AS MATT took the Grapevine into the L.A. basin, old demons returned to haunt him. He was plagued by the desire to drive straight to her house and knock on her door. He could pretend he was a ghost and tell her that she had to change her ways or else she was going to die and go to hell. That she had to get away from David and spend the rest of her life mourning the tragic loss of Matt Connor. What was amazing about the fantasy was that he spent an hour trying to figure out how he could pass for a disembodied spirit.

His entry into Santa Monica sobered him. The city looked dirtier than he recalled, more crowded. Modesto was dull but moved at an easy pace. He drove aimlessly and for a time all he saw were the places he used to visit with Amy. The torture was faint but only he knew how quickly it could grow. The smart thing to do was to get a motel and settle in for the night. But he ended up driving to a dead-end street a block over from her house.

A bluff rose behind the neighborhood. Taking a steep dirt path up the hill, he crouched down in a cluster of bushes he knew well from his old stalking days. He had brought a pair of binoculars; he had a small telescope in the car he planned to use later. The vantage point was ideal. He could see all of the backyard, and through most of the windows at the rear of the house.

It was a Monday evening. How did David and Amy spend their free time? In the next few days Matt had to learn the “Techer routine” inside out. He was not sure if David kept regular office hours. Amy could have a live-in nanny. There were so many potential obstacles. But this was one area where he would not rush. He would wait a month, if necessary, for the perfect moment to strike.

“God,” he whispered.

He saw her. The sight was not particularly noteworthy but it was enough to tell him that he was not over her at all. Holding her child to her breast, she carried the baby from one room to the other. Dressed in white pants and a yellow blouse—her hair down and her figure already back to its pre-pregnancy form—she looked ravishing. He could see that she sang to the infant as she walked. Amy had always had an enchanting voice. In happier times she used to sing to him as he fell asleep after a hard day’s work.

“Darling,” he said and set down the binoculars. He had seen enough for the day. But he would return tomorrow, and the day after that, until his opening appeared.