“What else went on between you two?”
He smiles, an I-ate-the-canary smile. “Are you jealous?”
“No! I’m just—”
“Relax, Angie. Nothing happened between us. She’s not my type. Way too skinny, with nothing to grab on to. I like a woman with generous handles, you know?”
What he’s saying is that I have handles, and I’m not sure I like hearing that, but I let it pass. I’m more interested in what he has to say about Lorelei and Larry.
“Does he abuse her?” I ask.
“What, Larry?” Jonas laughs. “With his skinny chicken legs? No, that’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
“It’s not something I can talk about. I promised her.”
“You’ve told me this much. You can’t stop now.”
He puts his hand over his heart. “There are some things a gentleman never does. And one of those is spilling a lady’s secrets. In that way, you can trust me, Angie. Because I’d never spill any of yours.” He gazes into my eyes and I can almost feel him crawling around inside my head, probing the folds of my brain.
“I don’t have any secrets.”
“Everyone does.” He gives me a sly smile. “Maybe it’s time for you to come up with a few more.”
“Do you ever stop, Jonas?”
“Can you blame me for trying? You’re an attractive woman and you live right across the street. It’s like staring into a candy-store window and never getting a chance to buy anything.” He drains his wineglass and sets it down. “Look, I know you’ve got your heart set on Vince. But if you ever change your mind, you know where I live.”
I walk him to the door because it’s the polite thing for a hostess to do. And because he really does look disappointed, which I should find flattering, but instead it just makes me sad for him. I watch him cross the street to his own house and think about him climbing into bed alone, waking up alone, eating breakfast alone. I, at least, can look forward to Vince coming home to me once his sister can fend for herself again, but Jonas has no such prospects. Not now, at least. The lights come on in his house and now he appears in his living room window. Once again, he’s lifting weights, keeping those muscles toned and ready for his next conquest.
Another movement catches my eye. This time it’s not one of the Greens who draws my attention; it’s Larry Leopold, backing out of his driveway. I don’t think he notices me as he drives past my house, which is good; I don’t want him to think that all I do is spy on my neighbors. But it’s after ten p.m., and I wonder where he’s driving at this hour. These past few weeks, I’ve been so focused on Tricia and then on the Greens that I haven’t been paying attention to what else is going on in the neighborhood. It’s true what Jonas said: Everyone has secrets.
Now I’m wondering about Larry’s.
I’m about to close the door when I notice something white lying at my feet—a slip of paper. It must have been stuck in the door and fluttered free when my guests left. I pick it up and carry it inside to read by the light of the foyer.
The message is only three words long, and judging by the looping handwriting, a woman wrote it.
Leave us alone.
I go to the window and stare at the Greens’ house. Carrie Green wrote it; it had to be her. What I don’t know is whether the note is a plea or a threat.
Leave us alone.
In the house across the street, there is the flick of a blind, and I glimpse a silhouette. It’s her, afraid to be seen.
Or is she not allowed to be seen?
I think of the bars on their windows and the gun on her husband’s hip. I think of the day I met them, and how he laid his hand so possessively on her shoulder, and I realize she’s not afraid of me; she’s afraid of him.
Just ask me, Carrie, I think. Give me a signal and I’ll help you get away from that man.
But she walks away from the window and turns off the lights.
The afternoon heat hung heavy over the garden, where the luscious scent of lilacs perfumed the air. Anthony Yilmaz, dandelion fork in hand, bent down to pry up a weed and he shook the soil from its roots.
“I know this looks like work, but for me it isn’t,” he said. “After a day at the office, where all we talk about is investments and taxes, this is how I relax. Pulling weeds. Deadheading old blossoms. I come home, strip off the suit and tie, and head right into my garden. It keeps me sane.” He smiled at Jane and Frost, and even with his silvered hair and deeply creased laugh lines, he still had a boy’s smile, bright and mischievous. “And out of my wife’s hair too.”