Once I know the house is empty, I familiarize myself with the exterior. Through the garden you enter a large backyard, surrounded by a fence completely covered in ivy. Three lilac trees, in dire need of pruning, bravely struggle to survive in a clump at the back of the yard. Perennials and spider plants stand tall, slowly encroaching on the space. Once nature reclaims what is rightfully hers, the entire family will be confined to the wooden deck. Under the deck there’s a lawn mower, old bikes, and the lady of the house’s gardening equipment. Far be it from me to perpetuate gender stereotypes, but the father, a fifty-three-year-old lawyer, doesn’t strike me as the type to don flowery gloves and go digging with a pink hoe. If the state of the garden weren’t a clear enough sign, the spider webs on the compost bags and terracotta pots are a giveaway that the mistress of the house gave up hoeing quite some time ago.

There’s a door into the space under the deck cut directly into the wooden trellis. It closes with a hook and eye designed more to keep out skunks, cats, and racoons than to stave off thieves. Imagine my joy when I discover a basement window under the deck: a small, sliding window with no bug screen, just big enough for me to slip through. They turn the alarm system on whenever they leave the house but don’t bother when someone is home. And since I highly doubt that this window is hooked up to the alarm system, and since the house is deserted at the moment, I give it a good push and bang until the spring on the plastic latch gives way. Then I put the useless latch back in place and go on my merry way.

I show up early one Saturday morning and get comfortable under the deck. I can hear the family out enjoying the sunshine. There’s movement above me, comings and goings, as they get ready for their breakfast of champions. I’ve been under the deck three hours, but it feels like much longer. It’s warm and I’m scared of falling asleep. I look at my watch, which seems to have been stuck on 9:20 a.m. for fifteen minutes. I eat my snack right underneath the family. The women and teenagers leave. I gather from their conversation that the older one needs sports gear, while the younger just needs clothes. The man stays at the house. He has to work today, but can work from home. Since he mowed the lawn last week, the chances of his doing so again today are slim. He goes back in to what must be his office, on the ground floor.