“It’s just a bad dream, honey,” her mother said. “Try chamomile tea before you go to sleep. Or a glass of red wine.”
Eve’s eyes teared. “You warned us, Mom. You all said the house has bad mazel. I should have listened.”
“Evie.” Ruth hugged her daughter tight. “Don’t let a nightmare ruin your happiness.” She moved back and lifted Eve’s chin. “You loved the house, right? You bought it. You’ll make your own mazel. Okay?”
Eve tried a smile. “Okay.” Her mother always made her feel better.
“So, show me what they’ve done. This is very exciting.”
“They finished demolishing the bathroom.” Eve led the way and was surprised to find her spirits and enthusiasm reviving with each step. “They’re working on the shower, and they installed a moistureproof backing on the walls for the marble. It’s going to be so beautiful, Mom.”
“I’m sure it will.”
In the bedroom doorway Ruth came to an abrupt stop. She tsked.
Eve turned to face her. “What?”
Ruth was frowning. “That’s your bed?” She pointed to the bed close to the windows that looked out on the yard.
“Yes. Why?”
“That explains the dream, Eve. Your bed is directly across from the doorway. Your feet are pointing to the door.”
Eve crinkled her forehead. “So?”
“It’s bad mazel, honey. When a person dies, he or she is carried out feet first. You probably heard it before and forgot, and your dream is reminding you.”
Jewish feng shui. That explained the sounds Eve had been hearing. Leave. It was her subconscious nudging her into protecting herself. The feeling that something had been breathing on her, pressing against her—that had been a nightmare, like Joe said.
That night after Eve and Joe enjoyed the eggplant and two servings each of the cake, she helped him move the beds closer to the closets. The beds were off center now. That bothered Eve, but off center was better than bad mazel. Eve debated and took an Ambien. She lay in her off-center bed with a light heart and fell asleep within minutes.
She was at her funeral again. Her heart ached for her parents and Joe’s, all of them weeping as her casket was being lowered into the grave. She was most concerned for Joe. He had stepped back from the grave and was standing with his head bowed, his shoulders heaving. How she wished she could comfort him. He turned around and looked up, as though he sensed she was watching him. She saw him lock eyes with a tall, brown-haired young woman prettier and slimmer than Eve would ever be. Then Joe, her Joe, I-love-you-more-than-life-babe-I-can’t-live-without-you Joe, gave the woman the lazy smile that had won Eve’s heart. He winked at the woman, and Eve had no choice but to watch that lying bastard flirt at her own funeral. The voices started again: Leave, leave, leave, leave, leave . . .
Not the house—no, the house was fine, the house was not the danger.
Leave Joe.
FRIDAY MORNING SHE woke up with a migraine and nausea. Joe notified the school that she wouldn’t be coming in and offered to cancel Ken. Eve reminded him that Ken and his crew wouldn’t return until Tuesday.
“That’s good, then.” Joe arranged a cool damp washcloth on Eve’s forehead and kissed her cheek softly. “I don’t want to wake you if you’re sleeping, so call me when you can, okay, babe? If you need me, I’ll come home.”
She nodded, her eyes shut to block out the soft filtered light that, with her migraine, felt like an assault. Joe was so tender, so solicitous. She could tell he wasn’t faking. She felt guilty having harbored hateful thoughts because of a nightmare that seemed ludicrous when she was awake.
“Don’t worry about cooking for Shabbos,” Joe said. “Your mom is taking care of everything.” He kissed her again before he left.
She lay in bed until the migraine’s accompanying zigzagging aura stopped and the ferocious pain receded to a dull ache. She made her way gingerly to the kitchen and saw that Joe had filled the hot-water urn and set out tea bags and dry crackers. And a note:
If you’re up, that means you’re feeling a little better. Call me. I love you, babe.
The tea and crackers settled her stomach. She showered in the guest bathroom and washed her hair, careful to avoid sudden movements that made her feel as though loose parts were rattling around in her skull.
She craved fresh air. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and sunglasses to protect her still-sensitive eyes, Eve walked out the front door. A thirtysomething woman with curly red hair was in front of Eve’s walkway, pushing a stroller back and forth while she kept her eyes on a redheaded boy furiously pedaling a tricycle up the street.
The woman smiled at Eve. “You’re the new neighbor. I’m Sandy Komin.”
“Eve Stollman.”
“Nice to meet you, Eve. I planned to introduce myself before, but with three kids under eight, my intentions rarely pan out. If I can take a shower, I consider it a good day.” Sandy smiled again.
Eve smiled back. “How old is your baby?”
“Lily is eight months.” Sandy beamed at the infant asleep in the stroller. She pointed to the toddler on the bike. “Michael’s two and a half. Our oldest, Geneva, is seven. She’s in school, thank God. Do you have kids?”
Eve shook her head. “We want to start a family. That’s one of the reasons we bought the house.”
“Well, if you want to practice, you can borrow mine whenever you want.” Sandy laughed. “Seriously, let me know if I can help with anything. Dry cleaners, markets, carpet cleaners, plumbers, gardener—I have tons of numbers.”
Eve thought, What about ghost busters? “Thanks, I’ll take you up on that. I hope the noise from the remodeling isn’t bothering you too much.”
“Not at all. We’re up early. And I’d rather hear hammering and drilling than Barney. Barney the purple dinosaur?” she said when Eve looked puzzled.
“I’ve never watched it.”
“Lucky you.” Sandy adjusted Lily’s blanket. “The couple who owned the house before you, Nancy and Brian Goodrich? They did some minor remodeling. They were planning to put in a new kitchen, but then . . .” Sandy’s voice trailed off, and her expression had turned somber. “You know what happened, right?”
Eve nodded. “The broker told us.”
“God, what a tragedy.” Sandy sighed. “We were all shocked. Nancy and Brian seemed happy, and I never heard them arguing.” Her eyes narrowed. “Michael, turn around and come back!” she called. “You’re too far!”
Eve waited until the boy obeyed. “What happened, exactly?”
“The police think Nancy woke up when she heard someone entering the bedroom and thought Brian was an intruder. She must have been disoriented, maybe because she was on antianxiety medication.” The baby whimpered. Sandy resumed the back-and-forth motion of the stroller. “Nancy shot him. When she realized she’d killed Brian, she killed herself.” Tears welled in Sandy’s eyes. She wiped them with her hand. “It’s heartbreaking. It’s . . .” She shook her head.
“Why was Nancy on medication?”
“I heard she had a nervous breakdown. She seemed stressed the month or so before she died. I didn’t see her in the final weeks.” For a moment Sandy was quiet, lost in thought. Then she looked at Eve and her face brightened. “Hey, I hope you don’t let the house’s history bother you. What happened to Nancy and Brian has nothing to do with you and your husband. What’s his name?”
“Joe.”
“I saw him. He’s a hottie, Eve, a keeper.” Sandy winked. “How’d you meet?”
Eve told her.
“That is so romantic. Tom and I dated in high school. We always knew we’d get married. Boring, huh?” She smiled. “I’m glad we finally met, Eve. Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m sure you’re going to be very happy here. Michael, what did I tell you? Not so far!”