The Epilogue Swelled in the Storm

A Few Days of Solitude

Maybe the guy — if it was a guy — took the keys to the house because I haven’t seen them since that night and so the door remains locked. I had to lock it from the outside; it wouldn’t lock from the inside. I can almost hear Walter’s voice, dry and amused:, “Margaux, if you knew how things worked…” The metal plate flapped in the wind. I tried with brute force and quickly realized a broken lock would be of no help tonight. I found the key — miraculously on the first try — and locked the door for the tenth or so time in seven years. Then, barefoot and trembling in the rain, I walked carefully across the porch joists, covered in melting waterproofing tape, to the other door, the one I hadn’t yet locked.

I had been walking and finishing my book; the epilogue swelled in the rain. As I closed the book I saw a slow red car with batman shaped break lights crawling down the street. I suspected I might be blocking his driveway and quickened my pace. But he didn’t turn — he continued to glide slowly past the other houses, tell-tale lights a-glow. He made a right in the same direction I was headed. I imagined shouting the names of the people who live in the vulture house at the turn if this slow driver is up to no good. But it is too peopled here for real trouble, I propose, and return to reading. When I finish, I begin to have an energetic out-loud conversation with myself. The car vanished from my thoughts.

Back home, invigorated, and start taking out the trash. Alone for the week, I’d begun cleaning out cabinets and drawers; the bags were heavy with the weight of things no longer needed. I love a good lightening and solitude. As I hoisted the bags across the porch, I saw it again: the red car, the lights, inching slowly down our street in front of our lone house. My hands trembled as I checked my phone. My walk was an hour and twenty-three minutes. Has he been circling for forty-five? I left the trash on the porch and slipped inside, suddenly aware of it’s fishbowlness with so many windows and no curtains or working shutters. Pearl was curled up on the sofa like a pill bug, burdened by the impending storm and all its noises.

I tried to lock the door from the inside. It didn’t work.

I imagined a face at the glass—wide eyes peering in, first at one window, then all of the windows. The house was stifling. I locked every old window, the wobbly glass turning each pane into a funhouse mirror for imagined intruders. My heart thudded.

I texted a neighbor, the ex-cop. “This is probably nothing, but I was walking and… Messaging you just in case.” Within minutes a text, “Did it go left or right?”

After more circling, “I don’t see a red car.” The rain intensified. I called him and we chatted about chases and writing until my heartbeat slowed a bit. I called Claire to bring it back to normal. If Katie wasn’t in Japan, and if I called her, we’d be talking about serial killers — no doubt. I was grateful for Claire’s calm — though she’d just come in from looking for, and finding, a neighbor’s lost dog in the storm. We talked about creatures and work and oysters, and I grew sleepy.

In the morning, I felt foolish. Or something like it.

I hadn’t put my phone on airplane mode — just in case. Buzzes came in through the night offering the thinnest veil of sleep.

And the storm smacked the sky, each thunderclap a colossal belly flop. The night would not settle.
And the door is still locked.
And the keys are missing.

Unused Illustration for Happily

ps: Thank you for your concern in advance dear Reader — we’ve finally changed the lock on the door!