He lived on the other side of town with his mother, but when she dropped him off at home he never invited her inside. The house stood out from the others on the block because every inch of it, including the trim and basement windowpanes, was painted a dark crimson red. She guessed that other people probably thought it was strange, but she thought it was sweet: a house permanently decorated for Valentine’s Day. Whenever she asked him about it, his skin would turn pink, and he would find a reason to change the subject. His behavior fueled her curiosity even more.

Her biggest weakness was an insatiable need to uncover secrets. It drove her to search through her mother’s nightstand drawers, listen in on phone conversations, and open mail that was not addressed to her. She practiced softening the arch of her eyebrows and leaving her lips partially open so that her face looked gentle and warm. Girlfriends would confide their deepest hidden secrets and no matter how shocking or dull, she would remember to keep her face in the same position. It was delicate work, secret cracking, and she was positively consumed by it.

Experience taught her that secrets hid behind discomfort. Instinct told her that Tim was hiding some big secrets. She stayed up nights plotting and scheming and understanding that she would not be able to rest until she saw what lay inside that house. Sometimes, when she knew he was at work, she would drive by and park across the street. It sat like a red jewel among the beige and white houses surrounding it and occasionally someone inside would move a curtain. She rarely noticed any other sign of life.

She asked questions, first directly and then in a more underhanded way, tilting her head and fluttering her eyelashes slowly up and down. “Maybe after work we can go to your house and you can make me those meatballs you are always telling me are so delicious?”

His eyes narrowed and his face got red. “How about I make them and bring them to you?”

“A whole pot of meatballs? Don’t you think that’s silly?” She tilted her head in the other direction, making sure to moisten the bed of her lip with her tongue.

“You aren’t coming over. Drop it.”

So she did.