Page 46 of I'm Watching You

By the time Zack pulled into his driveway, he was bone tired. He turned off the car and just sat. His last encounter with Lindsay played in his head as he stared at the salt-box house he’d just bought. He took in the broken windows, peeling paint, overgrown shrubs and, for the hundredth time, wondered why he’d purchased the damn place. He knew the answer.

Because Lindsay had loved it.

He’d passed the house a dozen times in the last month, each time pausing to see if theFOR SALEsign had been pulled up. It hadn’t. In this waning real estate market, the house required more work and attention than most were willing to give. Yet, he still kept coming back, staring past the decay and rot to the possibilities Lindsay had once envisioned.

Zack got out of the car and slung his coat over his shoulder. After climbing the front steps, he unlocked the door. He prayed his beeper wouldn’t go off before the morning briefing. He needed downtime and sleep.

Inside the house, plaster walls had trapped the day’s heat, leaving the foyer stuffy and humid. The supplies from the hardware superstore had been delivered a couple of days ago, but the job had kept him on the run and he’d barely had enough time to stack the supplies into the empty living room.

Late-afternoon sun streamed through the transom above the front door. His footsteps echoed as he moved over scarred hardwood floors toward the kitchen. The place felt unwelcoming.

He dropped his keys on the gray kitchen counter andlaid his coat on a stack of boxes by the back door. From the kitchen window above the sink, he stared at the backyard. It reminded him of the surface of the moon: barren, lifeless.

Zack went to the new, starkly white refrigerator. When he and Lindsay had been together their refrigerator had been covered with pictures of them, schedules, and drawings from the kids at the shelter.

He opened it. The bright bulb illuminated two boxes of Chinese food, a half-full carton of orange juice, and a couple of cans of soda. He craved a beer right now but tried not to think about it as he snatched a soda and headed back out to the front porch. He sat on the front step, loosened his tie, and popped the soda’s tab. Maybe he’d go for a run and then order a pizza.

Zack downed the last of the soda and crushed the can just as a blackSUVpulled up in front of the house. The car belonged to his brother, Malcolm.

This wasn’t Malcolm’s part of town. He must be doing recon for their mother.

Malcolm wore a loose, white T-shirt, faded jeans, and flip-flops. He strolled around the side of his truck, a brown paper bag tucked in close at his side, sunlight bouncing off his chrome aviator glasses. Malcolm was a year younger than Zack and, at six one, a couple of inches shorter.

‘Tell Mom I’m fine,’ Zack called.

Malcolm shook his head. ‘That won’t be good enough. She’s going to want details.’ He stopped in front of the house, pulled off his glasses, and studied the exterior.‘Were you sober when you bought this piece-of-crap house, Zack?’

‘Sober as a judge.’

‘Now I’m really worried about you. Do yourself a favor and bulldoze it and start fresh.’

That coaxed a grin from Zack. ‘It’s a great investment. The realtor said lots of potential and charm.’

Malcolm’s gaze scanned the peeling paint on the front porch and the dry rot by the front door. ‘Lots of work. Lots of money to fix it up.’

‘Consider it therapy.’ Zack nodded to the bag. ‘What’s in the bag?’

‘Mom sent food.’ Malcom handed him the bag.

Zack opened the bag and found a large tinfoil container of ziti, cellophane-wrapped bread rolls, two cookies, and a plastic fork. He was starving. ‘Bless you.’

Malcolm sat down on the porch and studied the house. ‘Why’d you pick this place?’

Because Lindsay had once looked at the house and talked about filling it with babies.Instead he said, ‘It’s an investment. I paid next to nothing for it.’ He was nostalgic but not stupid.

Sighing, Malcolm glanced down the street at the collection of half-century-old homes. Most had been renovated. ‘Fixed up, it could be worth a fortune,’ he said.

‘That’s my thought. If it doesn’t work out I can always flip it for a profit.’

He sighed and didn’t seem convinced. ‘Oh, Mom said to remind you about the party.’

‘Party?’

Malcolm looked at him as if he were dim-witted. ‘Damn, Zack, Eleanor’s birthday party. Saturday. Mom’s been planning it for months. Be there or suffer the consequences.’

‘Oh yeah, right.’ He opened the tinfoil container and savored the blend of ziti, tomatoes, oregano, and basil. His sister, Ellie, had talked about the party for weeks, and he’d cut off his right arm before he’d disappoint her. ‘I won’t miss it.’

‘Mom would have come but the restaurant is packed tonight. She couldn’t get away.’

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