Page 17 of Lies He Told Me

“But now you think differently,” he says.

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Well …”

“Seriously — unless I’ve started hallucinating or sleepwalking, howdidmy coffeepot get inside the dryer overnight? It didn’t walk over there by itself. God, I sound like my mother.”

“Your house alarm wasn’t set?”

“We don’t set it usually. Today was the first day. We had one installed when we built this house, but we never — I mean, look where we live, Kyle! Who robs houses in Hemingway Grove?”

I bring a hand to my face, shake my head. “I’m beginning to think that somebody’s doing something. I don’t know who, I don’t know why —”

“Okay, okay.” His warmth against me, his arms around me, so seamless and natural that I don’t know if I fell intohis arms or he came to me. Of course, this is innocent. Of course, this is wrong, but so familiar, so comforting, so —

His hand slowly runs up my back.

“No.” I release myself, step back. “Um, I —”

“Yeah, no, I’m — right. Right, right. Obviously.” His face flushed, Kyle steps back, puts his hands on his hips, nods his head toward the door. “Yeah. So I’ll … probably go back downstairs?”

“Sure, sure.”

He leaves the bedroom and heads downstairs. He opens the french doors and steps onto the patio before turning back, now at a safe distance, cooler heads having prevailed.

“So we should pass a car by your house on a regular basis for a while,” he says, regaining his balance, returning to the business at hand. “Think about installing cameras. They’re a good deterrent.”

“Good idea. And thanks, Kyle. Thanks for doing this. It was … it was good seeing you.”

His eyes meet mine and stay there for a beat too long. Then he blinks away the eye contact. “Just doing my job.” He turns and walks through the backyard without another word.

FOURTEEN

“OH, THE MANDALORIAN! Ilovethat guy!” I drop a couple of “fun-size” candy bars into Ethan’s pillowcase and wave to his parents, Greta and Tyler, standing on the sidewalk.

Ethan, in that Star Wars costume, is only five. I remember vividly when both Grace and Lincoln were that age, when I stood on those sidewalks watching them shuffle up walkways asking homeowners for candy, when my kids wouldn’t dream of doing anything without their mommy or daddy nearby. And now Lincoln, after begging and pleading, has gone trick-or-treating without me.

All for the best,Chill Mom tells me.You don’t want to raise a mama’s boy.

The sun has long set. The trick-or-treaters are dwindling now, our bowl of candy less than half full.

I check my phone. “Ten after seven,” I say. “Lincoln said he’d be home by seven.”

“Lemme call him.” David looks at his phone, digs upthe number for Lincoln’s Gizmo Watch as I walk into the kitchen to check on the chili in the pot.

We both hear the buzzing in the kitchen drawer. David, phone against his ear, walks over and pulls open the drawer. He punches out his phone. “Gizmo Watch is in the drawer.”

So we have no way of contacting Lincoln. “He said he’d wear it.”

“I should’ve double-checked.” David turns to me. “I’m sure it’s fine. He’s out with Will.”

I stir the chili. Take note of the bottle of green Tabasco sauce on the counter. David always sneaks some of that in when I’m not looking.

“Somebody could’ve done all these things that have been happening,” I say. “Our alarm wasn’t set. They could’ve walked in, moved around Grace’s lunch box and the coffeepot, maybe gone into the garage and moved my court ID onto the dashboard.”

“I know, but that’s crazy.”

“Maybe it is,” I say, “but it’s less crazy than any other explanation. Nobody’s been hurt, right? It’s all ultimately harmless. They move around the lunch box and coffeepot. They take Lulu but bring her back. They start a fire but only in our grill to contain it. They break into our house but don’t take anything.”

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