Page 78 of The Quiet Tenant

Or is this some kind of game? Does he want to see what you’ll do?

Three thumps on the front door. You jump with each of them,knock, knock, knock.You think:Someone is here.You think:He sees everything.

From a corner of the living room, the dog barks, alerting you to the presence of a stranger outside. You shush her, implore her to stop, in a whisper. What about Cecilia? You listen for her footsteps down the staircase, but nothing comes. She must have headphones on. It is just the three of you, then—you, whoever is at the door, and the man with eyes everywhere.

You hear a rasp. A key sliding into a lock, a door pushed open.

Someone is here.

CHAPTER 53

Emily

My chest swells with renewed hope as I drive from my house to his. I’m not even tempted to put music on. The moment is hopeful, comfortable enough that I can sit with it in silence.

I park on a nearby street and walk the last bit.

His truck isn’t in the driveway. It’s the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. He’s probably at work. But he could come by to check on something. His daughter—aren’t kids on break this time of year? Or he could drive by, on his way from one job to the other.

It doesn’t matter. He’s bound to show up at some point. I have time. I have all the time in the world.

I walk around a bit. Take a few steps down the street, turn back, go across to the other end. There are neighbors, people who will talk if they see me loitering.

Before I can stop myself, I’m stepping away from the tree, advancing toward his house. This is as close as I’ve ever been to it. Inventory: white wooden slats and gray shingles and a small, well-tended yard with wrought iron patio furniture. Front door, back door. Both locked.

Doorbell.

I press it once, twice. Nothing happens. I listen for a minute or so but hear only silence.

Not too surprising. He’s clearly not home. But I don’t hate the idea of being here without him. Rehearsing, exploring his territory. I try knocking, three short raps on the wooden frame. More silence, then—was that a bark?

He never said anything about a dog.

Okay, maybe he just got a dog. Or maybe he had a secret dog this entire time. Maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do.

No one shows. I think about trying again, but I don’t want the dog to freak out.

My ears perk up. Is that…?

I think I hear something. A hissing sound. It’s faint, but it’s here. Someone going,Shhhh, shhhh.Trying to evade detection.

My hands get to work before I can think about what to do next. I’m searching. For what? A visual, a key, a door opening to reveal his world.

Answers. I’m searching for answers.

I lift the welcome mat. Nothing. Run my hand over the top of the doorframe. Nothing there, either.

Potted plants—there’s a variety of them, scattered around the deck. None of them are blooming right now, not in the middle of winter. No specks of red, pink, or white. Just greenish stems rising lazily from beds of dirt.

Those plants shouldn’t be outside. Not if their real purpose is to bloom. Not unless they’re hiding something.

I lift one pot, two, three. Bingo.

The key is under the most damaged of them, frost-burned, brown, dead. That plant will never blossom again.

The key leaves indents on my skin where the metal presses into my palm.

Am I really doing this?

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