she’s strutting over the sidewalk as if it’s a catwalk, hips swaying, blond curls bouncing. To my surprise, she turns into Michael’s yard. I slide to the edge of the couch, watching her glide through the garden toward the entrance.
Oh God, no.
I’m not ready to meet anyone else. I’m barely keeping my head above water as it is.
She’s decked in workout gear—Nikes, leggings, white tank top peeking from beneath a purple sweater—but one glance at her flawlessly curled hair and fully made-up face, and I know she’s not headed to a gym. Her eyes are outlined, her lipstick too glossy and perfect.
She gracefully skips up the front steps and raps on the door. Two sharp bangs.
I hold my breath and wait for movement from upstairs. Am I supposed to answer? Is that what Joanna did? Or did she wait for Samara to greet guests?
More knocking.
No steps overhead.
Joanna’s not here anymore. I’m the woman of the house now. I should be the one to welcome people to Ravenwood. It’s my job to make them feel comfortable in this place, even if I’m not.
“Who is it?” I call out, rising.
“Rachael Martin.” The voice is kind. “I’m Travis’s wife. I—Travis and I—live next door. I wanted to stop by and introduce myself.”
Oh, thank God. She’s normal. A thoughtful neighbor from right next door. Although the Point Reina vicinity boasts multimillion-dollar homes, each one impossibly lovelier than the one beside it, I can’t quite pull the Martins’ home from memory. I’d been so preoccupied with the scale of Ravenwood, I hadn’t taken time to scope out its neighbors.
As I catch a glimpse of my face in the reflection of the window beside the door, I nearly jump. “Just a minute,” I call out.
My face is gaunt and my color is off. I’m too pale, nearly translucent, and my cheeks look sunken. Our baby might be quite literally sucking the life out of me. I pinch my cheeks, smooth back my frizzy, chestnut-dyed hair, and adjust my sweater.
As good as I’m going to get.
“Good morning,” Rachael says when I open the door. She’s smiling brightly, expectantly. “You’re Michael’s new woman, right? Colleen?”
New woman? “That’s me.”
“It’s great to finally meet you.” She leans around me to peek inside. “Is Dean still around? I’ve been craving his apple cider beignets for ages. Don’t mind if I come in for a few, do you?”
“I’m afraid you’ve missed Dean, but…”
“Oh, that’s all right. We’ll have plenty to talk about without him. I live over there.” She waits for me to take a step onto the porch, and then points to the spectacle of architecture to the right of Ravenwood. “That’s us, Travis and me, just next door.”
“The see-through one?”
“That’s it.”
It’s ultra-contemporary, built with more windows than walls. It’s one of those houses featured in magazines, where the residents give up their privacy for drop-dead-glorious views. Transparent architecture, that’s what they’re calling it, I think. I could never live somewhere like that, where everyone knows what’s happening inside my home.
I’m still gawking when she walks into the house as if she’s been welcomed inside a thousand times before.
“Did Michael mention I’d be coming by this morning?” she asks, circling the couch.
“You know, I remember him saying something about it,” I lie. “My memory hasn’t been the best lately. I think the high doses of vitamins are getting to me.”
“Oh, right.”
She decides on a proper spot, plops down, and instantly arranges herself as if she’s posing for a photo shoot. Long legs tucked beneath her. Arm draped over the sofa back. Other hand placed delicately on her knee. Now this is the type of woman who belongs in this space.
“I heard there were congratulations in order. A new relationship, and a new baby. Whew.” She blows out a soft