I stopped in front of a picture of Brad and Dylan, and my heart cramped again. Brad must’ve kept it on his computer, because I’d never had it printed.
I’d taken that picture, the two of them standing in the golden light at Boat Meadow in Eastham five years ago, just before Dylan had started eighth grade. They looked so much alike. Dylan was just about as tall as Brad there, but skinny. Still my little boy who kissed me on the cheek without reservation and hugged me happily when he got off the school bus.
I hoped Brad missed our son. I hoped it clawed at his heart. But it sure didn’t seem that way. Brad was on his way to France . . . if TSA had let him go, that was.
Here was one of him with Melissa and Ophelia, the child scowling directly into the camera. I couldn’t help smiling . . . but at the same time, jealousy flared. Brad had a stepdaughter or stepniece now. Our daughter never got to draw a breath, and yet Brad had a little girl in his life. I was all alone.
I turned and started. My intel had not warned me of a dog. A trembling, light brown Chihuahua in a Burberry plaid sweater sat looking at me. They must’ve hired a dog sitter. At least the dog wasn’t crated all day. Was the dog sitter here? No. No cars, no bike in the driveway. It was possible a teenager had been dropped off, but Louis had said the house would be empty. Probably, the dog sitter came and went a couple of times a day.
The dog cocked its apricot-sized head and whined.
“Hi, honey,” I said. “Don’t be scared.” Zeus could swallow that creature in one gulp. I hoped it stayed inside; foxes and coyotes would make short work of the bony little thing.
I approached the wee rat and picked it up. “Teeny,” said her pink name tag. “Sorry you didn’t get a better name,” I said. “I would’ve called you . . . I don’t know. Toffee.” She was cute, with her bulging little eyes and tiny paws. I tucked her under my arm and continued my tour of the house.
All very tasteful, all very perfect. I’d take a house with some character to this Architectural Digest spread any day. How could Brad, who had sat in a fat recliner from Cardi’s every night for the past twenty years, be comfortable in this sleek wooden number? Oh. Right. He was a pretentious dick. That’s how.
Teeny was licking my hand. “Thanks, puppy,” I said, petting her knobby head.
I went into the master bedroom. Soaring ceilings, huge windows with electric shades. Enormous bed with an upholstered cream-colored headboard, gorgeous blue duvet with a dozen accent pillows. Their bathroom was bigger than my kitchen. Soaking tub, giant shower with all sorts of bells and whistles, a huge double-sink vanity, toilet room, two closets.
Brad and I used to fondly share a sink at night, talking around our toothbrushes. He never had any qualms about bursting in to take a dump if I was in the shower. Now, Melissa would be spared such crudity.
Well, I had a job to do. I pulled the ziplock baggie out of my pocket, opened it and offered it to Teeny. After all, this wouldn’t work if she ate it. Fortunately, she sniffed and turned away, chastising me with disappointed eyes. Good. I set her down, got on my hands and knees, then wriggled under their giant bed. Teeny observed me, then trotted to me and curled in a circle against my side, no bigger than a donut from Hole in One.
“Aw,” I said. “You poor thing, having to live with these two. I hope Ophelia is nice, at least.”
Then I did the job I’d come to do—took the shrimp out of the baggie. They’d had shrimp at the raw bar yesterday, so any guest could be blamed. I looked for a spot to hide it. Here. Right here, between the wall and the foot of the headboard.
I lay there, staring at the underside of the mattress, Teeny’s little ribs rising and falling under my hand. This is where Brad slept now . . . well, not under the bed, presumably. Here, in this soulless, glorious room. Did he ever miss our room? Did he miss me? Right up until June, we’d always slept together like two spoons, an invisible, magnetic force drawing us to each other.
My eyes were tired and gritty. I still wasn’t sleeping well. It was dim and peaceful under the bed here, and the warmth of the little dog at my side felt so good. I’d just close my eyes for a minute.
I woke up to the sound of voices. Teeny was still at my side, snoring softly.
Shit.
“Teeny?” A kid’s voice. Ophelia, no doubt. “Teeny, where are you?”
“What do you want for dinner, darling?” Oh . . . crap. It was Vanessa. I thought they were staying at the Fairchilds’ house! Well, apparently their plans had changed. My heart started thumping with guilt.