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A minute or so later, she hears the faint thud of a door closing, followed by footfalls on the carpet, soft ones again.Tom’s shadow passes in front of the small crack she’d left and then is gone, as fleeting as a thought.
Emma inches closer to the door, quietly opens it a bit farther, and peers out. Tom is about to descend the stairs. He still has the bag but he’s carrying it by the handles now, as if something’s been added.
Paperwork for the meeting with his colleagues? she wonders. But surely he’d put that in his briefcase instead. Her unease swells.
After giving it a few more seconds, she creeps down the back stairs and quietly approaches the kitchen, which she finds empty. A second later, the sound of the garage door being raised penetrates the room, followed by the firing of the car engine, and finally the hum of the Tesla backing out into the street.
Without stopping to think about it, Emma grabs her purse and her car keys from a basket on the counter, quickly sets the alarm for Brittany, and makes a dash for the garage. She backs out her car and points it toward the center of town.
She can’t believe it, but she’s actually attempting to tail her husband. She feels like the protagonist of some TV movie about a woman coming unhinged after she’s learned her husband’s been cheating on her. Tom might not be cheating, but something’s wrong, she knows it. She thinks of his overly quiet footsteps upstairs and the bag gripped in his hands.
It turns out she’s guessed right about the turn he took out of the driveway. In no time she spots Tom’s car, just two ahead of hers. Emma slows slightly, praying he won’t see her,though her bigger problem is going to be keeping him in her sights. She’s a far less experienced driver than he is.
But somehow she manages to do it. Tom’s car is a shiny deep blue, so it pops out in traffic. And since hers is one of a zillion medium-sized white cars on the road these days, she doesn’t think he’ll notice her if she stays far enough back.
After a mile or so, and a turn onto Main Street and then another onto Weston, Tom takes the Merritt Parkway going north, in the direction of New Haven. Her stomach tightens. From what she recalls, Dan lives within Westport, so Tom can’t be driving to his house.
Which means he lied to her.
Maybe, she quickly tells herself, the meeting location was changed to avoid press, and one of his HR directors or a publicist is hosting it instead. But ten long minutes later, Tom exits onto Route 25, a road that will take them to Bridgeport, a city at least a dozen miles east of them. Even if the meeting had to be moved from Dan’s, this location would surely be inconvenient for everyone else. The only answer is that thereisno meeting.
As they approach Bridgeport, she watches as Tom suddenly takes one of the city exits. Emma just has time to signal and follow suit. She slows as much as possible, so she won’t have to pull up right behind him at the stop sign.
He makes a left at the end of the exit ramp, with an authority that suggests either he knows where he’s going or his GPS does. Emma signals a left-hand turn as well, but before she can take it, several cars coming from the right cut her off and muscle in behind Tom’s car.
Dammit, she swears under her breath. She’s lost him.They’re now on a busy four-lane local road lined with office buildings and stuccoed one-story retail stores, and though she’s pretty sure his car is still in the pack ahead of her, there’s no sign of it. She stretches her neck, straining for a glimpse but without any luck.
And then, several cars ahead, there’s a sudden flash of blue, gleaming in the sun. It’s his Tesla. He shifts lanes, fast as a bee changing course, and turns into one of the lots on the road. To her utter surprise the building sign says Goodwill.
With barely any time to think, Emma manages to change lanes herself and turn right into the front parking lot of the building next door, a dental clinic. She quickly finds a parking spot, kills the engine, and twists in her seat for a view of the Goodwill building. Tom’s car isn’t in sight, but she’s almost positive it’s over there.
Perhaps he’s lost, she thinks, and only pulled into the lot to turn around. It would make a lot more sense than him suddenly deciding this was the day to donate some household item. But then she spots him, moving across the parking lot on foot and swinging open the door of the building—with the green bag by his side.
It feels as if she’s having one of those awful dreams in which ordinary snippets from daily life patch themselves together in an illogical but terrifying sequence of events.
Only a minute or two passes before Tom emerges, empty-handed, and ducks back into his car. She gives him time to pull from the lot, turning in the direction of home, before she makes the short drive over to Goodwill herself.
Emma shivers as she steps inside, and she can’t tell if it’s from fear or the air-conditioning or both. The interioris mammoth, with endless aluminum racks of clothes and free-standing shelving units holding toys, dishes, glassware, knickknacks, and even Christmas decorations.
“May I help you?”
Emma turns. The question has come from a middle-aged woman in a blue Goodwill apron behind a glass display case, which also seems to function as a checkout counter.
“Uh, I guess I’m just going to poke around for a minute or two,” Emma tells her. There’s no way she can ask,What did that man just bring in here?without arousing suspicion.
“Of course,” the woman says kindly. “Let me know if you need help finding your way around.”
“I will, thank you. I—” And then she sees the Terrain bag, resting on the counter to the right of the cash register. The saleswoman’s eyes trail her gaze and rest in the same spot.
Emma’s mind races. She only has one chance, and she can’t blow it.
“Ah, someone loves to shop at Terrain just like I do,” she says, smiling.
“I’m not actually familiar with the store. A person used the bag to drop off an item.”
“Was it something from there, do you know?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t gotten a good look yet.”
