Good People

So all morning she’d watched a team of polite technicians cut into their drywall and run sensors to their windows. One of them had walked her through the system, showing her how to enter the code, how to change it. Tom had asked for the top of the line. It even had a feature that let her enter her code one digit higher. The alarm would shut off, but it would shoot a panic signal to the police. Slick. And once she took care of the money, they’d be safer still.

The thought sent guilt coursing through her, but she pushed it aside again. She was just being careful. If Tom found out, he’d be pissed and hurt, and she didn’t want either. But then, they had agreed that it would be safer if neither of them touched the money. It kept them above suspicion. So the only way Tom would find out what she had done would be if he cheated, tried to act without her.

No victim, no crime.

Her cell phone rang. The office. She looked at it, thought about answering, didn’t.

“WHY NOT JUST GRAB HER?” Marshall spoke around a mouthful of chips. “She knows anything, it’s not going to take long to get it.”

“We don’t know if they’re co

“She’s stopping.”

“I can see.” Jack slowed beside an empty spot. God bless the city. In the suburbs, even a civilian might notice they were being followed. Here, especially in this stolen black Honda, they were anonymous. Just neighbors. Jack flipped his signal and reversed. A

“Now what?”

Jack spread his hands. “We watch.”

“RAGGEDY ANNA.” Sara threw the door open, then stepped forward with her arms extended. She wore a men’s fla

“Hey, honey.” A

“How are you?” The question whispered, concerned.

“Good.” With everything that had happened in the last few days, it took A

Her sister leaned back from the hug, smiled. “I’m glad.” She squeezed A

A

It smelled of baby.

And as always, something in A

Sara, on her way to the kitchen, threw the words over her shoulder. “I know, right? One minute I’m dropping E with the shower boys at Spin, next I’m Betty Crocker.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I’m not sure how I got here.”

Her voice was weary, but there was nothing like regret in it. A

“Julian’s sleeping, thank God. Coffee?”

“Sure.” She moved a bright plastic rattle and sat at the table. Sara returned with two mugs and a box of Girl Scout cookies pi

“Sweats,” A

Sara nodded, tore open a sleeve of cookies. “So how are you really?”

“I’m okay.” She sipped at the too-hot coffee. “It gets easier every time. That’s a terrible thing to say, isn’t it?”

“Oh, honey.”

“I don’t know. Maybe next time.”

“You guys are going to try again?”

“Yeah. Sooner or later the odds have to work in our favor, right?”

“But I thought…” Sara cocked her head.

Shit. She’d forgotten talking about how broke they were, how they couldn’t afford to pay their bills. “Well, you know. We can live on credit cards for a while.”

It sounded lame, but Sara didn’t pursue it. They sat in awkward silence for a moment, and then Sara said, “Come on. I need help picking an outfit for my interview.” She grabbed the coffee and led the way. A

“So how are things with Tom?” Sara’s voice disembodied.

“Okay. It’s tough.” She fiddled with the edge of the duvet. “We’ve been together forever, and we love each other, but sometimes marriage seems like so much work.”

“That, sweetheart, is why I’ve got a strict six-month dating policy.”

A

“No?”

“Not unless you’re applying to be a secretary-with-privileges.”

“If I could only find a boss that looked like George Clooney.” She vanished again. “So what does that mean, hard to articulate?”

“It’s just, you get so used to loving each other as an idea, you sometimes forget to do it.” She leaned over to look at a picture on the night table, Sara and three girlfriends in a bar booth, her sister’s head flung back in laughter.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you sure Tom wants a baby as much as you?”

She was glad Sara couldn’t see her wince. “I don’t know. How much is him wanting one and how much is him doing it for me gets kind of murky.”

“How about this?” Sara’s arm extended out the door, holding a pin-striped suit.

“Mehh.”

She pulled her arm back. “Does that scare you?”

“Are you kidding?” A

“Don’t get me wrong, I think he’d be a great dad, but-”

“I know,” A

“Totally what?”

“Why do you have a gun?”

“Huh?”

It lay beneath where the postcards had been. A revolver, short, like the kind cops in old movies carried. A

Her sister stepped out with a white blouse and a guilty expression she covered by going aggressive. “Snoop much?”