She and Evangeline had engaged in some polite chitchat upon first arriving, but the bank manager showed no interest in any sort of conversation that did not involve the matter at hand, and he remained stoically seated behind his desk, staring at them blankly, saying nothing. Now they were all sitting silently, waiting, and Jen mentally cursed Lane for being late, deciding that if there had to be any more such meetings, the two of them were going to arrive together.

The fly hit the window again with a tiny audible thwack.

She couldn’t take much more of this.

“Sorry I’m late,” Lane apologized, hurrying into the office. “Got caught up at work.” He sat down on the chair next to Jen. “So where are we at?”

Evangeline walked over and placed a manila folder on the desk before them, opening it to reveal a stack of documents at least an inch thick. “A few more papers to sign and then we’re in business.” She handed each of them a pen. A series of yellow tabs marked the pages where a signature was required, and she turned to the first, pointing. “Sign here. Both of you.”

“What are we signing?” Jen asked. Lane was already halfway through his signature.

“This just agrees to the release of the escrow funds.”

There were eight more lines where they needed to sign, and the Realtor explained the reason for each as she turned to the appropriate document. She moved to the other side of the desk, and went through the same procedure with the bank manager, closing the folder when he was through.

The manager opened his own folder, lying on the desktop in front of him. “Before we complete the sale, the bank has a few stipulations. This is a three-bedroom house; am I correct?”

“Yes,” Evangeline said. Jen nodded.

“We would like you to set one of those bedrooms aside for a purpose to be determined at a later date.”

What? Jen thought.

“Sure,” Lane agreed.

Not only did he announce the decision unilaterally, without any discussion, but he did not spare even a token glance in her direction. Jen looked at him, feeling as though she were in an Ira Levin novel: Rosemary’s Baby or The Stepford Wives, where the husband plots and conspires with other neighbors behind his wife’s back. She’d read both books within the past month, as part of a recent horror kick, and had been surprised by how relevant they were in these post #MeToo days. This was the second time Lane had sidelined her with Evangeline, and while it had seemed unexpectedly out of character at first, she was starting to think that maybe he didn’t believe the balance of power in their relationship should be as equal as she did.

“Wait a minute,” Jen said. “This is our house.”