.the redhead," I whispered. My head began to ache again. I didn'tget a memory this time. Instead, I felt a deep love. A love that wasstronger than the one I felt for my husband which I never thoughtpossible. "She was Tommy's first love," I said, looking up to see ashocked expression on Jack's face."Yes. How...can you tell me anything else about her?"I thought hard, pushing away the pain in my head. "He met her...when yourparents hired her to babysit for you. They were together for...years," Isaid through the pain. A memory did form now. As Tommy I saw myselfcomplaining to my parents, with a younger Jack stood beside me. I wasannoyed. I felt that frustration. I was telling them we didn't need ababysitter. I could look after Jack.They said I needed to focus on my schoolwork and not sit up all nightplaying videogames with my brother. He and I looked at each other andsmiled, the sibling bond I'd never had hitting me hard. Our parentsexplained that they'd hired someone who'd just moved. Her van would be too noticeable. Renting a motel to use for only ninety minutes would seem too seedy. And they certainly cannot be whole within the structure of her other life–too many people, too many responsibilities, too many ways to be discovered. In his house, they have little to fear. The raging tempest of his life has withdrawn. Unable to cope with the intensity of her own accusations, unable to detect any clues to confirm her suspicions, unable to shake the thoughts of his betrayal, the wife retreats into self-absorbing anxiety. In the solitude of her absence, he creates the reality of her self-fulfilling prophecy. To invite this new woman risks little. For her to accept risks little. He does not know his neighbors, she knows no one living nearby. Night has fallen deeply dark over them. Still, when she arrives, she parks her van around the corner and walks wary until inside the safety of his solitude. Only after he locks and bolts and chains the door do they acknowledge the.
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