The Ridge

by John Rector

  Megan starts toward them, looking out, trying to see what they see, but all she sees is a dim charcoal haze.

  “What are you two looking at?”

  Julia turns around, smiles, and points to a small blue dot hovering over the horizon. “Neptune,” she says. “It’s the blue planet because it’s covered in water.”

  Megan frowns and looks at Tyler.

  “Why do you tell her these things?”

  He winks and takes a drink. “Come on, let’s find a seat. The fireworks are about to start.”

  They move back toward the crowd. There are lawn chairs set up all along the roof. Megan sits in a pale-green chair and Julia climbs on her lap.

  “There’s no water on Neptune?”

  “Afraid not.”

  Julia looks at her skeptically. “Then why’s it blue?”

  Megan thinks back, trying to remember what her father had told her when she was young, back when they’d spend their summers camping, their nights sitting around a fire, talking, telling stories, and staring at the stars.

  “It has something to do with its atmosphere,” Megan says. “It’s made up of different gases, and when the sun shines on them, those gases absorb the light, but they reflect the color blue back into space.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s just the way it is.”

  Julia seems to think about this. Then she leans back against her and says, “Blue is my favorite color.”

  “Mine too.”

  When the fireworks start, Julia stays on her lap, and by the time they end, she’s asleep.

  Next to her, Megan watches Tyler reach into the cooler and take out a beer. He opens it, then digs into his pocket and takes out his car keys.

  He hands them to her.

  “How many have you had?” she asks.

  “Enough to know better. Are you okay driving tonight?”

  She tells him she is, and for a moment she just sits there, looking up at him, this man, his keys in her hand, and their daughter asleep on her lap.

  “What?” he asks. “Something wrong?”

  “No,” she says. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

  Megan pauses. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Desperately.”

  She laughs and motions him closer.

  Tyler turns in his chair and inches forward, smiling.

  Megan sits up. Then she turns and glances out at the sky and the tiny blue dot sitting just above the horizon.

  Tyler waits. “Well?”

  Megan looks over at him, leans in.

  As she gets close, she can smell the comforting sweetness of his skin, and she can feel the warmth of his cheek against hers. She stays like that for as long as she can, trying to memorize every detail of the moment.

  Then, when she’s sure she’ll never forget, she moves her lips close to his ear and whispers . . .

  And the world flashed blue.

  36

  Then it was Saturday morning.

  Megan awoke to sunlight and the smell of fresh coffee. She could hear the shower running in the bathroom, and she sat up, fast, her heart beating hard inside her chest. She looked over at Tyler’s side of the bed, saw the wrinkled sheets, and a calming wave of relief washed over her.

  Bad dream?

  She eased back down, lying on her side, and touched the spot where he’d slept the night before. She couldn’t quite recall what the dream had been about, and the harder she tried, the more the images faded.

  Megan stayed in bed for a while, listening to the blue jays argue beneath her window. Then she pushed the sheets away and stood up.

  Her robe was hanging on the back of the door, and she slipped it on as she walked into the hallway and down the stairs toward the kitchen. She could hear the slow tick of the grandfather clock as she passed the living room, but she was still thinking about the bad dream from the night before and barely noticed the sound.

  She stepped into the kitchen.

  The light coming in through the window was bright, and the room felt clean and warm. Her yellow coffee cup was sitting upside down in the dish drainer, and she took it out and set it on the counter.

  She reached for the coffeepot and poured.

  Upstairs, the shower shut off.

  She smiled, replaced the pot, and carried the cup into the living room. As she passed the couch, she noticed a new book sitting on the coffee table.

  She stopped to pick it up.

  On the cover was a large black rabbit, silhouetted in front of a burnt-orange sun.

  Megan frowned. She set her cup on the table and turned the book over, scanning the back. It wasn’t hers, and she assumed Tyler had bought it for her to read.

  The thought warmed her.

  She sat on the couch and flipped through the pages. The book opened naturally to a spot in the middle, as if something had been pressed inside, and she saw that one of the lines on the page had been underlined in blue ink.

  Megan read it and frowned.

  My heart has joined the thousand.

  Something about the line was familiar, even though she didn’t think she’d read the book. At least, she thought she hadn’t. It was possible she’d read it a long time ago and had forgotten, which was fine. She was always looking for something new to read, and the book looked interesting, even if it was about rabbits.

  Megan closed the book and set it back on the coffee table. Then she got up, grabbed her coffee cup, and carried it to the window and looked out over the neighborhood.

  The sun was shining, and the sky was clear and blue. The cypress trees in the yards stood tall and thin, and the lilac bushes running between the houses swayed softly in the gentle morning breeze.

  Next door, Edna Davidson was outside talking to a young couple with a black Lab on the end of a brown leather leash. She had Mr. Jitters cradled in her arms, and he kept looking down at the other dog, trembling and terrified.

  The black Lab didn’t seem to notice him at all.

  Across the street, a woman in a white button-up shirt and faded jeans was walking along the sidewalk, moving from house to house, ringing doorbells. She had a wooden clipboard in her hand, and she made notes as she went.

  Megan sipped her coffee and glanced down at the corner house across the street. As always, Rachel Addison, in her floppy white sun hat and oversized sunglasses, was outside with her pruning shears. She was kneeling in front of a rainbow of roses, each one vibrating in the sunlight.

  Megan watched her for a long time, wondering how she managed to grow such beautiful flowers.

  Someday, she thought, she’d discover her secret.

  Her cup was almost empty, and she was about to go back to the kitchen for a refill when the doorbell rang.

  She finished the last of the coffee in one swallow, then went to answer the door.

  The woman she’d seen earlier, walking from house to house with the clipboard, was standing on her porch, smiling at her.

  Megan smiled back.

  “Hi.” The woman squeezed the clipboard against her chest and held out her hand. “I’m Fiona Matheson. I live a few blocks down.”

  “Megan Stokes.”

  They shook, and Fiona held Megan’s hand as she spoke.

  “I hope this isn’t a bad time,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to come by and introduce myself for a while. I try to meet all the new neighbors. I’m usually pretty good about it, but lately it’s just been one thing after another.”

  Megan smiled, didn’t speak.

  “Anyway, I was in the area, and when I saw your house, I thought I’d stop by and say hello.”

  “That’s nice, thank you.”

  “How are you guys adjusting to Stepford?”

  “Stepford?”

  Fiona laughed and waved the comment away. “It’s an old joke around here, but it fits, don’t you think?”

  Megan tried to smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Not really.”

  The ligh
t behind Fiona’s eyes seemed to dim slightly, like watching a cloud pass in front of the sun.

  “Well, like I said. It’s an old joke.”

  Megan nodded, and for a moment they were both quiet. Then Fiona motioned toward the street and said, “Listen, I don’t want to keep you. I know it’s early, and you probably have a busy day.”

  “Okay.”

  Fiona paused, then pulled a small white business card from the clipboard. She flipped it over and wrote on the back.

  “This is me.” She handed the card to Megan. “If you’re not busy sometime, give me a call. I know moving to a new place can be tough, especially one like this.”

  “Thanks,” Megan said. “I wasn’t sure I’d like it here at first, but it’s grown on me. I think it’s nice.”

  Fiona smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes.

  “In that case maybe we can have a glass of wine or two some night and talk. Get to know each other.”

  “Oh,” Megan said. “I’m afraid I don’t drink.”

  “You don’t drink?”

  Megan shook her head, and the silence hung heavy between them. When Fiona spoke next, her voice was flat.

  “Well, keep my number anyway, you never know.”

  Megan thanked her and closed the door.

  She pocketed the card in her robe, then went into the kitchen and refilled her coffee cup. She carried it back to the living room and stood at the window and looked out.

  Time passed.

  Then Tyler came into the room.

  He had his blue tie draped loose around his neck, and he was carrying his travel mug in one hand while patting his pockets with the other.

  “Have you seen my keys?” he asked. “I have no idea what I did with them.”

  Megan stared at him, and when the thought hit her, it hit hard.

  They’re in his pocket.

  His keys are in his pocket.

  “Megs, have you seen them? I’m going to be late.”

  It took her a second to shake the thought away and find her voice again. When she did, she pointed toward the door. “Did you check the bowl?”

  Tyler hurried to the front door, and she heard the delicate clink of metal on metal. Then he turned, holding them up, his finger through the ring.

  “Found them.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  Tyler crossed the room to where she was standing. He set his travel mug and the keys on the table, then wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her neck.

  Megan made a soft sound and pressed against him. “I thought you said you were going to be late?”

  “On a Saturday?” He kissed her again. “Who cares?”

  She turned, set her coffee cup on the table, and put her hands on his cheeks and kissed him, long and slow.

  When they broke, she stared at him and said, “I had the worst dream last night.”

  “What about?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been trying to remember, but it keeps slipping away.”

  “That’s the best kind of bad dream to have.”

  “I guess so,” she said, but she still stared at him for a moment longer, trying to remember. “It’s just—”

  “No.” Tyler reached out and turned her around so she was facing the window. “No more bad dreams.”

  He put his hands on her waist and his chin on her shoulder and they both stood there, staring out at the green world and the blue sky.

  “Who was at the door?”

  “The Willow Ridge welcoming committee.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really. It was one of our neighbors stopping by to say hello and welcome us to Stepford.”

  Tyler frowned. “Stepford?”

  “I think it was a joke.”

  He kissed her neck. “I don’t get it.”

  Megan shrugged. “I guess it’s an old one.”

  Outside, a vintage yellow car with a long white stripe running along the side drove by. An old man with a white beard sat smiling behind the wheel.

  Tyler whistled. “Wow, look at that.”

  “Since when do you care about old cars?”

  “I can appreciate them,” he said. “And you don’t see many like that around here. I wonder what it is.”

  “It’s a 1957 Chevy Bel Air.”

  Tyler pulled back, staring at her. “How the hell do you know that?”

  Megan had no idea how she knew, but the tone of his voice annoyed her, and she frowned.

  “Why would you assume I wouldn’t know?”

  Tyler’s eyes narrowed.

  “And it’s not an it, it’s a she,” Megan said. “Cars are always female.”

  This time, Tyler laughed.

  “Of course they are.”

  Neither of them said anything for a while as they stood together at the window, watching the yellow car pass in front of the house. It stopped at the top of the street and turned right at the intersection, disappearing behind a wall of hedges.

  “I should probably go,” Tyler said. “I’ll see you tonight, soon as I can.”

  Megan turned and reached out, grabbing the two loose ends of his tie, helping him make the knot. When she finished, she stood on her toes and angled up to kiss him.

  His lips felt soft and warm on hers.

  “I’ll be here,” she said.

  After he left, she stood at the window and watched as he pulled out of the driveway.

  She waved to him.

  He waved back.

  And then he was gone.

  She stayed at the window for a while longer, finishing the last of her coffee. Then she carried the empty cup back to the kitchen and rinsed it in the sink before shutting off the water and setting the cup upside down in the dish drainer.

  Ready for a new day.

  Megan shook the water from her hands and reached for the towel on the counter. Outside, she could hear the angry chatter of the blue jays, complaining in the sunlight.

  The sound made her smile.

  She wondered what, in such a beautiful world, could they possibly be so upset about.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to my agent, Scott Miller, and to my editor, Gracie Doyle. Thank you to Jeff Belle, Mikyla Bruder, Hai-Yen Mura, Dennelle Catlett, Laura Costantino, Gabrielle Guarnero, Laura Barrett, Sarah Shaw, and everyone on the Thomas & Mercer team. Thank you to Caitlin Alexander for editing this book, and to my early readers, Kurt Dinan, Kimberly A. Bettes, Christina Frans, Mike McCrary, Kimberly Collison, Peter Farris, Marni Valerio, Grant Jerkins, and John Mantooth for their time and keen insight. I’d also like to thank my friends Keith Rawson, Sean Chercover, Jacque Ben-Zekry, and Blake Crouch who all, at one time or another, encouraged me to reach a little further with this story, and to trust my instincts. And finally, as always, I want to thank my wife, Amy, for once again making all of this possible.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  John Rector is the bestselling author of the novels The Cold Kiss, The Grove, Already Gone, Out of the Black, and Ruthless. His short fiction has appeared in numerous magazines and has won several awards, including the International Thriller Award for his novella, Lost Things. He lives in Omaha, Nebraska.