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Evan caught the toddler around the waist, lifting him off his rolling perch, setting him down on his feet, and arresting the suitcase with his heel. The boy jumped up and down, clapping his hands.
As the siblings celebrated uproariously, the parents alternated scolding them to no avail and thanking Evan profusely. Then they gathered up their luggage, the father chirp-chirping the minivan with a key fob. Laden with bags, they trundled off toward the terminal in a simulated jog no faster than a swift walk.
As soon as they passed from view, Evan circled back, removinga relay theft device and a specialized transponder key that had captured the electronic signal.
He unlocked the minivan, climbed in, and punched the keyless ignition. The vehicle was impeccably neat, no trash in the cup holders, and the interior still held that magical new-car smell. Bringing up the GPS, he punched the entry forHOME.
A professional voice with a slight British accent instructed him to pull out of the parking lot and turn onto 27 East. She was firm and a bit pushy. He decided to name her Pleasant Boss.
Pleasant Boss directed him to a quiet street in the town of Hampton Bays, ten miles from Devine’s stately pleasure-dome of Tartarus. The residence itself was a high-set Queenslander with bright white wall cladding and an expansive covered veranda. The first button in the minivan’s visor lifted the garage door. Evan pulled in.
The main access panel to the house alarm waited behind an unlocked panel in the garage beside the washer and dryer. He unplugged the AC power, used a rake from his pick set to pop the plastic backing, and disconnected the wires attached to the blocky battery.
He entered his temporary residence.
Light spilled through timber archways and across Shaker-style cabinetry, sand-colored stone benchtops, and duck-egg-blue walls. Various school and sports portraits adorned the refrigerator, mostly featuring wide-mouthed grins, delight pouring out of the kids. It seemed impossible to get a photo of the children with their mouths closed. Magnetized above them, a large monthly-format calendar provided an accounting of domestic life. Evan studied it with fascination. Birthdays,“call HVAC guy,”holidays,“family movie night,”soccer practices,“refill prescription,”farmers’-market times,“lemon chicken pasta,”carpool schedules.
He liked this family.
The computer on the kitchen desk had no password. One of the open tabs was logged into Instacart, the liquor store up the street carried Kauffman Vintage, and they offered contactless porch drop-offs. Heaven in a single thought. But he demurred.
Dumping his rucksack on an Amish knot rug in the family room, he plopped down on the giant shabby-chic couch. While not his taste, it would make for superb sleeping. The house smelled faintly of lavender.
He was pleased with his selection.
Now he had to attend to Joey. He needed her for operational backup. That’s why it made sense to reach out to her. Not because he was worried about her.
He wasn’t worried about her.
Not at all.
He was unsure how to approach her. She’d been angry with him before, but not like this.
After a few minutes of pondering, he downloaded an emoji app onto his RoamZone. He sent her an olive branch in the mouth of a dove. A bit saccharine, but it was the only relevant option.
Her response came immediately:i believe u meant to send this:
He thumbed:Am I to understand that your only terms are unconditional surrender?
my only terms r u apologizing4hanging up on me after being all like ‘ur so important2me’
She fired off two more texts in rapid succession:im mad @ u, X.
Then:irl.
A quick Google search translated what IRL meant.
Can we talk?he texted.The rationalized orthography is exhausting me.
im not a birdwatcher
Evan searched for an aggravated emoji but found none to his liking.
Before he could reply, Joey’s next text popped up:kidding! oops. i mean kdng. but if u want2apologize, being a snotty grammarian isnt the best look
Ok,Evan texted.im like tots sorry + i wud luv 2 talk 4 reelz
X!
