“My backyard?”
“Just for Saturday afternoon,” he said quickly. “A few people, some food, maybe music. Nothing wild.”
I hesitated.
I liked my privacy.
I also cared about my flower beds. I had spent most of the spring planting roses, lavender, and small white daisies around the fence.
Mark seemed to notice my concern.
“I promise I’ll clean everything up before you get back,” he said. “You won’t even know anyone was there.”
His request sounded harmless.
More than harmless, really.
It sounded ordinary.
I imagined a folding table, a few lawn chairs, paper plates, and a birthday cake. I had no reason to think anything else would happen.
“All right,” I said. “Just keep people away from the flower beds.”
“Absolutely.”
“And no one goes inside my house.”
“Of course not.”
I studied his face.
He looked relieved.
“Thank you,” he said. “Seriously. You’re saving me.”
I went to the kitchen drawer and took out the spare key to the side gate.
When I handed it to him, he closed his fingers around it at once.
“I’ll return it Sunday morning,” he promised.
“Sunday evening is fine. That’s when I’ll be back.”
He nodded.
“Everything will be clean.”
I watched him cross the lawn toward his house. He looked back once and raised the key in a small wave.
At the time, I remember feeling pleased with myself.
I thought I had done something kind.
The weekend at my mother’s house was quieter than expected.
She cooked too much food, complained about my driving, and asked whether I had started dating again.
I avoided that question.
On Saturday afternoon, I briefly wondered how Mark’s party was going.
I pictured people laughing in my yard while he stood near the grill. I considered sending him a message to remind him about the flowers, but I stopped myself.
I did not want to act controlling.
He had given me no reason not to trust him.
By Sunday afternoon, my mother was trying to convince me to stay another night.
“You can leave before traffic tomorrow,” she said.
“I have work.”
“You can work from here.”
“I also have laundry.”
She frowned.
“That is the saddest excuse I have ever heard.”
I laughed, hugged her, and left before she could pack another container of food into my car.
When I pulled into my driveway Sunday evening, everything looked normal from the front.
Mark’s house was quiet, but that did not seem unusual.
His car was not there.
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