“I have to get to work,” Tim said, nudging the container of food closer to Therese. “Bye.” He nodded in Maryann’s direction.

Therese went to the window, watching as he walked to his car. Before he got in, he looked up and waved. She waved back quickly, and then walked back to her desk. She eyed the container of food, trying to ignore the pangs of hunger that poked at her like an angry mosquito. There was something more pressing to which she needed to attend. She swiveled her chair so that she was facing Maryann, whose smile now stretched expansively across her face.

“That’s your Tim then, is it?”

“Yes,” Therese said. She tilted her head to the right, softened the arch of her eyebrows, and parted her lips just like she had practiced all her life.

Then she waited.

The air moved differently.

Therese noticed it the moment she walked up the path, but all she could think about was getting inside. About seeing Leah and emptying herself of what she was carrying. She thought about ringing the doorbell, but she still had Leah’s key on her keychain, so she used it. Something big and unformed and angry vibrated inside of her and she tried to ignore the buzzing sound it made inside her ears.

“Back already?” Leah called from the hallway. She rushed toward the door, wearing a man’s shirt splattered with paint, and as much as Therese tried to push it out of her mind, she knew.

Something had changed.

For a minute, Leah hesitated, and her smile disappeared. Then she wiped her hands along the shirt’s length, leaving behind a trail of green smudge. “It’s you.”

“Sorry I didn’t call first. . . . I know it’s been a while.”

“It’s been two years,” Leah said, and she turned and walked back down the hallway.

“I can explain.” Therese said. But she knew she couldn’t.

She thought about what to say, but little bits of spit sat on her lips instead of words. She could talk about needing to be with Tim and about the nights she spent terrified that Leah’s suspicions about him would be confirmed. She could explain how many times she had reached for the telephone, especially when Matilda learned to walk and then talk. Or how she used to play a silly game called “What Would Leah Do?” when she had no idea what to do herself . . . and how she had to stop playing because sometimes Leah’s warnings would curl themselves up inside her ear and whisper to her throughout the night.