Chapter 75

The Irvine house is fabulous.

The garden is well kept. The trees are just the right height.

The cars are elegant and expensive, but not ostentatious.

The pool guy comes every Thursday; the cleaning woman, every Tuesday.

My mother volunteers at the library. My father is in early retirement after several long-term real-estate investments pay off handsomely.

In short, they are an upper-middle-class couple with a Norman Rockwell–style house on one of the prettiest streets in one of the prettiest cities in the country. It’s a shame what’s inside those walls isn’t as pretty as the outside. Despite Vivaldi playing through the wireless speakers and the meatloaf and potatoes on the dining table, I feel like I’m trapped in that house in Amityville and the walls are about to drip blood.

To be honest, that couldn’t be worse than the horror I’m experiencing now.

My mom goes from asking when Marcus and I are getting married to wondering what I’m doing at