“I just want a better life for my son.” Her voice shook a little.

“It’s a really expensive house.”

“My finances are fine.”

“Big for the two of you.”

“I consider a home in the Lakehaven school district to be an investment.” Danielle crossed her arms. “We don’t have to be friends, although I don’t think you’ve ever once thanked me for saving your life or saving Kyle or even saving Grant.” A hint of bitterness now.

The silence between us deepened. “Thank you,” I said. I meant it. But I’m not sure how it sounded. Both our hands on the gun. Ignoring that it was her who turned the weapon into Anya and fired. I was having to thank a liar for my life.

“I’m not here to remind you of the past,” she said. “I’m all about the future. I hope both of ours are bright.”

She didn’t look good; she looked tired, haggard. Gray was making an early debut in her hair, one streak widening. Guilt wore at her. Even if she didn’t act guilty.

“Let’s make the best of it,” she said. “I’m your neighbor. For better or worse.”

“All right,” I said.

“Does it scare you?” she asked suddenly. “Me being here?”

“Of course not,” I said. “We’ll always be connected.” Not friends now. But connected.

“I just want us all to be happy now,” she said.

But she didn’t seem happy. I believed she had to be here for a reason. What could she want from us?

Nothing.

Yet here she was.

I have a vaguely fake yet convincing smile Kyle calls my volunteer smile. “Do you need anything? Help unpacking? Meeting the neighbors?”

“I’ll be fine. And I’ll be a good neighbor, Iris. Tell Kyle I said hello, I’ll see him later. Your kids are welcome to hang out over at the house as we get unpacked.” She left and shut the door behind her.

I went to the computer, logged into Faceplace, and wrote on the Winding Creek Neighborhood page: I’m beside myself with excitement! Our longtime friend (who helped us with our adoption in Russia) is now our neighbor. Please welcome the wonderful Danielle Roberts and her son, Ned (grade 7), to Winding Creek!

And I sat there and watched the “welcome, neighbor, so glad to have you here” messages start to pour in, and I wondered what it would be like if Danielle were dead.

You might wonder why I’ve written this down. And kept it. Because if anything happens to me or your father, the police need to look at Danielle. We have her secret. We are nuclear weapons aimed at each other. We will never fire ours. But she might fire hers. And whatever we’ve done, we did out of love and we did it for you. She cannot say the same.