David Cummings

He was right, of course.

My mother and I hadn't spoken since the day she died 11 years ago.

In his defense, I barely remembered her death myself.

It was one of those events that seemed important when it happened, but lost all significance over time.

We want to catch up.

The plan was devilishly simple.

After saying my farewell, I placed my meticulously packed suitcase in the back of my white Cadillac and drove away.

For the next few hours I drove around the city, observing the sights that I had seen a thousand times before.

Then, after enough time had passed, I drove back and parked in an alleyway just within view of the house.

My husband, like most men with his disposition, did not take long to make his first move.

I saw his matching Cadillac pull out of our driveway and head down the road past my vehicle.

The setting sun and dark alley made it so that I had been easily hidden within the shadows.

Calmly, I stepped out of the car and walked the short distance down the street to my house.

I made sure to lock the door back when I slipped inside.

Even Howard would notice such a careless mistake.

The next step of the plan was to conceal myself until the last moment so that I might catch him in the act.

Where better to hide than the bedroom, I thought.

Without any lights on, our home took on a mysterious atmosphere.

As I walked down the hall, I couldn't help but wonder how this new Janet would feel about my decor.

Would she wonder about the person who put everything in its proper place?