15

“I KNOW WHO you are. And I am sure you know who I am.”

Sarayu read the email. She knew who it came from. Sarayu read it, and it stayed in her head, brought back the guilt and the sadness she had suppressed after the affair ended.

Sarayu’s anger flared at Linda’s attempt to intimidate; it made her want to confront Linda, in person.

So, on a bitter morning, Sarayu packed a sandwich and a thermos of coffee and drove out of the city, weaving through the streets to the expressway. She passed the long stretches of industry, block-like windowless buildings and wide parking lots crammed with cars, one factory or warehouse after another. And then, along the expressway, the populated area morphed into office building groupings with sculpted lawns. Eventually, farms stretched along the sides of the road as she got closer to where Phil lived.

“I know how you feel hearing from me,” Linda had written. “I have faced his infidelity before. Now, I want to move on. I am not doing this for you. I am doing this for me.”

Past the billboards advertising state-line casinos and ambulance chasers, she came to Phil’s small riverside town. The trees along the river road were bare, the sky an empty grey. She held her breath and let it go slowly, then repeated the process, hardly recognizing that she was doing it.

SARAYU REPLAYED THE email in her head and tried to map out what she would say to Linda. As she turned on to the gravel street of Phil and Linda’s development, she was sure that Phil would not be there.

Her anger sparked again as she came to the beginning of their block, where she could see their empty driveway ahead. She turned onto the street and parked across from Phil’s house. She sat for a moment, unsure. She could still back away from the confrontation. But what satisfaction would that give her? The house looked empty, no movement beyond the open curtains. She got out of the car.

Sarayu walked up to the house and around to the side, then came to the path leading to the front door, where she heard and saw the door open.

In that small moment, she was struck with the fear of being caught. What if it was Phil?

Nothing came to her mind. She knew she was not a good liar. As she stood still, an arm emerged to push the outer door, then a thin, tall body, and finally a blonde fifteen-year-old girl closed the door behind her and stopped short when she saw Sarayu.

The girl didn’t speak. It was the middle of the day, and she should have been in school. The lit cigarette in the girl’s hand made Sarayu sure that neither Phil nor Linda were at home.

The two of them looked at each other, caught in their individual crimes.

“Hi,” the girl said, straightening the shoulder strap of her book bag. “Who are you?”

“I’m—I’m an old friend of your father’s.”

“He’s not home right now.”

“Ah.” Sarayu smiled at the girl, who did not return the look. “Then I should come back when he is.” She turned toward her car and began to walk slowly, the energy in her body draining with each step. Then she stopped and turned back to the girl, who was still standing on the path, holding her cigarette and her book bag, watching Sarayu.

“What is your name? I’ll tell him you were here.”

“You must have a day off from school,” Sarayu said. “My name is Anna. Tell him—tell your mom, too—that I came by.”

The girl looked puzzled and spread her lips into a smile, revealing a mouth filled with metal braces. “Sure,” she said.

“Thanks.”

Sarayu got into her car with confidence. The girl wouldn’t say a word to either parent about the strange woman on the walkway.