everything is dark. I close the door and lean against it, closing my eyes. I’m home.

The squeak of a footstep. I click my eyes open. Did I hear it, or did I imagine it? I listen in the dark, holding my breath. Nothing. Maybe I’m dreaming. It’s the adrenaline. Yes, that’s it. I hang Roy’s cap back where it belongs and put his jacket and his leather gloves back in the closet. I walk carefully to Roy’s office on the balls of my feet, open the door a hair, and look in. Roy is still in the same position, snoring away.

I close the door quietly and walk toward the stairs, and did I hear it again? The squeak of a shoe?

I walk slowly toward the back of the house, blood thumping in my ears.

I stare at the back door that leads to the back garden.

It’s ajar. Again.

I can’t breathe. Is someone in the house? Roy always makes sure the doors are locked before going to bed. That’s his job, and he’s very good at it. But then, he didn’t go to bed, did he? And the door doesn’t close properly unless you really push it shut.

I do that now. I’m just being paranoid, no surprises there. My nerves are shot. I lock the door, then happen to glance at the floor. I stop. Is that a…scuff mark? On my floor?

I flick on the light switch and get down on my haunches to study it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it’s a footprint. But it can’t be because I was out, and Roy was also out, so to speak, and Marie is out, and there’s no one else in the house to leave dirty footprints around the place.

I stand up and look around, my heart racing. Unless…could Marie be home?

I go upstairs, change into my robe, then slowly walk up the stairs in my bare feet to the top level of the house.

And what will my excuse be if Marie is home? I’ll say I heard a noise, and I’ve been really worried. I thought there might have been an intruder in the house, I’ll say, because I found the downstairs door open.

Yes. That’s it. It makes perfect sense.

I stop at her door. There’s no light coming from under it. I knock gently. “Marie? Are you there?”

Nothing.

I knock gently again, my teeth digging hard into my bottom lip. Still nothing. I turn the knob slowly. It’s locked.

She’s not there. I let out a breath, then walk back downstairs to my room, hang my robe on the hook behind the door, and get into bed.

I let out a long breath, turn to my side, and fall asleep.





34





I sleep very badly. Judging from the sheets all rumpled around me, I must have thrashed all night. I dreamed that I’d heard a noise and went down the stairs, and the back door was ajar again. I pushed it open, and Erin was standing there, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She was staring at me without staring at me.

“What did you do, Jodie?” she was saying. “What did you do?” And I was trying to shut the door before Roy heard her, but she was too strong, and then I woke up.

I’m alone in bed. I roll over, my fingers searching for my phone on my bedside table and check the time. Eight thirty. God. Eight thirty? Roy must have gone to work by now. I sit on the edge of the bed. I feel sick.

In the bathroom, I check myself in the mirror. My hair is sticking out on one side, and there are dark circles under my eyes. I take a shower and begin my routine .

Downstairs, everything is quiet. I try the office door and jump when I realize it’s open.

Roy is sitting in the chair, in exactly the same position that I left him. He stirs, opens his eyes, then rubs a hand over them.

“What time is it?”

“I thought you’d left for work,” I say. “I didn’t realize you were still here.” Then I add. “It’s a bit after nine thirty. I slept in.”

He opens his eyes wide and jumps out of the chair. “Nine thirty in the morning?”

“Yes, of course.” I tilt my head to the side. “Are you all right?”

He turns around once, like he’s trying to get his bearings, then slaps both hands over his face.