Chapter Six

While She Cooks

The smell of garlic and tomatoes drifts up the stairs a little after six.

Maya’s playlist hums faintly from the kitchen something upbeat and mindless that she always puts on when she cooks. Pots clink. A cabinet door shuts. Her voice rises once in a short, off-key fragment of the chorus before she laughs at herself and keeps moving. Completely absorbed. Completely unaware.

I tell myself I only need a sweater.

The guest room is cooler than the rest of the house in the evenings, and the thin shirt I wore all day isn’t enough. That is the only reason I leave my laptop open...