Russ stayed on the porch for a while, and then he said the thing he’d come to say, which was that his mother’s eightieth birthday was Saturday, that the whole family would be there, and that “for Mom’s sake” I should come, “act normal,” and “we’ll figure the rest out after.”
“You want me at Marlene’s birthday.”
“She’s expecting you.
She doesn’t know about — any of this.”
“She’ll know Saturday,” I said.
“Because I’m coming.
And I’m bringing the boring drawer.”
Thursday, the pressure came the way it always does — from the soft side.
Russ’s sister called.
Janet.
Kind, church-going, the family’s designated peacemaker.
“Colleen.
Honey.
I heard.
And I’m not defending him.
But he’s sixty.
Thirty-one years.
The alarm — the whole neighborhood — was that really necessary?
Can’t you just… let it go?
For the family?”
“Janet, if a stranger had opened a ninety-thousand-dollar line of credit on your house with a forged signature and spent it on a boat and his girlfriend, would you tell me to let it go?”
A long pause.
“That’s — that’s not — ”
“Why isn’t it?”
She didn’t have an answer.
She did, however, come Saturday, and sit next to me, which I’ll get to.
Friday, Brandi came.
Not to the door.
To the fence — the same fence Mrs. Kowalski had leaned over — at dusk, in a hoodie, without lipstick.
“Colleen.
I need my phone.
And my — my things.
Todd’s changed the locks.”
I had her things.
They were in a paper grocery bag on the porch, folded, with the phone on top, and I had been waiting four days for her to ask, because my mother had also taught me that you do not throw a woman’s clothes in the trash even when she has earned it.
I handed her the bag over the fence.
“Colleen — ”
“Brandi, how many Tuesdays?”
“What?”
“How many.”
She looked at the bag.
“Eleven.”
Eleven.
The camera had seven.
I’d had the side gate camera installed in June.
Four Tuesdays before that, she’d walked through my gate unrecorded, and I had refilled the sugar and thought nothing, because a woman who is being lied to in her own kitchen will explain almost anything to herself in order to keep the kitchen.
“The sugar,” she said.
“I — it started as a joke.
He said you’d never notice.
He said you never notice anything.”
“He was right,” I said.
“For eleven Tuesdays.
Then I noticed everything at once.
It’s a thing older women can do, Brandi.
You’ll find out.”
She took the bag.
At the gate, she turned.
“He told me the house was his.
He said the condo was for after.
He said you’d ‘take a settlement and go quiet.'”
“Did he tell you where the condo money came from?”
She hadn’t known.
I watched her not know.
“Ask Todd,” I said, “to look up what a HELOC is.
He’s in the business.
He’ll explain it.”
Friday night, Mr. Abernathy came across the street with a Tupperware of banana bread and a manila envelope.
“My late wife’s recipe,” he said.
“And this is from my doorbell camera.
Front of your house.
It sees your driveway.
Eleven Tuesdays.
I didn’t know what I was looking at until the siren.
I’d like you to have it, and I’d like to not be asked about it at the block party, if that’s all right.”
“It’s all right.”
“Colleen — ” he stopped at the porch step.
“My Doris used to say a woman who installs her own alarm is a woman who’s already noticed.
I thought about that Tuesday.”
I put the envelope in the boring drawer.
Saturday, I dressed for a birthday.
Blue.
