Page 92 of The Housekeeper

“You know. Oral.”

“Oh, God.”

She shuddered. “I mean, so gross! Right?”

I had to laugh. While Tracy might not actually be able to pass for late twenties, despite Elyse’s assurances, she had no trouble sounding it. “Is that why you invited me here today?”

Tracy looked genuinely offended. “No, of course not.” She paused for half a second. “Well, maybe that’s part of it. I mean, think about it, Jodi. Old people sex! Ew! And this way you get to put in an appearance at Casa Dundas and show you still care, we can say hello, I can describe how gorgeous the dress is, and how for sure somebody else will snap it up before next month if I don’t buy it now, and that it’ll be perfect for auditions and everything, and Dad’ll grouse a bit, but then he’ll say okay, and then we can leave because, you know, you aren’t exactly his favorite person these days…”

“When have I ever been his favorite person?” I asked.

“Pretty please? I’ll owe you big-time.”

“Let me think about it.”

“Don’t think too hard,” she advised. “Besides, I’m driving. Remember? You don’t have a whole lot of choice.”

A tall, good-looking young man in hot pink shorts and a matching sleeveless T-shirt that showcased his impressive biceps approached. “Ladies?” he said. “I’m ready for you now.”

—

“Oh, God,” I moaned as Tracy pulled her sports car into our father’s driveway and turned off the engine. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“I promise we’ll be in and out in two minutes.”

“No. You don’t understand,” I told her. “I literally can’t move. Every muscle in my body is screaming. I think I might actually be dying.”

Tracy laughed. “You’re just not used to exercising.”

“I can’t believe you do this every day.”

“It gets easier the more you do it. But I gotta tell you, you were pretty good for someone who never works out. I could tell that Jeremy was impressed. So was I.”

“Really?”

“Really. You gotta start giving yourself more credit. Now, let’s get that not-such-a-bad-looking ass out of the car and get this over with.” She scooted around the car and opened my door, extending her hand to help me out.

“We probably should have called first,” I said, mindful of my father’s earlier admonition.

“I did,” she told me. “Three times. Nobody picked up. Oh, God,” she said, “you don’t think they’re…you know…doing it, do you?”

“Guess we’re about to find out.”

I followed Tracy to the front door, amazed at how gracefully she moved, even all bundled up against the cold. “Here goesnothing,” she said, ringing the bell, then ringing it again two more times when nobody answered.

I straightened my shoulders inside my winter coat. “Try knocking.”

Tracy knocked. Still nothing.

“They must have gone out.”

“Check the garage,” she instructed.

I crossed to the side of the house and stood on my toes to peek through one of the two small windows near the top of the wooden door. “Car’s here,” I told her. “Maybe they went for a walk.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s freezing out.”

“So, maybe they went to the movies.”