White Picket Fence, Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Across the Lawn

I wasn’t even supposed to be home that night. I was supposed to be half a country away.

In hindsight, I suppose it was fate that brought me to my bedroom balcony. But at the time, fate felt a lot more like, I don’t know… insecurity?

I had a four day conference in Opal County. You wouldn’t think an accounting conference for operations executives would be the liveliest place. Neither did I. But it turns out, all that drinking and rowdiness was too much for me. Besides, I missed my husband Pete. So I came home a day early. I thought I’d surprise him.

I parked the car just outside the garage in our long cobblestone driveway. The house was dark; not a soul in sight. I tiptoed down the slate footpath to the front door and cracked it open.

“Hello?”

Nothing. Maybe he’s upstairs? I checked the bedrooms, the bathroom. His office in the back.

This was before everyone had a cell phone, mind you, so I couldn’t just text him. Pete has always been a bit of a luddite. Wherever the world was, Pete was a decade behind.

But it didn’t matter; I was sure Pete would be home soon. I dropped my bags, took a shower and shaved my legs. Stepped into this cute little lingerie number I bought in Opal. I thought Pete would like it. He always liked when I did little things like that.

I treated myself to a glass of Côtes du Rhône from the upstairs bar. Stepped through our sliding veranda doors onto the big balcony outside our second story bedroom.

It was a brisk summer evening, and the sun had just set. Crickets were in full swing. The world was quiet, with the occasional exception of faraway traffic or the echo of a barking dog.

We lived in an upscale, suburban neighborhood; all beautiful homes and manicured lawns, trees. Playgrounds in the backyards and swimming pools. The moon was out that summer night, and I could see roofs of houses, chimneys. The glowing gold of lit bedrooms and kitchens.

Right across our lawn, over the white picket fence, our neighbor’s bedroom light came on. That’s the Rossi house: Kim and Jack. They’re an adorable young couple a few years younger than us. Beautiful, too.

I was always a little jealous of their looks. And their youth.

Kim came into view in the bedroom, wearing a pink tube top and sporty blue shorts. From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see the door, but the blinds were open and I could see her full bedroom: the bed, the old mahogany chest with a model sailboat on the second shelf, the picture of her and Jack hiking on their nightstand. The full-length mirror on the far wall.

I watched as Kim pulled her tube top over her head, and I thought maybe I should step back inside and give her some privacy. But I had to acknowledge that she was beautiful.