Steph’s house is nice. A larger two story with a two-car
garage attached. It doesn’t stick out in the neighborhood,
where all the houses basically look the same. If I had to guess,
I’d say that the subdivision was completed in the early two
thousands or late nineties. Some of them have been updated
with fancy, fresh, modern siding, while others still sport their
white and pink stucco.
I don’t know what I was expecting. A gated
community? A mansion? I’m relieved that Steph lives in a
normal house, like normal people. She did say her parents’
house was nice and that she hated taking her boyfriends there
because they’d know right away her parents had money, but
she obviously chose hers with care to blend in, not stand out.
The house is kind of like her. Down to earth.
When I ring the bell, Steph opens the door
immediately, like she might have been standing on the other
side waiting.
She looks different. Her hair is wild, like she’s raked
her hands through it all evening. Her eyes are huge, but it’s her
face. Something is wrong. She immediately makes me think
about all those literary references to seeing ghosts and things
walking about people’s graves.
“Hey,” she says, and swallows so hard I can hear it.
She’s making an effort to put on a brave face. “Can I get you
anything to drink?”
“Uh, I’m okay.”
“Water? Juice? Coffee? I can make an espresso.”
I think coffee is the last thing Steph needs. She’s
already so jittery that I doubt she’s sat still for the past few
hours or has any chance of doing so anytime soon. “I’m