I was starting to worry he was staying late at his desk and I’d be forced to head home for dinner before he even emerged. Or that he’d used the back entrance and I was turning myself into a human pretzel for no reason.
Fortunately, not long after I’d begun to consider heading on home, he came out and started walking.
Through a combination of stretching and running in place, I maintained a reasonable distance between us, enough for plausible deniability. If he’d turned around and spotted me, then I’d decided that I’d either run right past him, with a quick, breezy wave, or go in a different direction and circle back around. He never looked back, though, just kept walking with his eyes fixed straight ahead. It was almost disappointing how little subterfuge was required.
We’d been going for about a mile when he left the sidewalk and proceeded up the walkway of a small yellow house with a neat square of grass in front and his green VW in the driveway. Along the side of the house was a narrow path to the backyard—my next logical destination.
Once he closed the door I started to jog in place, looking around to see if anyone might be watching. The street was empty and there were no faces pressed against the glass of the nearby windows, but I kept jogging in place, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Was I actually doing this? Was this actually a reasonable plan?
Then I thought of Anna. The notes between her and Lily, how Lily had lied about that night. Thought of how badly I needed to understand what had happened. To Anna, but also to us.
And I stopped jogging in place and darted down the path into his backyard.
I positioned myself beneath a large window and took some long, deep breaths to get my heartbeat back under control. It felt strange how easy it had been to do this, how no one had stopped me, how no sirens had gone off. The line between right and wrong was thinner than I’d expected.
The window had blinds, but there was a gap at the bottom that I could see through. Mr. Matthews was hanging up his coat by the door. He took off his shoes and dropped them on a shoe rack.
Then he disappeared from view. After a minute, I heard chopping sounds, from what I supposed was the kitchen.
In his absence, I inventoried the living room. It didn’t take long. There were only a few pieces of furniture: a small, patterned green couch, two tall bookcases, a short-legged coffee table with two wineglasses on it, and a television mounted on the wall. There were no pictures on the walls or framed photographs on either of the bookcases. The room had a temporary feel to it, the feel of someone who hadn’t really moved in yet, who was awaiting the arrival of the rest of their things. The only indication of stability, of a continuous existence, was how densely filled the bookshelves were. They were almost spilling over with books. And many, I noticed, appeared to be books of poetry.
A few minutes later, he reemerged with an oversized bowl of salad. He flopped onto the couch with it, put his feet up on the coffee table, and proceeded to flip channels, eventually settling on a documentary about insects. A cat entered the room, swaying nonchalantly, and curled up beside him. It stared intently at the television, flicking its tail with interest as an insect slowly made its way across the screen. Mr. Matthews put his hand on the cat’s head and the cat permitted him to pet it for a while before it arched its back and stalked off to the far end of the couch.
During one of the commercial breaks, he picked up his phone—a clunky old one that was anything but smart. He stared at it for a long beat and then he put it back down.
I wondered who he’d been considering calling. I wondered if it was the person the second wineglass was for. If Anna had ever used that glass.
The cat began wandering around the room, eventually managing to get stuck on top of a tall bookcase. It mewed pathetically, seemingly unable to remember how it had gotten up there.
“We’ve done this before,” Mr. Matthews said. I froze for a second before realizing he was addressing his cat. “You’re perfectly capable of getting down by yourself.”
The cat mewed again, and Mr. Matthews shook his head.
After that Mr. Matthews ignored the cat for a while, the cat mewing ever more sadly and loudly. During the next commercial break, he sighed and got up. He and the cat stared at each other. “You win,” he said. He disappeared and then returned carrying a wooden chair.
Standing on the chair, he coaxed the cat gently to the edge of the shelf. When the cat got close, he moved his hands gently around its sides, holding it so carefully it was almost as though he weren’t touching it at all.
Before I could stop myself, I wondered if he and Anna might have been like that sometimes. Like butterflies circling each other.
I backed away from the window, feeling suddenly that I’d seen enough for now. That it was time to head home.
As I walked, I told myself I might not return. That it was probably a waste of time, that even if he was the one Anna had been with, I was unlikely to learn anything from watching him like this.
But I was lying to myself. Because I knew I’d come back.
Until I knew the truth about him and Anna, I wouldn’t be able to stay away.
I’D NEVER SEEN SARAH SO happy. Her mom had the flu, so instead of her usual rabbit food,
