Nancy Thompson - Out With The Old, In With The New

Jenny’s car.

I love this house—its old-world Mediterranean charm, the overgrown live oak between us and the neighbor’s that shelters us like protective arms, the rolling lawn that stretches to the street like green carpet.

Before we bought it, Corbin made such a production of showing me the place. “Close your eyes,” he’d said before we turned onto Via Lugano. “Don’t peek…. Okay, now open them. I found your dream house, Mrs. Hennessey.”

“Stop and let me out,” I say.

Rainey grabs my arm as if she fears I might jump out before Alex comes to a complete stop. “You’re not going in there.”

I shake my head. “I want to see if his car’s in the garage.”

“What?”

“Why?” They say in unison.

“That’s the sitter’s car, right?” Alex says. “Honey, he’s not home.”

I nod. I don’t know why I want to check. I just have to see for myself that his car’s not there. “Maybe he’s home—”

“Is he sleeping with the babysitter?” Rainey narrows her eyes.

“Jenny?” The possibility jolts me. I hadn’t even considered it. “No. No way. I thought that maybe…” Both of them are staring at me, patently horrified, as if they’re afraid I’m going to do something to harm myself. “I don’t know. Maybe he just got home?”

“If that’s the case,” says Alex, “then we’d better get out of here fast, because Jenny, or whatever her name is, will walk out any minute and blow our cover.”

I fish in my purse for my keys. “Then pull down the street a little. I’m going to let myself in the side garage door and have a peek.”

I hop out of the car, take three steps and my foot lands on a small pebble in the street. I lose my balance and turn my ankle.

It dawns on me that I’m still wearing the little black dress and strappy sandals I wore to dinner last night. God, that seems like aeons ago. Why didn’t I change clothes before we left? Come to think of it, I hope Alex and Rainey got my suitcase, because I have no recollection of packing it or putting it in the car.

My ankle throbs, but I ignore it and glance up and down the street looking for any neighbors who might be lurking in the predawn darkness. The air smells of winter and has that cold, dewy quality that rains on Florida in the middle of the night instead of blanketing the ground with frost. I shiver.

All I can see is the glowing red taillights of Alex’s car parked in the street two houses down. If the neighbors see me getting out of a strange car dressed like this at this hour, it will look bad. When they hear that Corbin and I are divorcing, they’re going to think I’m the one who cheated.

Anger merges with despair, and tears brim at the thought of—divorce. It’s like a well-landed punch to the gut. I want to throw myself down on the carpet of grass and bawl, but instead, I limp as fast as I can—ouch, my ankle really hurts—up the driveway to the garage door on the side of the house.

I must be in more of a stupor than I realize, because it’s only after the burglar alarm blares that I remember the only door you can enter without setting off the system is the front door.

“Oh shit!”

My dog, Jack, is barking and throwing himself against the door so hard, I’m afraid he’ll break through. In a matter of seconds, the neighbors are going to look out to see what the racket’s about, and the police are going to arrive to find me breaking into my own house.

I do what any person in this situation with half a brain would do—I run.

Excruciating pain be damned, I run as fast as I can to Alex’s car, turning the same ankle twice more before I jump in, and we speed away like criminals.

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