On a Quiet Street by Seraphina Nova Glass

Author:Seraphina Nova Glass
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Graydon House Books
Published: 2022-03-07T13:19:07+00:00

17

CORA

When I get my Amazon package in the mail, I’m practically giddy as I rip open the bubble envelope and pull out my very tiny spy camera. It’s not marketed as a spy camera, but from the size of it, what else would it be for? Now, I know the only place I can safely put this is on their tree in the backyard. When Lucas is at work, Georgia is often out front. Now that it’s gotten cold, that might change, though. Hmm. Still, I can’t do it at night when he’s home. It could backfire in a big way.

Their house backs onto a small park. I’ll just stroll through the park, walk close to their fence, and clip it to a tree branch. It looks like an old iPod Nano with a tiny clip in back. Easy, though I know it’s not the best place to put it because what will I see in the backyard? But there are sliding glass doors off the deck into the kitchen, and maybe they don’t keep their blinds closed all the time. But even if it produces nothing, it’s a good test. I can familiarize myself with the phone app and at least it’s a start. Maybe I can make a bolder move if this tester works.

I shakily shove the camera back into its packaging when I hear the garage door open. Finn is home hours early. I hide the package in the cabinet under the sink and pretend I didn’t almost get caught plotting to commit a criminal offense, but he can always tell when I’m hiding something. Damn it. If he did see it, he’d think I was spying on him, no doubt. What is he doing home? When he walks through the garage door into the kitchen, I can tell something’s wrong.

“Hey, you’re home early,” I say, peering into the garage behind him. “Got the window fixed? Good. I was worried about you freezing to death this morning.”

“Just cut the shit, okay,” he says, and I feel my heart speed up and a tingling heat spread across my chest. I can feel the blotchy red anger rash materialize without even looking.

“Excuse me?” I say, steadying myself against the counter so I don’t scream. So I don’t pull out my hair and scream at the top of my lungs, What the fuck did I do now? I thought things were finally so good!

“A blonde woman showed up at my office today,” he says, nostrils flared. He pulls a fifth of bourbon from the cabinet and takes a glass from the dry bar next to the fridge.

“Okay,” I say, impatiently.

“My colleagues gave me a description that sounded a lot like you,” he says, pouring his drink and turning to me.

“Why would I be at your work?” I ask, genuinely confused. I didn’t do anything. How is this possible? How are we having this same, tired conversation when I didn’t actually do anything this time? He just shrugs in an exaggerated gesture.

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