Don't Cry Now
“The modern bungalow was painted yellow, with gray shingles and black awnings. It stretched across the land like a lazy yawn, open and twisting in odd and unexpected directions. Rather like my life, Bonnie thought, as she proceeded slowly up the winding stone walkway to the black front door, careful to avoid looking over her shoulder at Joan’s house across the street. “What am I doing here?” she asked out loud, a question she seemed to be asking with alarming frequency of late. “I must be nuts.”...
Bonnie pressed the doorbell twice in rapid succession, heard it respond with the first bar of “London Bridge Is Falling Down.” There was a long narrow panel of glass on either side of the front door, and Bonnie tried to peek inside, but her view was hampered by the gathered sheer curtains that fell across the windows like a heavy film. What she could see of the interior of the house looked elegant and upscale—dark wood floors, a baby grand piano in what was likely the living room at the back, a tall brass sculpture of what appeared to be a nude woman.MoreLess
Bonnie pressed the doorbell twice in rapid succession, heard it respond with the first bar of “London Bridge Is Falling Down.” There was a long narrow panel of glass on either side of the front door, and Bonnie tried to peek inside, but her view was hampered by the gathered sheer curtains that fell across the windows like a heavy film. What she could see of the interior of the house looked elegant and upscale—dark wood floors, a baby grand piano in what was likely the living room at the back, a tall brass sculpture of what appeared to be a nude woman.MoreLess
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