The Better Liar(43)

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I drove back to the Floreses’ in a little white coupe that smelled like someone else’s perfume. The streets had been sparse at midnight, but they were empty nearing two A.M. Cop cars sat with their headlights off in the dusty shoulders of the road. I switched the heater on and shivered at the change in temperature.

Back in Leslie’s neighborhood, I parked around the corner, in a no-man’s-land stretch of road between two large houses. I walked back slowly, listening to the wind pick up. The neighbors’ window was dark now. I lit another cigarette, wanting the warmth in my lungs.

The back door was still unlocked, and I let myself in, making my way half-blind through the house. I blew smoke out as I went up the stairs, wondering if it would set off the smoke alarm, but the house didn’t react.

    I had to pass the master bedroom to get to the guest room. The door was open tonight, and I could see the shape of Dave’s body underneath the covers. Next to him, the bed was empty.

Had Leslie heard me sneak out?

I went into the guest bedroom. There was nobody waiting for me on the bed. I exhaled and locked the door behind me, going into the bathroom to wash my face.

When I came out of the bathroom I saw that there was a shadow in the dim crack of light between the bottom of the locked door and the carpet. It moved as I watched, just a little.

Someone was standing outside the door.

I stopped. Leslie. She’d come in and ask me where I’d been. My mind spun. I’d been buying cigarettes. I’d met a man and he’d invited me to…

But the shadow remained where it was. The doorknob didn’t turn.

It was so quiet I could hear the breathing on the other side.

Was that Leslie breathing? Or someone else?

We stayed there like that, on either side of the door, motionless, for what seemed like hours. Then the shadow moved away and I heard soft footsteps fading as whoever it was went down the hallway.

I got into bed, but I couldn’t lie down. I just sat there, eyes open, looking at nothing, for a long time.





29


    Mary


I woke up slumped half-upright against the headboard with a killer pain in my shoulder. The Floreses were awake; I listened to them move around as I got dressed and put makeup on. Dave left first, taking Eli to daycare. Leslie thumped around in the master bedroom, getting ready. I heard her shuffle toward the guest room, and then a note slid under the door:

    I’ll pick you up at 4 for the appointment. Please be ready.



She’d pressed down hard on the second sentence.

I waited until I heard her go back into her bedroom, and then I went downstairs and left the house as quietly as I could, sticking a little gum into the back-door lock for good measure. My rental car was where I had left it around the corner. I pulled it up to the intersection and idled, waiting for Leslie.

A green pickup slowed down behind me, then honked. I waved at the driver to go around me.

I tilted my head to see myself in the side mirror. I’d put my hair in a bun and pulled my hoodie loosely over it. Leslie’s bug-eyed sunglasses covered most of my face.

    Another car pulled up behind me, and I waved it through. Leslie was taking forever. Maybe she was looking for her sunglasses.

I fiddled with the radio, flipping through channels until the college radio station surprised me with the Stone Roses.

There. Leslie’s big silver Honda trundled down the street past me and turned left toward the neighborhood exit. I waited until she had completed the turn and then followed her, keeping a car between us.

It was sort of exciting to be playing detective like this. The adrenaline cut my exhaustion from a night spent driving to and from the car rental.

The craziest thing was it wasn’t the first time I’d tailed someone like a cop. Paul had cheated on me before. I never thought he’d do it. The first time we’d slept together he’d made me turn in a circle so that he could look at me. He took my clothes off and folded them for me, touching each item sentimentally. I’d made him tell me over and over that he was in love with me. Every time he’d sounded sincere. I can’t believe you’re not famous yet, he’d told me once, stroking down the line on my palm. I hadn’t even told him what it meant yet. His thumb reached my wrist, and I felt the heartbeat in my vein twitch against it.

And then he’d stopped calling me.

I couldn’t believe I’d read him wrong. Most people are easy to read, especially when they’re naked. I would’ve sworn to you I had him wrapped around my finger. This time next year, I’d thought, me and him, a house in the Hills…

I’d given him a week to come to his senses and try to win me back. But at the end of the week, I was still alone in my apartment, and he was still nowhere to be seen.

So then I’d driven to his house, turned off my headlights, and waited. It was a Saturday night and he didn’t stay home on Saturday nights. I watched his big lifted truck turn in to the driveway, watched the bathroom light switch on behind the frosted glass. He came back out showered, dressed in nicer jeans and a blue polo that I’d bought him a couple of weeks ago for his birthday.

I followed him through twenty minutes of evening traffic. It was difficult to keep enough space between the cars that he wouldn’t notice me but stay close enough to remain on his tail. Paul never signaled, either; he’d once told me it kept the other drivers on their toes.