Emma
Emma wasn’t sure what made her do it, exactly. Maybe it was another sleepless night on the dorm sofa, a night in which exactly none of her roommates even came home. She woke up whenever she heard a noise in the hall, thinking they were coming in. Slumber-party vigilant, in case they wrote bitch on her face with Sharpie or waxed one of her eyebrows off, the crap you saw on YouTube. But no. Five beds, all remaining empty, locked up and unavailable to her. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t slept more than three hours at a time for almost a week. Or that every morning she pumped herself full of way too many espresso shots at the Morning Grind and couldn’t concentrate in her classes. She carried far too much information in her brain to take everyone’s advice. Just let it go. Let it come to you. Fuck that.
She woke up with a start, thinking about Professor Grady. The missing piece. She knew that was his freaking car. She knew he taught his last class at eleven, had office hours afterward, and then went home. She’d thought he took the train because of the two passes that clicked around his neck, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe some days, he drove that Audi to school and just didn’t bother to unclip the train pass from his lanyard.
So when she went to the faculty lot after lunch and saw two gray Audis, one with a decal and one without, she was not at all surprised. And when she snuck by the parking attendant and the back door opened at her touch, she was not surprised either. Michael was right about parking lots—they didn’t always lock the doors unless they left the lot, or maybe unless the owners tipped them mightily. And Bill Grady, she had a feeling, was cheap.
She saw the Semper blanket in his back seat and didn’t think twice about what he used it for. She curled up underneath it on the floor. She was counting on him never even looking there, and she was right. He came out after his office hours and climbed in front without a single glance to the rear. After a few minutes, she risked a quick peek out the window and saw he was heading down the same route he’d taken when he’d followed Mr. Maserati. The back way, along the river, avoiding the highway.
It was a long drive to Wayne, longer than she’d realized. He had a jazz station playing, and though she hated jazz, she was grateful for the background noise, since her stomach growled loudly.
Finally, he pulled into his driveway, got out. She lifted the blanket an inch, dared a glance out the window. Yes. It was the house she’d seen on Google Earth. Even smaller than she’d imagined from the front, but then she knew what secrets were held in the back, the spectacular landscaping, the second level. It was a beautiful day, sunny and probably warm enough to sit outside and enjoy the panorama of maples, oaks, evergreens. The kind of fall day that made you think winter was never coming.
The reds and golds against the blues of the pool. If it was heated, she was sure it was warm enough to consider a swim. She had a feeling he was heading for his pool house, his man cave. She got out and followed just far enough to see him heading down the path in his backyard. Yes, there he went. She watched as his shape grew smaller and smaller, till he was almost nothing. His eyes fixed on the slope ahead, not the flat, cool grass behind.
Good, she thought. That would leave her plenty of time to wait for his wife.