“We should toilet paper her tree.”
“That could be fun.”
A man walks out of the house next door. He is indeed tall, with tattoos and longish dark hair. Hana wasn’t lying about anyof that. And when he grabs a box out of the back of the moving van, the muscles in his arms stretch and strain.
“He is fire,” I admit.
Hana happy sighs. “I like it when he lifts heavy things.”
“Yeah.”
“He doesn’t need that place,” say Hana. “He can live in my head rent free.”
I smile. “That’s very generous of you.”
“I know, right?”
A young family was renting the small brick bungalow. But they left after someone threw a rock through their window. Doubtless it was meant for me. Maybe Mrs. Lawson was right about those house prices after all.
“I have a life,” I say for absolutely no reason.
“Do you though?” Hana wrinkles her nose. “Really?”
“Yes.” I laugh. “I do things and see people. Like you two and Mateo and Heather. My friend Salim just stopped by the other day.”
“Mateo’s your self-defense teacher and Heather’s your therapist. You pay them; they don’t count. And who’s Salim?”
“He’s lovely,” I say. “He, ah, he brings me things.”
“Are you seriously trying to claim the mailperson as your friend?”
I frown. “Maybe.”
Hana shakes her head sadly at me.
My life isn’t small and pathetic. It just looks that way from certain angles. But what’s important is the work we’re doing to bring the missing women home. Not the diminutive size of my social life and/or lack of skills regarding same. Most of my friends from high school and college ghosted me. Same goes for the cousin I was close to growing up. I don’t blame them, though I did feel abandoned. And me shutting down from the horror of it all wasn’t helpful.
There’s nothing quite like the social awkwardness of having accidentally dated a serial killer. What my ex did was abhorrent, and he deserves to rot in jail and burn in hell. But my only crimes were being idiotic and in love. Two things that still give me plenty of guilt.
The new neighbor takes another box inside before wandering back out into the sun. And then walking in this general direction. Hana and I jump back from the window in a panic.
“This is it,” says Hana. “You’re going to meet him.”
“Shit.”
“What’s happening?” Muriel shouts from the study.
Hana yells back, “He’s coming over.”
“He is? Now this I have to see!”
Thank fuck for thick walls and double glazing. Because my only friends have well and truly forgotten their inside voices. Which is when he knocks on the door.
“I’m not dressed for gentleman callers,” I say, giving Hana a nudge. “You like him. You answer it.”
“No way. It’s your house.”
“Yeah, but—”
