Read Intrusion: A Novel for Free Online Page B

her house years before, told her the dessert bread was awesome. She confided to Kat that it was the only thing she could bake.
    “I’m hopeless at pastry,” she said. “Mine is so heavy it would sink a battleship.”
    A striking blonde divorcée, with a love of fashionable clothes and impossible heels, Brooke liked to sunbathe in her side yard wearing the tiniest of bikinis. Occasionally, she would remove the bikini top and lie on her stomach, spread-eagled on a beach towel. Chris had been fourteen years old when Brooke first moved in across the street, and he and his friends all stared longingly at this new neighbor as she lay, her skin oiled and gleaming gold, soaking up the sun. The posse of boys raced up and down the street, slowing at Brooke’s yard as the teenagers stretched up high on the pedals of their bikes to get a better view, bobbing their heads like meerkats.
    “She’s going to cause a bike pileup if she doesn’t put some clothes on,” Scott had said once, laughing as he watched the boys from the window.
    The day that the news of Chris’s accident swept through the neighborhood, Brooke appeared at the Hamiltons’ door with a chicken casserole, a date loaf, and two bottles of wine. Since then, she had been a gentle support for Kat. She visited occasionally, sitting with Kat and talking quietly of nothing very much, always bringing small gifts—a special bath oil for Kat, a single-malt whisky for Scott.
    Now, she emerged from her house carrying the date loaf on a baking tray and handed it to Kat.
    “It’s a bit burnt on the corners,” Brooke said. “I got distracted by America’s Most Wanted .” She paused to study Kat’s face. “So how are you, sweet pea? How was the desert?”
    “Fine. The scenery’s so pretty. The hotel was nice.”
    “But?” Brooke asked, not convinced.
    “I struggled a bit with Scott’s client thing. All those people. And the big client turned out to be an old school friend, so that was a bit weird.”
    “Really? Scott’s old school friend? Or yours?”
    “Mine. She’s a widow now. Married some high-powered international investor type. She’s very rich.”
    “Well, that’s good, isn’t it? To reconnect with an old friend?”
    “Not sure. Maybe not this old friend,” Kat said. “Anyway, love, thank you for this.”
    “You’re welcome. Tell Scott sorry about the corners.”
    “He won’t mind. He’ll wolf it down.”
    Brooke smiled a good-bye, then headed for her side yard, stripping off her wrap and exposing the bikini even as she crossed the street.
    Kat placed the loaf in the kitchen before walking slowly around the house as if reestablishing herself inside it. The air of the house felt oppressive; the very walls and roof seemed heavier. Was it possible for a house to absorb grief, hold it in the walls?
    “The house feels heavy,” she said to Scott. “Dark.”
    “We’ve just come from the desert,” he said. “The light is different.”
    “But don’t you feel it? The heaviness? It feels as if the ceiling is pressing down.”
    He was heading to his den, a file under his arm, but he paused to look at her.
    “I’ll adjust the air a bit,” he said. “It’s probably musty.”
    Kat wandered into Chris’s room, sat on his bed, looked at his hard rock posters, his books, his CDs, ran a hand along the papers on his desk. He had left an essay unfinished; the pen still lay on top of it. She opened his closet, touching the shirts and sweaters, holding each one to her face.
    She reached for his leather jacket and stroked the soft nap. He hadn’t worn it much; he had been saving it for some special occasion. Some date, perhaps, with a girl. It was hard to look back on the day they bought this jacket. He was so excited, eyes bright, kidding her along, knowing that she would eventually give in. It was too much money, Kat said. But Chris knew it wasn’t really too much money; they wouldn’t be there in the department store trying it on if it were.
    He