Enzo Accardi is a good man. I believe that with all my heart. He has taken good care of our family.
But more and more, I wonder about his past. I wonder what he has done and what he is capable of doing.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I don’t want Nico moping around the house. He might be grounded, but I also want him to have some socialization aside from tagging along with Enzo to a few of his jobs or sitting in my office at work. So the next morning, while Nico stays behind in his room, I walk Ada to the bus stop so that I can arrange a playdate with Spencer.
As expected, Janice shows up to the bus stop with Spencer, who has his leash firmly attached to his backpack. She nods cordially at me, although I recognize I’m not her favorite person. But the boys are good friends at least.
After the kids board the bus and it zooms them away to school, I clear my throat and offer Janice my best smile. “Hey, any interest in a playdate after school today?”
She snorts. “A playdate? You have got to be kidding me, Millie.”
Based on the vehemence of her response, I should probably just drop it. But I can’t help myself. “Why not?”
“Nico was suspended.” She is wearing a bathrobe on top of a long nightgown, and she wraps it more tightly around her bony frame. “For fighting.”
“He was defending a girl who was being bullied.” I sound like Enzo, but he did have a valid point.
“I’m sure.” Janice sneers at me. “Honestly, Millie, even if this hadn’t happened, I hadn’t planned to allow your son back at my house again.”
“Why not? Spencer loves him.”
“Spencer is a child.” She pushes her horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I did not appreciate Nico’s behavior in my house. He was very rude. And I found him extremely aggressive. It doesn’t surprise me one bit that he punched another boy.”
As much as I hate hearing her talk about my son that way, part of me wants to get more information out of her. What was Nico doing at her house that she found so unacceptable? Is there something else that I should be worried about? Janice is a little strange, but she’s very observant—I’ll give her that.
“I hate to say it,” she adds, “but this is what happens when you go to work all day and leave your kids alone. There’s a price to pay for having a career while also trying to be a mother.”
“Nico is a good kid,” I say through my teeth. “The move has just been hard on him.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she retorts. “His behavior has been reprehensible. And frankly, I don’t approve of your husband’s behavior either.”
“Enzo?” I say. “What did he do wrong?”
“Don’t you think it’s troubling how often your husband goes over to visit Suzette?” Her eyes meet mine over the rim of her glasses. “And I suspect it’s more than you think.”
My face gets hot. How dare she imply that my husband is messing around behind my back? “He’s helping her with her yardwork so she’ll recommend him to new homeowners. It’s completely innocent.”
“He’s helping her with her yardwork inside her house? When her husband isn’t home?”
I hate the way a smile spreads across Janice’s lips when she realizes that her words have finally hit home.
“You’re mistaken,” I finally say.
“No,” she says, “I’m not. I catch glimpses through the windows, Millie.”
I glance over at 12 Locust Street. At that moment, Suzette emerges from her house, wearing a skimpy robe. Between her and Janice, it feels like I’m the only one who decided to get dressed this morning. Suzette grabs the mail out of the box mounted next to their front door and waves to us. Janice waves back, and I somehow will myself to do the same. I hold my breath until Suzette has gone back inside the house.
When I look back at Janice, she’s got a smirk on her face. I want to smack it off her.
“So… what?” I say. “You’re just watching the cul-de-sac all day? Spying on the other two houses?”
“Somebody should,” she snips back at me. “You might be better off if you did the same.”
I follow Janice’s gaze, which is directed at the front of my house. The front door swings open, and my husband comes out to collect the mail. He is still wearing his pajama pants, but he doesn’t have on his shirt. He flashes us a broad smile and waves, and all I can think is, Would it kill him to put on a shirt?
“After all,” Janice says to me, “she’s watching too.”
TWENTY-NINE
I can’t believe I forgot my phone at home.
It’s a testament to how frazzled I have been lately. My phone is practically fused with my hand, yet I made it nearly all the way to work before realizing that I forgot to bring it. I am stunned that I did that. I may as well have gone to work without a shirt on.
I spend a few minutes debating if it’s worth going back to get it. Nico is back at school this week, and if I don’t have my phone, I’ll spend the whole day worrying if something is going on that I don’t know about. So I turn around and drive back home to grab it. Thankfully, I don’t have any meetings until ten and traffic is light.
I manage to make it back home in a record twenty minutes, and I enter the house through the garage. Martha is cleaning today, which means the house is filled with the scent of her citrus-scented cleaning fluid. She has started bringing her own products, and I love the way they smell. I should ask her where she gets them for future reference.
I have to admit, Martha is amazing. I am still not convinced she isn’t a cyborg, but I’m grateful Enzo insisted on hiring her. I’m also grateful he’s talked me out of firing her.
I check the kitchen and living room, but there’s no sign of my phone. If Enzo were here, I would ask him to call it, but nobody seems to be home except for Martha. I hear her upstairs, running the vacuum. I suddenly recall noticing my phone battery was low and sticking it on the nightstand’s charging station as I was getting dressed. It must still be there.
I climb the stairs, and just as I get to the top, the vacuum stops. I walk down the hallway to my bedroom, my flats nearly silent on the carpet, and I can just barely make out the sound of a drawer opening. I freeze, wondering why Martha is opening a drawer. I do the laundry myself, so that isn’t something she’s responsible for. What could she possibly need from a drawer?
I quicken my steps, but I try to avoid the places where I’ve learned the floorboards tend to creak. I reach the master bedroom, and as quietly as I can, I peek inside.
Martha is in the bedroom, as expected. One of my dresser drawers is hanging open, and she’s peering inside. I hold my breath as I watch her lift out the jewelry box I keep in the drawer. She pries open the lid, and as I watch, she removes a necklace and drops it into the pocket of her slacks.
