Read Online Housebreaking by Dan Pope - Free Book Online

at the bottom of the street, my husband, daughter, and me.”
    â€œAh, the new neighbors. You’re doing a terrific job with the renovations.”
    â€œThanks.”
    There was a pause, and she patted her dog, looking down. Before she could try to get away, he went into his act, affecting an expression of concentration. “Hey, you look really familiar. Did you go to Goodwin by any chance?”
    Her mouth fell open. “How on earth did you know that?”
    â€œYour name is Audrey Martin, right?”
    â€œWow. You’ve got a good memory. What was your name again?”
    He told her.
    She narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you. Did we have the same homeroom?”
    â€œNo. I was a year beneath you, a lowly underclassman with a serious crush. But that’s not very original. All the guys had crushes on you.”
    She blushed, he was pleased to notice. “Hardly,” she said.
    â€œWell, it’s true.”
    â€œHow long have you lived here?” she asked.
    â€œI don’t. This is my dad’s house. I’m visiting, sort of.”
    â€œSort of?”
    â€œWell, I’m waiting.”
    She laughed. “Waiting for what? The rapture?”
    â€œFor my divorce to become final.” He hadn’t planned to volunteer that information, but her question had thrown him off-balance. “There’s a ninety-day waiting period,” he informed her. “I’ve got—let’s see, what is this, October twentieth?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œA little more than two months to go.”
    â€œIs that all it takes?”
    â€œNinety days to freedom, yes.”
    â€œLucky you,” she said with a mysterious smile.
    Benjamin had no idea how to answer that. “What happened after Goodwin?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going. “Give me the CliffsNotes version.”
    â€œI was a drama major at Wesleyan,” she said. “Then grad school at Yale, English literature.”
    â€œI never finished college,” he said. “I didn’t like it all that much.”
    â€œYou must think I’m a terrible snob,” she said, “giving you my résumé like that.”
    â€œNot at all,” he said, happy to throw her off-balance. “You were never snobby, it was one of the things we all liked about you. Not like Skippy Brooks and Ginny Hunter and that gang.”
    â€œSkippy was actually really nice.”
    They talked about former classmates, teachers and class reunions. (She hadn’t gone to any.) He settled into his easy salesman’s style, feeling the awkwardness fade—she had thrown him with that “Lucky you” response. What was she trying to tell him? That her marriage was in trouble? That she wanted out? He rattled off all the gossip he could recall from the last issue of the Goodwin Alumni News . “Do you remember Mr. Dorfman?” he heard himself saying. Their old gym teacher had won the state lottery. “Three million dollars, but he kept his job at the school. He works for a dollar a year now.”
    â€œYou really keep up,” she said, patting her dog. She told him that Gretchen Peters had moved to Paris and married a famous artist, but otherwise she hadn’t kept in touch with anyone.
    They reached a lull. He took a deep breath, not wanting to force the conversation further. He’d made contact. He’d gotten her attention. That was enough for now.
    In the silence that followed, she pulled a leash out of her pocket. “Here, let me,” said Benjamin. He bent down to unsnap his old leash from the dog’s collar. His head was level with her waist, just inches away, so close he could smell the fresh-laundry scent of her jeans. The clasp was stuck. As he fiddled with it, he felt her fingers graze the nape of his neck. He lowered his head, and she ran her fingers through his hair. Her touch surprised him, shocked him, but at the