The thought brings apulsewith it, centered between her legs. It’s similar to the ones she often wakes up to, but more intense. Claire leans harder into the basket, hearing herself whimper as if she’s not inhabiting her own body but instead floating above the scene. She’s rocking against the surface, chasing that feeling, andgoshit feels good, it feels so strange and awful andwonderful—
The downstairs phone rings. The harsh trill startles Claire so badly that she upturns the entire basket, and all the folded laundry on top.
For a moment Claire is still, her hand pressed to her chest. The phone rings a second, and then a third time. She can feel her blood pounding through her veins, moving through her body and distributing shame through every cell.
It takes two more rings before Claire hurries down to answer it.
“Davis residence,” Claire says. She’s noticeably breathless, but she puts it down to the sprint down the stairs to get the phone. She’s still trembling all over.
“Claire, it’s Dorothy O’Neil,” Dorothy says. She’s always been one to announce her full name at every opportunity. “There is a strange man parked outside of your house.”
Claire frowns. She moves to the kitchen window, peering out at what she can see of the road. “A strange man? Are you sure?”
“Very sure,” Dorothy says. Dorothy is known for calling the police over local teens walking through the neighborhood after dark. She can have a hair trigger, and clearly she’s been activated by this. “He’s been there for nearly half an hour.”
Once upon a time, it would have been Martha making a call like this. Claire hasn’t heard from her since their confrontation over fondue.
“I’ll go see who it is,” Claire says. Her racing heart is only now starting to slow down.
Dorothy gasps. “Don’t do that! What if he’s a hooligan?”
“In Acacia Circle?” Claire says doubtfully.
“He could have a weapon,” Dorothy insists. “He could be a criminal!”
“Why did you call me, then? So I can better anticipate my murder?”
Dorothy doesn’t have an answer for that.
“Thank you for the warning, Dorothy,” Claire says, before hanging up the phone with a firmclick. A glance out the front window shows that there is indeed a vehicle parked at the curb between her house and Jackie’s, but it looks familiar. A small white Volvo.
When Claire knocks on the car window, Theo jumps so hard that he hits his head on the interior roof.
“What the fuck?” Theo says, his voice getting louder as he rolls the window down. “Can a man not roll a cigarette in peace?”
Claire can now see that his lap is littered with loose tobacco. She winces. “Sorry. I’m only here to tell you that the neighbors think you might be a murderer.”
“I will be, if I have to stay here much longer,” Theo grumbles.
“You might want to—”
“Oh, Christ. Here comes the fucking cavalry,” Theo says, his eyes flicking to something behind Claire. She has just enough time to turn around before Dorothy has descended upon them.
“Excuse me. Clearly you donotlive here, and this is a safe neighborhood,” Dorothy says. She’s clearly already prepared to swing her handbag at Theo’s head, gathering up a head of steam as she storms across the Circle. Louise had her gardens revamped last year, and Dorothy had pulled a similar fit when she saw the work crew wandering around the Circle—Claire should have known she’d cause the ruckus of the decade.
“Of course I don’t live here, you old bat,” Theo says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for someone.”
Dorothy gasps. Her mouth opens and closes, like she can’t decide which tirade she’d like to go off on.
“He’s not a criminal, Dorothy,” Claire says.
Dorothy looks as if Claire has just proposed marriage to Theo. She goes pale when he opens the car door, and she jumps backward.
“You don’t know him, do you, Claire?” Dorothy says, as if Theo isn’t there at all.
“I do,” Claire says.
“You can’t be serious. He’s…” Dorothy trails off, staring at Theo with obvious distrust.
