“Okay.”
“Check the water meter if you can find it. Take a picture of the numbers.”
“Okay.”
“And Nicole?”
“Yes?”
“Do not call Brian.”
That was exactly what I wanted to do.
I wanted to call him so badly my thumb was already hovering over his name. I wanted to hear him explain how three walls had somehow punched themselves. How every faucet in the house had turned itself on. I wanted to hear him try.
Ezoic
Mostly, I wanted him to explain the mirror.
I wanted to ask him, Why? Why that? Why the one thing?
Instead, I said, “I won’t.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Send me everything. By coincidence, we already have the final hearing on the remaining assets this Thursday. This is going to matter.”
After we hung up, I did what she said. I walked through the whole house with my phone held out in front of me, recording. My voice sounded strange on the video. Thin and far away. This is Nicole Harmon. It’s Monday, October fourteenth, at 2:47 p.m. This is the living room. This is the hole by the fireplace.
