I drop between the suitcase and the front of the house. Tucked down like this, I can’t see the car itself, but I can see the lights washing over the street, hear its tires mucking louder over the wet asphalt. It seems to be slowing down. Does the driver see me back here? I hold my breath, waiting for the sound of a car door opening.
But it doesn’t come. The tires fade, the lights disappear.
I rise cautiously, taking a quick scan of the block before resuming my slog to the gate. As soon as I’m through it, safely in the backyard and out of range of the porch lanterns, I slump down for abreak. I stretch out my hands, cramped from squeezing the suitcase handle, and shake out my arms. The air is humid after the earlier rain. Sweat clings to my back.
The flagstone path continues from the patio around the deck, to the top of the basement stairs. This will be the longest leg of the journey, but also the safest, shrouded almost entirely in darkness. The tightness in my chest eases, I bring a palm to my belly.We’re going to make it. Mommy’s got this.
At the top of the basement stairs, I pause to consider my options. It’s a short flight, only eight steps, but narrow and steep. If I go first, pulling the suitcase behind me, the increased weight of it on the incline could knock me off balance. The best plan, I think, is to send it down first.
I scoot it to the edge of the landing and give it a shove. It topples over, sliding about halfway down. I maneuver around it to get to the Dutch door, pushing open the top half just like Penny showed me, then reaching down to unlock the bottom half from the inside. Now I jog back up, positioning myself behind the suitcase for one more thrust. This time, it makes it all the way to the bottom.
I drag it through the open door into the gloom of the basement; the silhouettes of stacked moving boxes, packed and ready for the voyage to London, loom like ghosts. The ceiling height really is impressive down here. Wonder what it would cost to add a bathroom?
My destination in sight—a spot at the foot of the stairs to the main level—I begin my trek across the concrete floor. But a noise—athud—turns my muscles to stone, my blood to ice.
What the fuck was that?
I strain to listen through the darkness, my whole body a tense knot, the roaring of my pulse threatening to give me away.
There it is again. The same sound.
Sweat soaks through the back of my T-shirt now, my cross-body bag heaves up and down in sync with my rapid, shallow breathing.
Thud.
It’s getting closer.
I place a hand on my belly.We are not alone.
As quietly as I can, I stand the suitcase upright and let go of the handle. If someone’s upstairs, I still have a chance to book it out of here the same way I came in. Slowly, I start to turn back toward the Dutch door.
But as my exit comes into view, there are hands on my shoulders, shoving me, urgently, to the ground. A scream catches in my throat.
While I’m face down, my wrists stinging from the impact, adrenaline takes over. I scramble onto my back, preparing to face my attacker… just in time to see a fluffy, four-legged shadow scamper out the back door.
Not human hands. Not human anything.Lunchbox.The goddamn neighbor cat.
Once I stop shaking, I clamber back to my feet and finish wheeling the suitcase into position. My eyes strain through the dark for something to use as a doorstop, coming to rest on a set of free weights forgotten in a corner. I grab a ten-pound dumbbell, then run up the stairs and use it to prop the door at the top wide open. I don’t see how they’ll be able to miss that.
Before I leave, I pull a silver luggage lock from my bag and secure it around the suitcase’s zippers. If Penny finds this first, I don’t want her to see what’s inside.
32
I had no idea what the day after would feel like. As vividly and specifically as the rest of the plan came into focus, I hadn’t really been able to imagine today. Would I wake up with my alarm? Brew my usual coffee? Log in to work like nothing had happened?
As it turns out, all yeses.
The rain today is harder, more violent than yesterday’s drizzle. Wind whips it against the floor-to-ceiling window, the pelting competing with the TV. I’ve had it tuned to channel 4 all day in case there’s any breaking news worth interrupting the soap operas and daytime talk shows for. With the apartment all to myself, I can keep the volume up as high as I want. It’s funny how it actually feels a little bigger in here. My only company is Fritter—snuggled up on my couch, right where he belongs.
Now it’s nearly five o’clock, only minutes to go before the offer deadline. Surely, Jack and Curt and Penny must be home by now. But have any of them noticed the dumbbell and ventured into the basement?
As if it’s answering my question, my phone vibrates on the desk. A text from Derrick, to both me and Ian.
Just checking in. No word yet. Let’s stay positive, but realistic. I’ll call as soon as I hear anything.
Disappointing. If they’ve found it, I guess they haven’t started alerting the bidders yet. I refresh the police department Twitter feeds again. No updates there, either.
I write back to Derrick:Thanks. Ian’s still in depositions with his phone off, but I’ll be standing by.
