Chapter 2
I didn't take my hand off that dark knob. Not at first. The heat on the porch made sweat slip down my temple and catch on my gold hoop, and I could hear Mark breathing behind me, shallow and fast.
Inside the dining room, through the big glass panes beside the door, everything looked untouched. The wooden table, the four chairs with white cushions, sunlight pooled across the grain. No one inside. No movement. Which only made the locked door stranger. If no one was home, why was the lock different?
Mark finally stepped around me, not to the door but half a step closer to the camera's shadow. He pulled his phone from his beige pants pocket, thumb hovering over the screen like he was deciding whether to unlock it.
"Let me check the app," he said, too casually. "Sometimes the smart lock sticks in this heat."
We didn't have a smart lock. We had a deadbolt and a key I cut at the hardware store on Main last spring. I remembered the guy at the counter, the way he tested the copy twice. I remembered Mark saying we didn't need the Wi-Fi one because it was just another thing to break.
I watched his thumb. He didn't open any app. He just held the phone face-down.
"Since when do we have an app for this door?" I asked. My voice was steady now, past the surprise, into that flat place where I started counting details.
He looked at the white camera again. "I added it last week. For security."
The porch felt smaller. The camera's white housing was stark against the ceiling boards, its lens clean, newly wiped. Below it, out of focus in my peripheral vision, Mark's face was tight.
I crouched slightly to look at the deadbolt plate again. The screws were brighter than the old ones. New. Someone had changed hardware in the last few days and hadn't told me. My brown bag sagged against my leg, handles digging into my palm. I thought about the spare key I always kept zipped in the inner pocket.
"Did you change the lock?" I asked.
Mark didn't answer for two long breaths. A truck passed on the county road, scattering gravel sound. Then he said, "I was going to tell you."
I stood up. The camera watched. I didn't feel protected. I felt recorded.
May you like
I tried the key once more, just to be sure I wasn't imagining it. Metal scraped, didn't catch. The door stayed white and solid and completely worked against me. I stepped back toward the edge of the porch, away from both Mark and the lens, needing air that wasn't under that eye.
Behind the glass, the dining room stayed bright and empty. But now I wasn't sure empty meant what I thought it meant.
