The cold outside air made her spasm with shivers. She stood for a moment at the edge of the garage, staring at the houses around her. All the lawns were sickeningly green and even, with the same red flowers in the mulched gardens off the front walks. Why hadn’t just one person planted blue flowers, or yellow? Who lived in these houses?
Joanna squared her shoulders and hit the unlock button on her car key. The door remained locked. She hit it again. Nothing. “Goddamn it,” she whispered, punching every button on the key until the alarm started to sound. The noise was so loud it made her teeth ache. She fumbled with the key chain, desperate for it to stop. Then she noticed movement to her right. Mrs. Batten stood in the middle of her driveway, staring. Her hair was perfectly combed, her trench coat knotted tightly and evenly at her tiny waist, her ballet flats unscuffed. One of her children, the little girl who played in the sandbox, leaned into her, wide-eyed. Joanna hit another button, but the alarm kept blazing. Maybe she needed to try it from a different angle. As she stepped around to the other side of the car, her shoe caught on the lip of concrete between the garage and the driveway. Instantly, her cheek smacked the asphalt. There was a gasp behind her.
Joanna groaned and pushed herself up. Somehow the alarm had stopped. Blood was trickling down her knee. She turned around. Mrs. Batten’s eyes were round, but she remained motionless in the driveway, instead of rushing over to see if Joanna was okay.
“What?” Joanna shouted. Her neighbor flinched. “Jesus, what?” Joanna said again. Her neighbor’s eyes averted downward. She hustled her child into her minivan and slammed the door. Joanna hit the key again and the car unlocked, insufferably easily. Then she sat in the driver’s seat without turning on the ignition. If only there was something insulting she could scream out to Batten, safe in the privacy of her car, but the first word she thought of, after bitch, was eggbeater. You bitch, you eggbeater.
A skunk had sprayed in the middle of the night; even the air inside the car smelled of it. Joanna started the engine. It was only an hour-and-a-half drive to her mother’s if she took the highway. She usually avoided I-95, taking the quaint, quiet back roads, but today she didn’t feel like lingering. As she drove, she gnashed her teeth, picturing Charles at work, smiling about his meeting tomorrow with Bronwyn. He was in the clear. When she came to a traffic light, she noticed where she was. To the left of the intersection was the garden center. To the right was the old stone mansion that had been converted into a bed-and-breakfast. This was the turn to Sylvie’s house.
Something inside her flipped. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, considering. It was almost 11 a.m. Who knew if Scott would even be there—his meeting at the school was today. Sylvie might answer the door instead, and then what would Joanna say? That she hadn’t been paying attention, that she’d inadvertently ended up here?
But she’d asked Scott if he’d come, and he said he would. The words had popped out of Joanna’s mouth unwittingly, but maybe she’d meant them.
A car behind her honked. The light had turned green. She jumped, and then put on her turn signal. If Sylvie’s car was there, she would turn around and go back. With any luck, Sylvie wouldn’t see her.
The houses got bigger and bigger, old converted barns, enormous structures behind fancy iron gates, rolling properties with horse stables. She’d never driven to Roderick without Charles—she’d never felt like she had the right to. She made the turn at the red mailbox and started up the winding driveway. The tires crackled over fallen twigs and branches. The trees didn’t have all their leaves in yet; her car was easily visible from the second-floor windows. Sylvie would probably already be on the porch by the time she got to the driveway. She would invite her in, saying what a nice surprise. She wouldn’t ask questions. She would make her some tea and probably show her pictures of the vacation house and say nothing, absolutely nothing, pretending that Scott’s meeting wasn’t today, pretending it wasn’t weird Joanna was there without Charles, not at all.
Only, Sylvie’s car wasn’t in the driveway—just Scott’s. Joanna’s heart lifted, and for a shining moment, she was so overcome with a mix of emotions she put her fist in her mouth and bit down hard. The decision had been made. This was in the hands of something bigger than she was. She parked behind Scott’s car and turned hers off. He probably wouldn’t need a very big bag. It would take him five minutes to put things together, nothing like Charles, who took hours to meticulously iron and fold and pack. She ran her tongue over her teeth, considering, and then decided not to consider. Whatever.
She slammed the door. She knocked and waited. A light came on, and there he was, opening the door, smiling, as if he knew she was going to show up here all along.
Part II