At the last minute, Roz Golubock had called Nora to decline the dinner-party invitation. She was just too tired. Instead she would eat at home by herself.
After supper Roz carefully wrapped the barely touched chicken and stowed it in the refrigerator. She loaded the dishwasher with a single plate, glass, fork, knife, and spoon. She hand-washed the pots that had held the uneaten brown rice and brussels sprouts. Finally, scrubbing the white sink until it sparkled, Roz looked forward to the next day.
Tuesdays she went to the Women’s Exchange, where she worked as a volunteer. People consigned or donated their furniture, ceramics, glassware, china, artwork, books, and clothing, which were pounced on by bargain hunters. Profits went to supporting the arts in the form of grants and scholarship programs. To Roz it was a win-win-win. She got to be around beautiful and interesting things, socialize with nice people, and raise money for wonderful causes. She loved it.
Switching off the light in her tiny kitchen, Roz thought she might watch some television before heading up to bed. Though she was very tired, she dreaded climbing the dark stairs by herself. For the last several nights, she’d been restless. Usually a sound sleeper, she kept waking up, listening for any noise.
Before she drew the drapes in the living room, Roz looked out the sliding glass door at the Gulf of Mexico. Lightning zigzagged through the sky. She thought of Sam whenever there was a storm. They used to sit together out on the lanai and wonder at the jagged electric bolts that shattered the darkness. Even when there was no rain or wind onshore, there could be lightning shows out over the Gulf. Tonight, though, there were gusting winds and sheets of rain pounding down.
She could imagine Sam saying, This one’s a beaut, Roz.
When she and Sam had first bought the town house, they’d been thrilled to get the end unit. They enjoyed their neighbors in the small complex, but they also liked the privacy afforded by being the last one. The long stretch of palm trees, sea grapes, and other tropical foliage that separated the town house from the Whispering Sands Inn property was like their own private nature preserve.
Weather permitting, they walked the beach every morning and swam in the therapeutic Gulf waters each afternoon. Sam had his golf, and she had her book group and volunteer activities. At the end of the day, they would have their cocktails before dinner and watch the glorious sunsets. Roz missed Sam, missed him deeply, but she knew she was lucky to have had a wonderful marriage for thirty-nine years. She tried to focus on the happiness, not the loss.
It was hard sometimes, though. And since the other night, when she’d seen the man carrying the woman over his shoulders as he disappeared into the foliage, Roz had ached for Sam. He would reassure her. Sam would know what to do.
Roz kept thinking about it. Had the man swept the woman off her feet in a romantic gesture? Had the couple merely been playing? Had the woman been drunk? Or had it been something more sinister and dangerous?
She’d watched and waited, leaving the window only once to go to the bathroom. After a long time, the man finally came out of the foliage again. But he was by himself.
She hadn’t been able to see his face but saw him open the trunk of his car and toss in a shovel.
Roz was sure that was what she’d seen.