Page 4 of HER: A Psychological Thriller
“Wait. I think maybe you live on our street.” A smile plays upon her face. “Penny Lane. Yes, that’s it. You live on Penny Lane.”
“Oh—right,” I stutter. I can see she is grateful to have solved the puzzle. “Penny Lane…that’s me.”
“I have to apologize,” she tells me. “I’ve been meaning to get down there to introduce myself. I hate to make excuses—but with the move and with the holidays coming…well, I’ve been a little distracted.” Finally, she extends her hand. “I’m Ann.”
Her grip is warm and friendly, welcoming. The opposite of who I hoped she’d be. She’s a master of reinvention. It never looked so good on anyone as it does her. Something I’d learn more of in time.
“Sadie.”
“Tell me, what do people do around here, Sadie? For fun? We’ve lived here a few months and still—for the life of me—I can’t figure it out.”
The thing about Ann is she has elaborate ways of saying almost everything. She’s a writer. Basically, she lies for a living. She’s very good at it. Everyone says so.
“I don’t know about anyone else,” I say glancing around the store. “Me, I read, mostly,” I add because despite my attire I’m pretty sure she isn’t expecting me to say yoga.
“How wonderful.” It’s nice that she leaves it at that. She doesn’t tell me that she, too, is an avid reader. But I guess the most important things we keep close to our chests.
“Do you have plans tonight?”
I cock my head and try to come up with something, with anything.
“I’ll take that as a no,” she quips. “This dinner party I’m hosting…a couple of neighbors are joining us…so you really must come.”
“I—”
“Appetizers are served at six. Dinner is at seven. We’re at 22243.”
I want to accept her invitation. Just weeks before, I would have killed for it. “I really wish I could,” I say, apologetically. “But I have all of this cooking to do.”
Her expression goes blank for a second, and then there is something else, almost like a gate between us has closed. Whatever she is thinking, whatever I have said, the shift is palpable. She straightens her back and takes two steps forward. “No pressure. But if you can stop by, we’d love to have you.”
“Thank you,” I say, swinging my cart to the right. I have to get out of here before I mess anything else up. Some things you can’t undo. “It was nice to meet you.”
She nods and I nod. I would curtsy if it meant extinguishing the look of disappointment on her face. Ann Banks isn’t the kind of woman who is familiar with rejection. She’s said so herself. That’s why she’s so successful.
“A pleasure,” she replies. “It’s been harder than I thought to get to know people in this town.”
I offer a tight smile. It’s the best I can manage. How cute that she wants to be relatable. How very like her.
“Oh—and it’s nice to know—the whole gluten issue isn’t just made up.”
“That’s the thing…” I reply. “I’m starting to think it might be.”
“I hope I’ll see you again,” she says.
I nod. You will. My future happiness depends on it.
Her features soften as she looks back over her shoulder. “This evening would be lovely.”
“I’ll try my best.”
And just like that, we officially meet. A chance encounter that was fated to happen. It was less painful than I thought. All things considered. Conversation flowed. An invitation was extended. Neither of us mentioned what just happened in the parking lot. Ann isn’t like that. She pushes onward. Onward toward her perfect new home, with her perfect husband and her perfect children. I leave the grocery store, like Ann says in her book and all over the internet, faking
it until I make it. The thought makes me smile. I don’t know what kind of person meets a stranger in a supermarket and invites them to their home straightaway. But as it turns out, Ann Banks is exactly that kind of person.
CHAPTER FOUR
SADIE