House of Glass. Sophie Littlefield
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weak.”
Jen considered, dubious. It seemed like Ted’s theory was woven from the thinnest threads, but it was better than anything she had, and it had the advantage—the enormous advantage—of giving her hope.
“I thought of something else,” Ted said. “A reason why they’re waiting.”
“What?”
“The cars. If they want to take the cars, they can’t risk driving out of here and being seen by someone who knows us. They could change the plates while they’re still in the garage, drive out in the middle of the night when there’s no one on the street. They could—come to think of it—” he snapped his fingers “—they could have a truck nearby. Make a few trips in our cars, get everything out and none of the neighbors would ever notice because everyone’s asleep.”
“But then they’d need a third person, right? To drive the truck? Besides, how much could they possibly take? More than they could fit in two cars?”
“Well, maybe that’s why they came so early. So they could take their time looking around.”
“Or maybe they already knew what we have,” Jen said. “If there’s someone else involved, like we were talking about before. Like where the safe is, my jewelry, the art, your dad’s coins—all of it.”
“I still think that’s such a long shot. I mean, someone who knew us well enough to know where all of that is—I just don’t know who that would be.”
Or Livvy, Jen thought. Someone who knew Livvy. But she had promised herself to try to stay calm, to keep a grip on her fears.
They were silent for a moment, both of them listening, both deep in their own thoughts. But upstairs, all was quiet.
“Look—take the love seat,” Ted said after a while. “You might be able to get some sleep on it. I’ll take the floor.”
“Well...” She thought about letting him have the love seat, since one of them might as well be comfortable, and she was pretty sure she would be wide-awake all night, no matter what. But she had to try, for the kids’ sake if not her own. “If you’re sure you’ll be all right.”
“Yeah, the floor’s nice and firm, probably be good for my back.”
He tried to smile, and for a moment Jen watched him, really looking at him the way she hadn’t in a long time. Something was different—some flicker in the depths of his eyes, some extra lines around his mouth. Of course it was probably just fear and exhaustion, the sheer weight of worry, but as Ted busied himself with spreading out some quilts on the floor, she couldn’t help feeling there was something else.
She arranged her blanket on the love seat and curled up on her side, using a sofa cushion for a pillow. When Ted snapped off the light, the basement was completely dark, the kind of dark where you almost feel like you’re in another dimension, adrift, without even the glow of the moon through a window or a night-light down the hall to orient you.
After a few seconds Ted turned the light back on. “I don’t want the kids to be scared if they wake up,” he whispered. “Will this be okay for you?”
“It’s fine,” Jen whispered back, and rolled over so her face was pressed against the back of the love seat, finding her own total darkness.
As she closed her eyes and waited for sleep, she tried to force her thoughts away from this horrible day, back to when things were normal. Yesterday, she’d gotten out of bed, brushed her teeth, got the paper, made the coffee. Packed a snack for Teddy and ironed a shirt for Livvy. Planned the details of her day, the errands, the car pools, the dinner menu, never dreaming that thirty-six hours later her life would be yanked out from under her. She’d had an extra cup of coffee with Ted before he went...where had he gone yesterday? Some errand...then she remembered, Ted had spent the afternoon at the BMW dealer having the oil changed and the dent fixed.
Except when she came home tonight with Livvy, she could swear the dent had still been there.
* * *
She dreamed a dinner party, impossibly detailed, and even as she walked the rooms of her house she suspected that she wasn’t really there. It happened that way, sometimes, in dreams. She touched the stemware, the silky petals of roses in the pewter bowls. She walked among her guests, but she barely greeted them. She brushed past the hired bartender, through the butler’s pantry, a quick tour of her kitchen, where several of the women from her Zumba class were standing near the bay window, wearing those skimpy outfits they all bought at the new fitness store that had opened in the old Blockbuster space. Jen was annoyed that they hadn’t dressed for her party, but still she didn’t stop.
She was looking for something.
She made her way up the stairs, leaving the crowd behind. The kids’ doors were open; they were with friends for the evening. The hall bath was tidy. It smelled like disinfectant, which Jen found soothing.
She hesitated at the door of her bedroom. It had been milled to match the rest of the doors in the house, solid six-panel construction. It was standing slightly ajar, and Jen tapped it with a fingertip and it opened a few more inches. Did she really want to do this? She could turn around; she could go back downstairs; she could have a glass of wine, a second, a third, however many it took to dull this wanting to know, this need, the one she couldn’t bring herself to separate from, the way she knew was best, the way other women did. Choosing not to know—it was one of the most important tools in a wife’s arsenal.
Some defiant spark wouldn’t let her turn away. She pushed the door open, hard enough for it to bang against the wall, and there they were. In her bed. Sarah Elizabeth Baker sitting astride her husband with her head thrown back, all that luxurious hair tangled around her shoulders as if she’d ridden through a windstorm to come to him. Ted’s hands were on her hips, pressing her against him, grinding up into her, and they were so consumed by the moment that even as they twisted around to see her, they didn’t stop their rhythm and the sight of them thrusting together was like an ax in Jen’s heart.
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