Chapter 7 - The Porch
Friday, 3:15 p.m.
The yellow cab pulled up to our curb with a low crunch of dry gravel. Through the faux-wood blinds of the nursery, I watched as the driver popped the trunk.
Out stepped Carol.
She was dressed for a performance: a cream-colored cardigan that screamed "doting grandmother," oversized sunglasses, and two shopping bags overflowing with pastel pink tissue paper from a high-end baby boutique. Behind her sat the enormous floral suitcase—the same suitcase she had rolled out of my house while my twins were screaming in their cribs seven weeks ago.
My heart hammered against my ribs, but it wasn't the frantic flutter of panic. It was the heavy, cold thud of a soldier watching an invading army march into a fortified canyon.
Downstairs, Evan had already positioned himself. He sat at the kitchen island, his laptop open, quietly typing work emails. The deadbolt on the front door was thrown. The security chain was latched.
The doorbell chimed. Twice.
Then came the brisk, familiar knock—three raps, rhythmic and entitled.
"Rachel! Evan! It's me!" Carol’s voice rang through the solid wood door, cheerful and carrying down the quiet suburban street. "The flight was delayed twenty minutes, but I'm finally here! Open up, my hands are full of presents for the girls!"
Neither of us moved.
Upstairs, Grace stirred in her sleep, then settled back down into the mattress.
The doorknob rattled. Carol had tried to turn it, expecting it to yield as it always had. When the brass latch held fast, the cheerful tone evaporated.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
"Rachel? Evan? I know you're in there, Evan’s car is in the driveway! Unlock the door. It's hot out here."
Evan looked up from his screen. He met my eyes at the top of the stairs. I nodded once.
He rose, walked steadily to the front door, and pulled it open—leaving the heavy, black-iron security screen door locked between them.
Carol stood on the welcome mat, blinking in surprise behind her designer sunglasses. "Evan! Well, thank goodness. Unlatch this screen, would you? The driver just dumped my bags on the walkway."
Evan did not smile. He didn't unlatch the screen. He stood six-foot-two in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, filling the frame.
May you like
"You can leave the gifts on the porch, Carol," Evan said, his tone as flat and even as a concrete slab. "And then you need to call another cab."
***
