Intrusion: A Novel by Mary McCluskey Read Free Book Online Page B

ate her own dinner alone and left his meal to be reheated in the microwave.
    He asked about the job search, and as she did with Maggie, she tried to make it sound active and interesting. She created entire phone conversations with headhunters, pretended that she was setting up interviews. She did not describe the mornings when, once Scott had left for the office, she checked again that hidden bottle of sleeping pills, saved for the day it became too hard to navigate the simple pathways of a normal life. She did not describe the hours at the dining table and the strange dreamlike state that sometimes enveloped her: flashbacks, memories, long minutes lost.
    It was on one of these days, when Kat had the laptop open on the table in front of her, that the doorbell rang. She frowned, saw through the etched glass of the front door the shape of a woman. She opened the door reluctantly, ready with her excuses, expecting to see a concerned ex-colleague from Waters & Chappell.
    “Hello, Kat,” said Sarah.
    The sun shone onto Sarah’s face, and her dark hair hung loose and gleaming on her shoulders. She held peach roses, a bottle of wine, and a bag of what appeared to be food from a delicatessen. Kat could smell lemon chicken. A green Jaguar was parked at the curb.
    “Lunch,” said Sarah.
    It was a shock to see her there. She looked so polished, a creature from a smoother, shinier world.
    “Sarah! So sorry. I’m just on my way out,” Kat lied. “I have a job interview.”
    “Oh, what a bore. You can surely reschedule it,” Sarah said, stepping into the house. Her voice sounded warm and light. A young voice. She followed Kat into the kitchen, holding her packages.
    “Pretty home,” Sarah said, looking beyond the dining area to the living room, with its long leather sofas and view of the garden.
    “Thank you,” Kat said, aware at once of the stained blue smock she was wearing and the untidy state of her hair.
    She found a vase for the roses and turned to find Sarah watching her.
    “I was just going to change,” Kat said, pulling at the smock. “For the interview.”
    “You have time for a quick bite, surely?” Sarah asked.
    “I don’t think so.”
    Sarah, unpacking the food regardless, continued to look over at her and smiled.
    “Come on, Kat. Greek salad and stuffed mushrooms? And can’t you smell this absolutely fabulous chicken? Lemon, lime, and herbs. Reschedule your appointment. Tell them you’ll come tomorrow.”
    “I’ll tell them later this afternoon,” Kat said, snapping the laptop shut. “Excuse me a minute.”
    In the bathroom, Kat rinsed her face, changed into a cotton shirt, and ran a comb through her hair. When she returned, Sarah had laid out the food on the dining table, found napkins, silverware, and wineglasses. It looked almost festive. She had pushed the legal pad aside. Kat wondered if she had looked at those scrawled notes: admin assistant , secretary , receptionist .
    Sarah, studying the Rothko print on the wall, turned to her.
    “You didn’t grow out of him, then?”
    At Kat’s puzzled frown she added, “You had a different Rothko in Birmingham. The one with fuzzy green and violet and that orangey-red. In the flat.”
    “Oh, you’re right. I did. Why should I grow out of him?”
    “He’s so popular now. His prints are everywhere.”
    “And why should that diminish his work?” Kat asked.
    Sarah laughed, as if pleased with this response, and waved toward the table.
    “Please. Try this wonderful food. And I found this bread on the counter—it looks delicious. You’re making your own?”
    “No. Brooke bakes it for Scott. We shouldn’t eat it. He loves it.”
    “Brooke?”
    “My neighbor. Friend.”
    “Nice to have a homely baking type for a neighbor.”
    “She’s not exactly homely. Blonde divorcée. Outrageous flirt. Big heart.”
    “And she makes this specially for Scott?” Sarah asked in a teasing tone.
    “Yes,” Kat said. “She does.”
    When they were seated,