Open House: A Novel

by Katie Sise

  Haley turned to Dean. His jaw was tight, and she could see his eyes roving the house. “It’s gorgeous,” Haley said, as close to an apology as she was willing to give him.

  “It is,” Dean said, and he turned to face her. The sky was darkening with the storm, and his five-o’clock shadow looked heavier than usual. She tried to smile at him, to let this morning go, but she was still so furious about the fight. She’d been prickly with him all morning—she’d woken up with such an awful feeling after her night dreaming of Emma, and she couldn’t seem to shake it—but then Dean lost his patience and told her to snap out of her foul mood. She’d burst into tears, shouting at him that she should be allowed to be in a foul mood because of what she’d found out about Emma the day before at the precinct. Dean stormed out of the house, saying he had to get groceries before the snow got any worse, and he didn’t come back until it was time to pick her up for the open house.

  “Should we even be doing this?” Dean asked gently. The grand house was silhouetted behind him, the snow falling heavily, and the evergreen trees looming.

  “What do you mean?” Haley asked, hating the insecurity in her voice. She knew what he meant: Should we really be seeing a potential home right now, after how badly we fought? She could still feel the hoarseness in her throat. “Are you saying we shouldn’t be buying a house together?” A hot prick of tears started behind her eyes.

  “No, Haley, that’s not what I’m saying,” Dean said gently. His hands were still wrapped over the steering wheel, like he wasn’t ready to commit to leaving the car. Haley glanced toward the house, half expecting Josie to emerge at any moment through the front door. She turned back to Dean, about to say she was sorry, when she caught sight of the man exiting the Highlander. Reddish-blond hair poked out of a gray wool ski cap, and Haley saw the broad-shouldered body and the way his feet shuffled over the snow. “That’s my anatomy professor,” she said to Dean. “God, how awkward.” She was aware of how young she sounded, like a teenager who’d spotted her teacher in the grocery store. She cleared her throat, hoping Dean hadn’t noticed. There was a six-year age difference between them, and sometimes it felt like more. “Do you think he and his wife are looking at the house?” she asked, watching as Brad moved slowly over the snowy driveway toward the Subaru. Maybe the woman in the Subaru was his wife? Had they come separately?

  Dean wasn’t saying anything. He wasn’t snapping out of this fight like he did others. “Dean?” Haley asked, and when he finally turned to her, his gaze was wild. “Are you all right?” she asked, studying his face. She was vaguely aware that Brad had stopped outside the Subaru. The woman had to be his wife, Priya the artist, as he’d described her in class.

  Dean said he was fine and turned away, staring straight ahead through the swiping wipers. A tuft of his dark hair shot straight up, and Haley wondered why he hadn’t showered today. He was usually so fastidious about his appearance. “We should go in now,” he said, his voice hard. He turned off the ignition and opened the car door.

  “Don’t you want your coat?” Haley asked, but he was already standing in the snow.

  Haley pulled on a snow hat and pushed open the car door. Cold air prickled her exposed skin, and she glanced nervously toward Brad. “Dr. Aarons?” she called out, trying to sound respectful and friendly and not like a college kid calling out across the quad.

  Brad lifted his eyes from the Subaru and did a double take when he saw her. “Haley, hi,” he said. His eyes went from her to Dean, and then he straightened, looking unsure.

  They were too far apart to make introductions, so Haley started toward the Subaru because she didn’t know what else to do. She hated awkward social moments like this. “This is my fiancé, Dean,” she said as they neared the car. The woman inside the Subaru still hadn’t opened the door. Her wipers were off, and a thin layer of snow had obscured the windshield.

  Brad left the side of the Subaru and came toward them. “Brad Aarons,” he said, putting out a large hand for Dean to shake.

  “Dean Walters,” Dean said, and Haley imagined herself saying Haley Walters for the rest of her life, but it left a funny taste in her mouth. Maybe she wouldn’t change her name after all.

  “Freezing today,” Dean said, his voice low and unfamiliar.

  Brad nodded, and then he glanced over his shoulder at the Subaru, looking a little desperate.

  The car door finally opened, and a petite woman emerged. She was fine-boned and beautiful, but she looked a little off, too. She wasn’t dressed right for the snow, for starters, in her light jacket, jeans, and clogs, and her face was drawn and nervous. Haley tried to sound warm as she introduced herself, wishing she were one of those people who put others at ease.

  “Hi,” the woman said, raising a bare hand with long, skinny fingers. Her voice was nearly inaudible in the cold gusts of air, but Haley heard her say, “Priya.”

  So it was her. “I take anatomy with Brad,” Haley said. Priya blinked, and Haley wanted to kick herself for referring to him so casually in front of his wife. “With Dr. Aarons,” she added awkwardly, making it even worse.

  “How nice,” Priya said, and then she tried to shut the car door against the storm, but it wouldn’t close all the way. She was the kind of thin that looked a little weak, and Haley found herself wishing Brad would just jump in and slam the door for her. The wind was picking up speed, whistling through the trees and making the branches sway.

  Dean introduced himself to Priya, and then to Haley he said, “We should go in,” but he didn’t wait for her. He took off toward the house before she could say anything, and Haley felt paralyzed—it seemed like she should be friendly and wait for Brad and Priya, but Priya was still struggling with the car door, and every second Haley stood there waiting and watching her felt painful.

  “I’ll get it,” Brad said, slamming the door with a thud, and the three of them followed Dean along the snowy walk. Josie must have attempted shoveling, because they could almost see the stones beneath. A branch cracked overhead, and Haley flinched. She glanced up to see it dangling over them, kept from falling by two other branches that cradled it in midair. She hurried to catch up with Dean. “Be careful,” she said as he climbed the front steps.

  “I got it,” Dean snapped, but then he turned to help her. He reached out a strong, solid hand, and in that moment, he was hers again, her beloved fiancé, the person she loved and trusted above almost anyone else. Why was it that when they fought, she fantasized about leaving him? Was that normal?

  Priya and Brad silently climbed the front steps behind them. Dean knocked on the door, and when there wasn’t an answer, he rang the bell. Haley turned to exchange a sheepish look with Priya, who was tugging the sleeves of her denim jacket over her hands. She had to be freezing. Dean rang the bell again, and when there was still no answer, he turned the knob. The door opened easily into a wide foyer. Gleaming gray hardwood covered the floors, and an entry table covered with flower arrangements sat beneath a crystal chandelier. It was lovely, and Haley greedily, instinctively pushed inside past Dean, relieved to be out of the storm.

  “Josie?” Dean called out. He followed Haley inside, with Priya and Brad on his heels. Brad slammed the door behind the four of them, and the house was eerily quiet without the sounds of the storm. It was also far too chilly, as though Josie had forgotten to turn on the heat. “Josie?” Dean called again. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

  NINETEEN

  Priya

  Priya listened to the echo of the dark-haired man’s voice as he called for Josie. Dean—that was his name. On any other day Priya would try to make small talk, but she was too focused on how fast her heart was racing, and the way Brad was trying to catch her gaze. She couldn’t even bear to look at him—she couldn’t piece together how or why he was here. He’d been waiting in his car when she arrived, so clearly he hadn’t followed her. Had he seen her text exchange with Josie? Priya had memorized the location of the open house and deleted her texts, and she’d kept her pho
ne on her all day yesterday and this morning, too, just to be safe. But she’d been so hazy with the medication, maybe she thought she’d deleted the texts but hadn’t, or maybe there was some way to retrieve deleted messages?

  “Hello!” Dean called out again. His wife (or had he said fiancée?), Haley, exchanged a sheepish glance with Brad.

  Priya wished she could say something casual, but she couldn’t come up with anything that would make sense. Should she pretend she was here at the open house with Brad to see the home as a potential purchase? She turned to watch Brad fidget with the zipper on his down jacket. He overheated so easily, and normally he tore his coat off as soon as he stepped inside any house, but this one was freezing.

  On the entryway table was the typical sign-in sheet real estate agents use to record guests’ attendance at open houses, and Priya moved toward it, trying to seem like everything about her being here was normal. “I’ll sign us in,” Priya said, still not looking at Brad.

  “Maybe Josie’s upstairs?” Haley suggested, her voice echoing through the high-ceilinged foyer. Priya turned to stare. Haley looked young, probably in her midtwenties, and with her cropped dark hair, leggings, and black bomber jacket, she seemed a shade too punk rock to be looking at such a classic suburban home.

  Priya bent forward and wrote her name on Josie’s sign-in sheet, smelling gardenias from the flower arrangement nestled inside a blue-and-white vase. WELCOME! Josie had written at the top. “She’s definitely here,” Priya said, pointing to what she figured had to be Josie’s handwriting. No one said anything as Priya filled in her email. She felt the heat of her husband’s stare against her back, and then turned and met his eyes. He didn’t look as furious as she thought he would. He looked a little nervous, actually.

  “Should we go upstairs?” Haley asked, staring at all of them. Priya glanced around and quickly assessed the home: new hardwood floors, top-of-the-line light fixtures, intricate millwork, and all of it complemented by tasteful furniture that looked straight out of a Lillian August showroom, though Priya imagined someone like Haley would decorate it quite differently if she moved in.

  “Sure,” Priya said. “Maybe she can’t hear us down here.” She followed Haley toward the staircase, but just then a whistling noise came from the back of the house, as though a window was open, and the storm was coming inside.

  TWENTY

  Haley

  Did you hear that?” Haley asked Dean, but he didn’t respond. He turned on his heel and strode toward the sound.

  “Josie!” Dean called, and Haley flinched at the intensity of his voice. The whistling noise came again, and Haley hurried to follow Dean, her pace lightning-quick to keep up with his long strides. Her boots were tracking snow through the house, she was sure of it, but the way Dean had called Josie’s name made her feel an urgency that scared her. She rounded a corner into a massive marble kitchen and almost crashed into Dean, who stood still and stared at an open window. Brad’s and Priya’s footsteps sounded behind them. Priya was saying something beneath her breath, but Haley couldn’t make it out. A glint of metal on the tiled floor caught her eye, and on closer inspection, she realized it was a knife coated with blood.

  “Oh my God,” Haley said, and Dean turned to take in the knife and froze. “Josie?” Haley screamed, twirling in a circle, her heart pounding. Where was she? “Are you here? Josie!” She knew how hysterical she sounded, and the rational part of her brain told her to calm down, but then she rounded the kitchen island and saw Josie lying facedown in a pool of blood. “No!” Haley cried, dropping to the floor. “Brad!” she screamed, and he was suddenly beside her, turning Josie onto her back. Josie’s eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed. Bloody blond hair was matted to her face, but she didn’t appear to have a head wound. Blood had seeped through her white sweater near her shoulder. Haley checked for a clear airway, and then lowered her ear to Josie’s mouth to listen for breathing while Brad searched for a pulse. Priya was crying in the background, and Dean was frozen until Haley commanded, “Dean, call nine-one-one. Address is 35 Carrington.” Haley watched the rise and fall of Josie’s chest. “She’s breathing,” she said.

  “She has a pulse,” Brad said as Dean talked to the operator. Brad moved quickly to apply pressure to the wound near her clavicle.

  Haley’s fingers went to find Josie’s pulse for herself. “Stay here, Josie, we’ve got you, you’ll be all right,” she said, unsure whether it was true.

  PART III

  TWENTY-ONE

  Emma

  Ten years ago

  My phone buzzes, and I’m so sure it’s Brad replying to my text about me seeing Priya that I nearly throw it against the pavement. But it’s not him—it’s my dad, writing to tell me that he’s sorry for the things he said, and wondering if we can meet tonight and talk.

  I sniff back tears. I used to be so sure that I was ready to leave my parents, and convinced that Yarrow was the ultimate freedom from them, even if I only moved a few miles away. But every time something goes wrong, I want them close the same way I used to as a kid.

  OK, I text back, terrified my dad is going to kill me when I tell him I’m pregnant. When?

  I’m still standing against the brick wall of the last town house on Brad’s street. I peek around the corner just to make sure Priya’s not coming after me, but the coast is clear. Maybe she’s calling Brad now about my visit, accusing him of everything she must know is true. I slump down so I’m sitting against the cold pavement, my back resting against the bricks. When there were rumors that Yarrow had gotten Priya Khatri as a visiting artist, I already knew who she was and worshipped her accordingly. After making my case to the registrar that I absolutely, positively needed to be in her class—Josie did the same—I spent weeks scouring the internet and viewing her work and reading her reviews and criticism. But it’s not like she was famous enough that there were paparazzi photos of her personal life online. When I started her class, I became even more enamored, and not just because Priya was so talented, but because she was also kind and exceedingly generous. She treated us like adults, and like our work was worth something.

  But now this? Brad Aarons is Priya’s fiancé? I’d watched Priya’s stomach grow over the course of the semester, but I never asked her about the father of the baby, or about anything personal at all. And not because I have such great manners or boundaries, because I don’t, but because I could sense she didn’t want to talk about those things, maybe because they were so inessential to what we were doing together in her classroom.

  It was Josie who used to go to Priya’s office hours. She was completely obsessed with Priya, trying so hard to get Priya to like her.

  We could walk the neighborhood like we used to, my dad replies.

  I lean back, my puffy jacket swishing against the bricks. The fight my dad and I had feels so far away, like it can’t even coexist in this new world I’ve found myself in. It was the worst we’ve ever had. I saw him in the parking lot of Key Food talking to this pretty woman in a way that felt slightly strange: nothing happened, but they were standing too close to each other. So I went all out and told him I knew he was having an affair, and he looked at me like I’d slapped him, and then he accused me of going completely insane. I’d never seen him so angry, and later that night when I was at my parents’ house, I overheard my mom tell one of her friends that he was going off the deep end lately, which struck me as ironic. Maybe he’s the one I get my instability from. I didn’t tell my mom what I saw in the Key Food parking lot because I could have been wrong; it could have been nothing, and plus now I have bigger things to worry about. I have no idea what he’ll say when I tell him I’m pregnant—I’m sure he’ll be even angrier. But I have to tell him and my mom. Maybe tonight, just to get it over with.

  I’ll text you later, I respond to my father, and then I sit there for a minute or so, feeling like I don’t even have the strength to stand. What if I just left? Isn’t there somewhere I could go for a little while? Isn’t that what gir
ls who got pregnant used to do, especially Catholic ones?

  The moon is full, emanating a yellow glow like it’s bursting at the seams. The wind has picked up, and I rub the back of my neck, feeling stiff like I’m coming down with something, thinking about what a nightmare this is going to be for my family.

  My phone buzzes, and I ignore it for a few more moments. I let my eyes glaze over as I stare at the moon. When I look down, I see two texts, both from Brad.

  Where are you?

  I’m coming to find you.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Priya

  We were here to see an open house,” Brad whispered into Priya’s ear as paramedics put Josie onto a stretcher and raced her out of the house. “Do you understand me? Josie invited us here, to see the house. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Priya? She might die, and if they believe we’re here under any other circumstances . . .”

  Moments later the police showed up, swarming the kitchen, barking into radios—female, early thirties, assaulted, significant loss of blood, EMS responded to the scene. They made calls to other police personnel and to forensics; they put on plastic gloves that made snapping sounds against their fingers; and they barricaded the kitchen with yellow tape. A stocky officer asked Dean, Haley, Priya, and Brad if they were all right, and then asked if they would cooperate, please by sitting in chairs and not speaking. Priya was shivering and trying to catch her breath, but all she could do was picture Josie all those years ago knocking on the door to the art studio, her hair askew and her face flushed from the cold, asking obscure art questions that didn’t seem to have much to do with her own work.