Jill Townsend spied the city limits sign then glanced at her dashboard clock. It was eleven twenty-three? Already? The last time she'd looked, it was ten o'clock. She must've been driving by rote since then.
Trying to be more alert, Jill sat up straighter. On this late summer evening, the community of Darien, Connecticut, slept. Lights were out, the roads almost clear of traffic. She should probably wait until morning to return the borrowed Suburban to her next-door neighbor.
By the time she came to that conclusion, however, she'd driven past her house and found herself at the entrance to Alan Haggerty's long driveway. She eased down it, rolling to a stop in front of his garage. A light shone in his upstairs office, which probably meant he was working, not entertaining. She didn't want to disrupt his creative flow....
Which was a lie. She was stalling, plain and simple. Tonight, tomorrow morning--what did it matter? The SUV had to be returned, and she had to face reality. She would be going home to an empty house. At forty-five years of age, she was facing her first night of living alone. Who would be in a hurry to achieve that milestone?
She pushed Alan's garage-door remote then maneuvered his big Suburban inside. She hesitated then, her fingers on the key, delaying the end of her life-changing journey. For just a little while longer she wanted to ignore the fact that her already turned-upside-down world now spun on a completely different axis.
She switched off the ignition, silencing the engine and Norah Jones's smooth voice on the CD. Quiet. Such extraordinary quiet.
"Okay," she said aloud, gripping the steering wheel.
"O-kay."
She climbed out of the car then opened the door leading into Alan's kitchen. "Anybody home?" she called out, in case he did have company.
"In my office," he shouted. "Come on up."
Jill jingled the keys as she climbed the stairs. After Alan's wife left him three years ago, he'd redecorated and remodeled, removing all trace of her. The more contemporary style suited him, all sleek lines and modern art, a cool look that fit his post-divorce years.
She rounded the corner into his office. "Hi," she said with ridiculous cheerfulness.
He typed for a few more seconds, then looked over the top of his glasses at her. Anyone who didn't know he was a bestselling author of horror novels would never guess by looking at him that his imagination ran down such dark and twisted paths.
Her cheeks froze as she held the stupid smile. "Home from the wilds of Boston, I see," he said, tossing his glasses onto the desktop before drilling her with his perceptive gaze.
Don't ask me how it went. Please don't. "My car still in one piece?" he asked.
The knot in her stomach eased. "Except for the bashed-in passenger door."
He leaned back.
She tossed him the keys. "All tucked away, in the same condition I got it. How's the book coming?"
"I'm about to murder someone." He rubbed his handstogether in gleeful anticipation.
"I'll leave you to your mayhem. Thanks again for the use of the car. I would've never fit all Tori's stuff into mine."
"You don't have to go."
"Yeah," she said against the hot lump in her throat. No sympathy. Please, no sympathy. "I do."
He didn't try to stop her. She scurried downstairs and out of the house, then cut across his yard to hers. She envied him having work to keep himself occupied. Even when he'd been devastated by his divorce, he'd had deadlines to meet, which forced him to keep going. She didn't know what she would do now.
Why hadn't she planned for this day? She, the world's all-time champion planner, had not planned for this huge life change. Why not?
Oh, yeah. She'd been busy grieving.
She unlocked her back door and made her way through the dark house and up the stairs to her bedroom.
Her answering machine blinked, a welcome diversion. She pushed the message button.
"Hi, Mom. Just wantedto let you know I'm thinking about you. I know this is a tough day, but you'll be okay. Love you. I'll call you tonight."
Sweet Shanna. Jill smiled at her older daughter's upbeat voice. She glanced at the clock and decided it was too late to call Shanna back. Then her gaze shifted to her day planner/diary lying facedown on her bed, where she'd left it after writing her daily to-do list. She picked it up.
Wednesday, August 22
1. Clean out Wade's closet and office.
2. Drive Tori to college. Try not to cry in front of her.
3. Skinny dip.
The first item had headed her list for months, transferred each day. She drew a line through the second item--mission accomplished--then tapped her pen against the third, added hastily that morning, anticipating being alone tonight.
Alone. Wade should've been there, helping to take their younger daughter to college, as they had with Shanna three years ago. Jill had never driven into Boston before. The trip had been doubly hard because of the pressure of driving in new territory in an unfamiliar and larger-than-she-was-accustomed-to vehicle. Wade had always done the driving out of the immediate area.
But you did it, said a proud little voice in her head. The achievement ranked high on her list of accomplishments.
She set down her pen and rubbed her face. What now? She couldn't go to bed. She would only lie there, thinking. She needed not to think.
3. Skinny-dip. Okay. There was a good reason why she'd put it on her to-do list this morning. Wade had tried to talk her into skinny-dipping for years, and she'd always resisted, afraid one of the girls would catch her. He'd sworn again and again to be her lookout. Finally, last year, he'd outright dared her, and she'd promised him that when Tori left home, she would take the plunge, naked. It was supposed to mark the date when they returned to a household of two, like newlyweds.
But Wade had died almost nine months ago, on New Year's Day, one day after their twenty-third anniversary. And today her last bird had flown the nest. With the house finally free of teenagers who never went to bed, Jill no longer had an excuse.
"And I promised you, didn't I, babe?" she said aloud, as if Wade were watching and listening.
She stripped, leaving her clothes on the floor, something she never did, then slipped into a short silk robe and sandals. She headed downstairs and outside, talking to Wade the whole way. "If I can drive a car bigger than a tank into Boston, I can skinny-dip, right? I'm keeping my promise. Now you keep yours. Be my lookout."
She inched open the French doors leading to the backyard. The moonless sky and surrounding greenery offered her all the privacy she needed. Yet when she touched the gate latch of the fence guarding her swimming pool, she hesitated, her confidence slipping. A gust whipped around her, parting her short robe. She clutched the edges and tightened the sash.
She debated with herself, rationalizing a way out. Just because she was a compulsive list maker didn't mean she had to follow through. After all, who would know?
"I would," she whispered into the night. "A promise is a promise." That was reason enough.
She pulled on the latch, the metallic sound seeming more like a fanfare announcing to her neighbors what she was about to do. Which was ridiculous. She was the middle-aged mother of two college coeds. Who would care? Summer would fade soon, and she wouldn't have many more opportunities to swim before the weather turned.
Her pulse beat a quick cadence as she sat on the edge of the pool and set her feet on the first step. Cool water nipped at her toes and ankles. After scanning her surroundings she untied her robe and let it drop to the deck. Her breath caught as she slipped into the water then pushed off from the bottom step to glide underwater, not coming up for air until she was more than halfway down the pool. She finished the lap, her head up, straining to hear--
Stop. Just stop worrying. She grabbed the tile overhang and pressed her forehead to it. You're alone and you're safe. Wade is watching over you. He promised....
Her eyes burned, but not from the chlorine. She hadn't known how like silk the water felt against bare skin. She let her mind go deliriously blank as she propelled herself through the water, lap after lap, until she couldn't lift her arms anymore. She rolled over and let herself drift, her hair floating around her, a reminder that she hadn't had it cut in months. There was something satisfyingly sensual about the feel of it now, undulating in the water.
A noise intruded. She moved quickly and soundlessly to the side of the pool, pulling herself close to the edge. The gate opened and closed. In the darkness she saw a man stop next to her robe and stare at it. He bent to pick it up.
Jill groaned silently at the irony of getting caught the first time she dared to skinny dip on her own. What were the odds? "Come here often?" she asked.
"Jill?"
"No, it's Elizabeth from next door, looking for a place to meet single guys."
"I'm sorry," Alan said. "I'll go."
"What are you doing here?"
"You told me I could use the pool anytime."
He sounded uncomfortable, and she realized her sarcastic tone had put him off. "And I meant it, Alan. I'm just curious as to why now?"
"I was having trouble sleeping. Murder does that to me."
She laughed.
He turned toward the gate. "I'll leave you alone."
"Nonsense." She'd swum long enough, anyway. Maybe her mind hadn't quieted enough to sleep yet, but she could let him have the pool. "I'll just--" She started to climb the stairs, then realized her dilemma. "I can't get out. I'm, um, naked."
Crickets chirped in the ensuing silence. "So, this is the place to meet hot singles," he said, his tone light and flirtatious.
Jill had never thought of him "that way." He'd become a buddy, that was all. They'd known each other for fifteen years. He'd been Wade's best friend, and Barbara, his ex-wife, had been Jill's until Barbara had walked away from her marriage.
Alan dove in before Jill could say anything, apparently taking her silence as an okay to join her. She'd seen him in a bathing suit plenty of times. He was shorter than Wade, but still close to six feet tall, and with a broader chest and wider shoulders and more chest hair. At forty-seven, he'd aged well. His temples were graying, but his dark hair was otherwise thick and wavy.
She hung in a corner as he swam the length of the pool again and again, as she had done. After a while he came toward her.