CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4

NEENA

I was on a ladder beside our bedroom wall, a pencil in hand, when the power went out, the abrupt event punctuated by a clap of thunder that shook the home.

“Neena?” Matt’s voice came out of the black, somewhere to my right. “Are you okay?”

“I’m on the ladder,” I snapped. “Can you help me get down?” The darkness was disorienting, and I clutched the top rung, forcing my panic down.

“Just a second . . .” Matt’s phone’s flashlight illuminated, sweeping over the interior of the room and blinding me as he moved closer. I chanced a descent, making it down one rung before the light bounced, then swung wildly as he tripped over something. He cursed and I paused, my foot hovering in space.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He grunted, and the flashlight refocused on me. “Here. I’ll help you down.”

We worked in silence, and my tension eased once I was back on firm footing. Making our way downstairs, we stared at the fuse box in ignorance, then discussed our options. Outside, sheets of rain peppered the roof and poured loudly from uncleaned gutters.

“It’s got to be the storm. Probably blew a transformer. I bet the whole neighborhood’s out.” Matt swung the fuse-box door shut and latched it.

I shook my head. “I saw the lights on next door when we came down the stairs.”

“They probably have a generator.” He moved past me and headed to the dining room. Peering through the glass panes of the window, he jumped when a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. “I vote we wait it out, unless you want to drive around and see what areas have power. I’ve got a small generator at the shop. It could get us through the night, if you don’t mind being a little hot.”

I kept close to him, uncomfortable in the dark house. “I could go next door and speak to William. And Cat.” I hadn’t intended to separate their names, but it happened, the gap hanging in the sentence like an out-of-place comma.

“What?” Matt pressed a button on the side of his watch, lighting up the digital dial. “It’s almost nine.”

“No one’s in bed this early. We can ask them how long these outages normally last or—if it’s just us—if there’s an electrician they recommend.” I warmed to the idea. I’d spent most of the day wondering if I should head over to say hi—and being a little surprised they hadn’t shown up here. Wasn’t it a common courtesy to welcome someone to the neighborhood? Or maybe that sort of thing was done only in our old neighborhood, where the homes didn’t have private gates, uniformed staff, or police officers who patrolled the streets on horseback.

“I don’t know,” Matt said slowly, and this was why he’d never really amounted to anything. As I had just told that Asian doctor at Winthorpe—Allyson Cho—you had to act decisively and take the consequences. Grab life by the balls. My husband liked to tickle them with a feather and then wander away.

I rerouted my path and navigated to the back door, my decision made. This was a blessing, actually. The perfect excuse to pop in. Maybe Cat would be in pajamas, her makeup off, and I could replace my Instagram-perfect images of her with something more attainable. I thought of William and wondered what he’d look like. I’d seen him only in a tuxedo—at the party—and in suits at the office. Would he be in workout shorts and a T-shirt? Jeans and a polo? Underwear and no shirt?

I swung open the door to the garage, my sneakers making the transition from wood floors to the spongy welcome mat, and I heard Matt follow me into the dank interior, his phone extended like a sword, the flashlight beam cutting past me and reflecting off the hood of my car.

It wasn’t a surprise. Matt would follow me anywhere.

We rang the bell twice before Cat answered, her cheeks flushed, eyes warm. They’d either been in bed together or she was drunk, and I hesitated on their front porch, rethinking the hour.

“Matt, Neena, hey!” She swung the door open farther, and the three-story foyer glowed with light. “Is everything okay?”

“Our power’s out,” I said, suddenly aware that I should have done as Matt suggested and waited out the storm. Instead, we looked like dripping-wet cling-ons, begging for scraps and favors. I pulled on the top of my leggings, making sure the wide band was holding in my stomach. “We didn’t want to bother you, just wanted to see if it’s a neighborhood-wide thing or just our house. Obviously you have power, but—”

“We have a generator,” she said quickly. “It just started up a little while ago.” She swung her arm, gesturing us in. “Get in before you catch a chill. William’s in the shower, but he’ll be out any minute.”

We ended up in their kitchen, perched on stools at a massive marble island, shot glasses lined up before us as Cat poured an African liquor into each one. I watched her slide the first glass toward Matt.

Her thick, dark hair was up in a messy bun, wisps of it hanging loose. My wish had come true—she was makeup-free, in silk pajama pants and a long-sleeve Mission Valley High soccer T-shirt—but the effect was the opposite of what I’d hoped for. Maybe it was the high school logo across her small chest, but she looked young and beautiful. I watched Matt carefully to see if he noticed. He didn’t seem to, and I stretched my face forward, hoping my neck scars weren’t showing.

“What’s this?” William approached, his stride lazy, his smile wide, and my insecurities grew deeper. He had jeans on, his feet bare, a white T-shirt sticking to a torso that was still damp from his shower. “Are we celebrating?”

Cat lifted a shot glass and held it out to him. “We are celebrating and commiserating. To new neighbors and the headaches of California storms. Cheers.”

Glasses clinked, and over the rim of his glass, William’s eyes met mine for a brief moment. I held the look and tilted back my glass.

Three drinks later, we were lounging around the fireplace, Cat and William on one sofa, Matt and me on the other. I relaxed back on the soft leather, settling into Matt’s side, and put my bare feet up on the ottoman, careful not to disrupt the mirrored tray of lit candles in its center.

“I swear, Neena could give Tiger a run for his money,” Matt protested. “She’s a freak of nature with a putter in her hand. It was the worst place I could have possibly tried to impress her.”

I smiled at his recollection of our first date. “You should have known better, given that my father was a course superintendent.” I lifted the glass, needing a drink at just the mention of my father.

“You grew up playing?” William ran his hand over Cat’s knee, his fingers caressing the joint through the thin fabric.

I pulled my eyes away from the motion. “Yeah. My father wanted a son, so he tortured me with the burden.” I laughed in an attempt to hide the bitterness that crept into the response. Tortured had been an apt description. Hundreds of hours in the sun, sweat dripping down the back of my legs, the sound of his voice raised in frustration at each inaccurate drive. The yelling had been rough, but when he’d picked up the switch, things had turned bad. I’d worn jeans my entire freshman year to hide the welts on the backs of my calves. I still couldn’t sit in a foldable chair without thinking of him settled back in his, boots crossed on the grass, the switch waving through the air in anticipation of my failure.

“She’s really great,” Matt said proudly. “Almost won state her senior year.”

“Further proof that putt-putt was the worst idea of a first date,” I pointed out.

He shrugged. “It worked out for me in the end.”

“So . . . high school sweethearts,” Cat cooed. “I love that.”

“Where did you two meet?” I asked, anxious to move off the topic.

“I was an intern at an investment firm that William led. This was before Winthorpe Tech.”

“Or Winthorpe Capital,” William added proudly. “She fell for me back when I was a pauper.”

“Well,” Cat chided, “not exactly a pauper.” She laughed. “I was the pauper. I was impressed by anything fancier than a TV dinner or ramen noodles.” She kissed his cheek. William beamed at her, then glanced at me.

“Do you still play golf?” he asked.

I fought the urge not to respond too eagerly. “Absolutely. Once a week, if I can. Not that I’ve found a course since we moved here.”

“You should teach Cat. I’d love to be able to play with her.”

My enthusiasm waned at the suggestion.

“Oh, please.” Cat waved off the possibility before I had to respond. “I’ve tried. I can’t even connect with the ball. It’s embarrassing.”

I liked the idea of an inept Cat Winthorpe but didn’t believe it. “I bet you’re not that bad. Maybe you just need a few pointers.”

“No.” She set down her glass on the flat arm of the couch and shook her head. “Honestly, I’m terrible. I don’t have the patience and temperament for it.”

William grinned. “It’s true. And it doesn’t help that she’s competitive. She once threatened to divorce me over a foosball game.”

She shrugged. “I don’t like to lose. Which”—she turned to me—“is why I won’t try golf. It’s setting myself up for failure.”

Her psychology was interesting. She was overly confident but also just vulnerable enough to be likable. What I had yet to figure out was if the vulnerability was calculated or authentic. It was certainly annoying. Everything about her was annoying, though I was self-aware enough to understand that my jealousy played a part in my irritation.

The lights dimmed, then relit. Cat straightened up, off William’s chest. “Oh! That’s the power coming back on.”

“Well, that wasn’t too long.” Matt clapped his hands together and pushed to his feet. “Neena? Should we let them get back to their night?”

He was too polite for his own good. I followed him reluctantly, searching for something, anything, to prolong the conversation. I drew a blank and exchanged a stiff hug with Cat at the door.

“So, dinner on Thursday, right?” Cat held open the door, all but pushing us through it.

“Sure.” I stared at William until I caught his eye. “See you on Monday.”

He nodded with an easy smile, and I tried to understand where the intense dislike from his employees came from.

“There’s something off about Cat.” I dabbed on eye cream as I leaned over our master-bathroom vanity, struggling to see in the dim light. I glanced up at the light fixture above me; only one bulb of the eight was working.

“Off?” Matt sat on the toilet, his pants around his ankles, and peered at me through the open door. “She seems nice.”

I snorted. “Nice? Matt, you can’t take everyone at face value. You don’t know women like that. They have nothing to do all day but cause trouble.” Which was one of the reasons I had always worked. Some women enjoyed sitting at home, but I didn’t. I needed interaction. Friendships. Relationships. My own identity. Otherwise, there was no security blanket. No fallback plan. I refused to be held hostage in a marriage without knowing and exploring my other options. My mother had taught me that. She’d realized that a better life existed for her, and she’d put a plan into place and then taken it, leaving her alcoholic husband and daughter behind and driving three states over to live in a McMansion with an attorney she’d met through a classified ad. I would have liked her to bring me, but she did a full upgrade and now posts photos on Facebook under her new name, with her stepdaughter, Aspen vacations, and quotes about Jesus. I friended her under a fake account and now follow the entire family. I’ve considered seducing her husband but haven’t had the energy or enough ill motivation. I’ve kept the possibility as a delicious late-night snack I might one day consume.

“Well, I like them.” Matt nudged the door closed with his toe, not waiting for a response.

Of course he did. He liked everyone, which was one of the reasons he needed me in his life—to point out shortcomings where they existed. Not that the Winthorpes had many. I put toothpaste on my brush and started on my teeth, thinking over the evening. I’d spent most of it looking for flaws in Cat, which had been an annoyingly arduous task. Quite frankly, she was prettier than I was. Younger. More delicate. But my body was better than hers. She had almost no muscle tone and probably skipped weight training altogether.

I ran my toothbrush under the water and remembered the beautiful moment this week when I’d bent over to grab my purse on the way out of William’s office. I’d glanced up, catching his gaze on my butt, and his mouth had curved into a smile, his cheeks pinking as he had glanced away. Tonight, I’d given him multiple opportunities to look, but he’d remained focused on Cat.

The toilet flushed, and I pulled the toothbrush out of my mouth and leaned forward, spitting into the sink.

Five minutes later, I lay next to Matt and stared up at the coffered ceilings, the light from the television dancing across their details. A late-night comedian delivered a punch line about the royal family, and Matt laughed.

Moving into this neighborhood could be monumental. The women who lived inside these gates all partied together, shopped together, vacationed together. And already, things were clicking into place. I had a job with one of the most promising tech companies in Silicon Valley. An office adjacent to William Winthorpe’s. Thanks to the power outage, we’d just spent two hours bonding with them. We’d made dinner plans for next week. The proximity that our houses would grant and the potential social introductions from Cat could be the keys to the kingdom I deserved to live in.

Except that now, sinking into our soft bed, I was overwhelmed by the discrepancies between us. Cat and me. William and Matt. Their gorgeous showcase mansion and our ugly foreclosure.

Matt coughed, and I reminded myself of all his good traits. He bought me this house. He made me look less risky to a wife like Cat, who might otherwise see me as a threat. And if he managed to build a friendship with William Winthorpe, there would be many additional possibilities.

I turned toward Matt and moved closer, fitting my body into the side of his, my arm stealing around his chest. He patted my hand, his eyes already beginning to sag with sleep, and I felt a wave of deep affection for the man who loved me so much.

I’d upgrade from him at some point, but not yet.