It towered on high, a black house throned on a mountain and surrounded by lush foliage. The constant flow of water from the sky nourished the succulent shades of green on Tiger Mountain. Her house was at the highest point, a cake topper. She liked to think of the mountain as hers, but the road that led to the bottom of the mountain passed by many houses. She knew only a handful of their occupants. She felt less determined than she had five minutes ago. She could go home, say she wasn’t feeling well or give another flimsy excuse, but duty kept her left foot jumping between gas and brake as she navigated the curves.

Duty to whom? She met her own eyes in the rearview mirror, and then quickly looked away before turning left down a driveway. Rainy felt her tits lift and slap back against her rib cage as her old truck cleared a pothole; she’d forgotten to put on a bra. Trashy, she thought. Braking sharply in front of the shed, she threw the truck into Park and hopped out. The house was a Cape Cod, painted white with black trim and set back from the road on a cozy lot bordered by mountain hemlock. So stark was the comparison to her own ultramodern home that Rainy always paused to admire the warm charm of the Mattson house. Each of the houses on Tiger Mountain was marvelously different; that’s what both she and Grant loved the most about living there.

As she stepped away from the car, her boots crunched against the gravel in the driveway, and she kept her head down against the rain as she climbed the three stairs that led to the door. She could hear them inside, their voices filling up the house with a cacophony of sound. Rainy hated this part: walking into a room and having all eyes on her. They would check her clothes, noting the lack of effort, see that she was braless, wonder—she was sure—what Grant saw in her. She rang the bell and bent to unlace her boots. By the time Braithe Mattson opened her front door, Rainy had kicked them off and was standing in her socks. One, she noticed, was of the floral variety, and the other plain white. It was too late to do anything about it.

“I told you to stop ringing the bell and just come inside,” Braithe said.

She didn’t have time to respond. Braithe pulled her through the door, and Rainy had to rework her face as her host corralled her toward the kitchen where the women usually hung out.