Moren stepped out, phone pressed to her ear.
“Babe, I’m going to take this call real quick,” she said.
“Sure,” Eddie replied, eyes on the grill.
She walked down the stairs to the small patch of grass near the fence that separated the complex from the neighboring lot. She turned her back to us, one hand on her hip, the other holding the phone.
I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. But the wind carried her voice up to the balcony.
“No, he doesn’t suspect anything,” she said. “Just give me time.”
The spatula paused in Eddie’s hand. He didn’t seem to have heard her. The sizzle of burgers on the grill and the hum of highway traffic almost drowned her out.
Almost.
“Once the house sells, everything will fall into place,” she continued. “I just need him to convince her. She’s attached to the place, but he’ll get her there. Trust me.”
My stomach clenched.
I lifted my plastic cup to my lips to hide the way my hand had started to shake.
Moren laughed softly into the phone.
“She won’t see it coming,” she said. “Just be patient.”
Eddie glanced down at her.
“She okay?” he asked me absently.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even.
A few minutes later, Moren came back up, her expression smooth, phone tucked away.
“Everything good?” Eddie asked.
“Yeah, just work stuff,” she said.
She sat down beside me, her bracelet glinting, that same tight smile on her face.
The rest of the cookout passed in a blur. I couldn’t tell you what we talked about. I couldn’t tell you how the burgers tasted.
All I could hear was her voice.
Once the house sells.
He doesn’t suspect anything.
My house.
My son.
And someone else on the other end of that call.
When it was time to leave, Eddie walked me to my car.
“Thanks for coming, Mom,” he said. “It was really good to see you.”
I hugged him tighter than usual.
“I love you, sweetheart,” I said.
“Love you too.”
I drove home with the radio off, the hum of the highway filling the car. My mind raced the entire way.
Who had she been talking to? What did she mean by “he doesn’t suspect anything”? Was she talking about Eddie? About someone else? And the house—my house—wasn’t a maybe in her mind.
It was a certainty.
When I pulled into my driveway, I sat there for a while, staring at the front door.
Then I turned the car back on and drove to my friend Janice’s house.
Janice lived ten minutes away in a small yellow ranch‑style house with a front yard full of flowers that always managed to look better than mine. We’d been friends since Eddie was in diapers. She was there when Ray proposed in our cramped Ohio living room, ring hidden in a slice of grocery‑store cake. She was there when Eddie was born. She was there when we buried Ray.
She opened the door before I even knocked.
“Ruth,” she said, taking one look at my face. “Come in.”
We sat on her worn but comfortable couch. She poured us both glasses of sweet tea and waited.
I told her everything.
The phone calls that had stopped. The dinner where Moren had casually suggested I sell my house. The expensive jewelry and handbags that didn’t match their income. The cookout, the shopping bag in the kitchen, the phone call by the fence.
Once the house sells, everything will fall into place.
He doesn’t suspect anything.
When I finished, Janice was quiet for a long time.
Then she leaned forward and took my hand.
“Ruth,” she said gently, “this isn’t something you guess about. You need to know the truth. Not suspicions, not gut feelings. The truth.”
“How?” I asked. “I can’t just accuse her. Eddie would never forgive me. He’s in love with her. He’d think I’m trying to break them up because I’m jealous or controlling or can’t let go.”
Janice nodded slowly.
“I know someone,” she said. “A retired cop from Miami. He does private investigation work now. Quiet. Professional. If there’s something going on, he’ll find it. If there’s nothing, then you can let it go.”
“You mean… hire someone to follow my daughter‑in‑law?”
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