Too Good to Be True Read Online Free PDF Page A

have been nearly so quick on my feet.
    How nice it would’ve been if Wyatt, pediatric surgeon, were a real guy. If he’d been a good dancer, too, even if it was just a little turning box step. If he could’ve charmed Mémé and asked Mom about her sculptures and not cringed when she described them. If he was a golfer like Stuart and the two guys made plans for a morning on the links. If he just happened to know a little bit about the Civil War. If he occasionally broke off midsentence when he was talking because he looked at me and simply forgot what he was saying. If he was here to lead me upstairs, unzip this uncomfortable dress and shag me silly.
    The cab turned onto my street and cruised to a stop. I paid the driver, got out and just stood for a minute, looking at my house. It was a teensy little three-story Victorian, tall and narrow. A few brave daffodils stood bobbing along the walk, and soon the tulip beds would erupt in pink and yellow. In May, the lilacs along the eastern side of my house would fill the entire house with their incomparable smell. I’d spend most of the summer on my porch, reading, writing papers for various journals, watering my Boston ferns and begonias. My home. When I bought the house—correction, when Andrew and I bought it—it had been tattered and neglected. Now, it was a showplace. My showplace, as Andrew had left me before the new insulation was installed, before the walls were knocked down and repainted.
    At the sound of my high heels on the flagstone path, Angus’s head popped up in the window, making me grin…and then wobble. Apparently, I was a little buzzed, a fact underscored as I fumbled ineffectively for my keys. There. Key in door, turn. “Hello there, Angus McFangus! Mommy’s home!”
    My little dog raced up to me, then, too overcome by the miracle of my very being, raced around the downstairs in victory-lap style—living room, dining room, kitchen, hallway, repeat. “Did you miss Mommy?” I asked every time he whizzed past me. “Did you…miss…Mommy?” Finally, his energy expended somewhat, he brought me his victim of the night, a shredded box of tissues, which he deposited proudly at my feet.
    “Thank you, Angus,” I said, understanding that this was a gift. He collapsed in front of me, panting, black button eyes adoring, his back legs straight out behind him, as if he were flying, in what I thought of as his Super Dog pose. I sat down, slipped off my shoes and scratched Angus’s cunning little head. “Guess what? We have a boyfriend now,” I said. He licked my hand in delight, burped, then ran into the kitchen. Good idea. I’d hit the Ben & Jerry’s for a little snack. Hoisting myself out of my chair, I glanced out the window and froze.
    A man was creeping along the side of the house next door.
    Obviously, it was dark outside, but the streetlight illuminated the man clearly as he walked slowly along the side of the house next to mine. He looked in both directions, paused, then continued on to the back of the house, climbed the back steps, slowly, tentatively, then tried the doorknob. Locked, apparently. He looked under the doormat. Nothing. Tried the doorknob again, harder.
    I didn’t know what to do. I’d never seen a house being broken into before. No one lived in that house, 36 Maple. I’d never even seen someone look at it in the two years I’d lived in Peterston. It was sort of a bungalow style, pretty worn down, in need of a good bit of work. I’d often wondered why no one bought it and fixed it up. Surely there was nothing inside worth stealing….
    Swallowing with an audible click, I realized that, should the burglar look in my direction, he’d see me quite clearly, as my light was on and the curtains open. Reaching out slowly without taking my eyes off him, I turned off the lamp.
    The suspect, as I was already calling him, then gave the door a shove with his shoulder. He repeated the action, harder this time, and I flinched as his shoulder