would realize he was being followed. She also started to worry that she was going to get lost; she hadn’t brought her phone with her, and it had been years since she’d gone anywhere without using GPS. But she also desperately wanted to know what Matthew was up to.
After taking several hairpin turns, Hen drove over a crest, and suddenly the landscape opened up, with moonlit farmland on either side, and for a brief moment, she could see the taillights of both cars ahead of her. She slowed. Up ahead, the first car turned off the road, its lights illuminating what looked like an empty parking lot.
Matthew passed by, and so did Hen, slow enough to see a posted wooden sign that looked like it was from the Massachusetts parks department. The sign had a map on it, and she guessed that the turnoff was into a small parking area that probably led to a hiking trail. She was turning her head back to see if the car Matthew was following had stopped in the lot, and she nearly sideswiped Matthew’s car. He had suddenly pulled up on the side of the road about a hundred yards down. She went around him, drove another hundred yards or so herself, and pulled into someone’s driveway, cutting her engine and the lights again.
She sat for a moment in the car, putting her hand on her chest to feel her heart thumping beneath her pajama top. She shook her head and laughed out loud. What was she doing? She told herself she should turn the car around and drive back home. Who knew what was going on? It was probably some sordid love triangle; Matthew had been involved with some woman, or some man, and now he was checking up on them. But it didn’t feel like that. It felt like he was stalking someone, just like he’d probably stalked Dustin Miller in Cambridge before killing him.
Knowing it was stupid, she opened her car door and stepped out into the cold night, quickly shutting the door behind her to douse the interior light. She was still for a moment, a sharp wind pressing her pajamas against her body. She heard a noise, then watched as a slow-moving mammal came around the corner of the dark ranch house. They stared at each other, neither moving. As her eyes adjusted to the dark night, she could make out the fleshy tail and white face of a possum. As she opened the door and got back into the car, it hissed at her. It was time to go home. It had been a stupid idea, thinking she should sneak through the night to see what was happening in the parking lot.
She pulled out of the driveway, turning back the way she had come. She put her high beams on once she’d passed Matthew’s car, still parked on the side of the road. She slowed down as she approached the parking area. The road curved, and for a moment, the light from her headlights illuminated the parked car in the lot. She could clearly make out Matthew—it had to be Matthew—stooping down by the car, peering through its window at the inhabitants.
Hen kept driving, reaching into the cup holder to see if her phone was there, even though she’d already realized she left it at home. Should she call 911 when she got the chance? Was he planning on attacking whoever was in that car, or was he just spying on them? And if he was just spying, was it because he knew them, or was it just something he did? Was he a Peeping Tom?
Her mind was moving so rapidly that she went the wrong way when she got back onto Acton Road and had to do a three-point turn. For some reason, now that she was returning, she was the most nervous she’d been all night. Her chest ached, and she caught herself chewing at the side of her thumb, an old habit. She couldn’t decide whether to call the police when she got home. Had she witnessed an attack about to happen? She didn’t really think that was the case. But Matthew was definitely stalking someone, for whatever reason.
As she drove down Sycamore Street, she could make out the front porch lights, fully ablaze, at her house.
When she got nearer, she saw Lloyd, standing on the porch in his robe. She pulled into the driveway, lowering her window as he came over. He looked