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The girl said, “Uh, I think maybe you’ve got the wrong place?”
“Thirty-six,” the woman said.
“Yeah, that’s right. But maybe you’ve got the wrong street?”
“Thirty-six Mulberry,” the woman said. “This is thirty-six Mulberry.”
“Yeah,” the girl said slowly.
“This is all wrong. This house doesn’t belong here. There’s supposed to be an old house here. With—with red brick and a porch, that kind of sagged. My house. It was right here. Right here! How does a house just disappear?”
“Yeah, well, that house you’re talking about? They tore that down like three years ago and my parents built this one. Did you say your house?”
“This is not right,” the woman said.
The girl shrugged and went back inside, leaving the woman standing there, staring open-mouthed at the three-year-old home.
“This is not happening,” she said.
The man with the broom was standing at the property line now. He studied the woman, narrowing his eyes as if trying to improve his focus, like maybe he didn’t believe what he was seeing and needed to be sure.
“Brie?” he asked.
The woman glanced in his direction, her face blank.
“Jesus, Brie, is it you?” he said.
Suddenly the woman got back into her car, keyed the ignition, and backed out of the drive, crushing the remaining eggs with the front wheels as she turned, the tailgate still in the raised position. The car’s transmission whirred noisily as the car bounced into the street, narrowly missing the kid on the motorized skateboard making a return trip.
The Volvo’s brakes squealed as the car came to an abrupt halt. It sat there for half a second while the woman put it into drive, then took off down the street, the man with the broom watching it speed away.
Two
Andrew
I rolled over onto my side, opened my eyes, and looked at the clock on the bedside table. Nearly eight. Jesus. I almost never slept that late. There was some momentary panic as I thought about being late to an appointment with a potential client, then realized that not only was it Saturday, but that my appointment was on Friday and had already happened.
I turned back over again to see whether Jayne was awake and found her staring at me with one eye, half her head buried into the pillow, her brown hair splayed across it. She flashed half a smile at me.
“Morning, Andrew,” she said with mock formality.
“It’s almost eight,” I said. “How long you been awake?”
“Five minutes, maybe,” she said. “I was watching you. Woke you up with my mind.”
I grinned and slipped one arm around her under the covers and pulled her closer to me. “You have great powers.”
“Indeed,” she said, and gave me a kiss so light it was as if she’d brushed a feather across my lips. “I can read minds, too.”
“Okay,” I said. “What am I thinking?”
I guess she rolled both her eyes, but I only saw one. “Too easy. Give me something hard.”
I smiled. “Amazing. Got it on the first guess.”
It took her a second, and then she grinned. “I was actually going to guess French toast. Your usual Saturday morning demand.”
“Okay, maybe that, too. In a bit.”
