An unflinching examination of motherhood and the dark side of domesticity set against a suburban backdrop that’s anything but blissful. This twisty tale invites readers to a slow motion unravelling that culminates in a devastating finale.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Liz Alterman’s The House on Cold Creek Lane, which is out August 6th 2024.
Who was I? What had I become? Breathe, I commanded. You’re doing this for your family.
When Laurel and Rob West move into their new home in New Jersey, it seems too good to be true. But Laurel can’t shake off her old feelings of anxiety. The neighbour who pays far too much attention to the Wests’ two young children . . . Rob watching her every miss step . . . and there’s something people aren’t telling her about this house . . .
I promised myself I wouldn’t go to that neighborhood again. Not that street. Not so soon. But I couldn’t help it. They made it too easy.
Corey Sutton is trying to outrun her past. Recently divorced and reeling from a devastating loss, she moves into her widowed mother’s retirement condo in Florida. Everyone says she just needs some time to recover and rebuild . . . but is Corey beyond saving? She wants answers. And there’s very little she won’t do to get them.
Though Laurel and Corey have never met, the women have something in common, and if they’re not careful, it may just destroy them both . . .
TWO
Early June
Laurel
The rows of headless tulips were what I noticed first when we pulled up to the house. Their green stems poked toward the cloudless spring sky. Not a single petal rested atop the mulched beds that flanked the slate walkway.
The second thing that struck me was how close the houses were to one another. It hadn’t looked that way online. I chalked it up to trick photography and wondered what other disappointments awaited.
It was my first time seeing the white clapboard Cape Cod in person. I still hadn’t been inside. After adding my signature to dozens of documents electronically, Rob handled the closing while I recovered from my C-section and engaged in an endless cycle of breastfeeding and diaper changing. Though we’d spent weeks worrying that the baby would come early, Poppy arrived within hours of her due date, a healthy eight pounds and seven ounces. Susan offered to watch the children so I could finally see our new home, but I was too exhausted to take her up on it. Besides, we owned the place. There was no going back.
‘This is it!’ Rob whispered as he pulled into the narrow driveway. ‘Home sweet home!’
We followed the moving van the whole way. Jasper and Poppy had fallen asleep before we’d exited the tunnel. The darkness and the motion of the car delivered a one-two-punch that acted like baby NyQuil. I was so tired from sorting and packing in between caring for a newborn and a busy little boy, I wished we were relocating across the country and could just drive forever. But forty minutes after we locked the door to our apartment for the final time, we turned the corner on to Cold Creek Lane and were greeted by a glorious green canopy courtesy of soaring elms. Our two-story home, dwarfed by the size of the surrounding trees, looked like a dollhouse. Its curtain-less dormer windows stared like a pair of vacant eyes waiting to make up their mind about us.
I peeked into the back seat. Jasper’s cheeks were rosy with sleep while Poppy’s tiny head pitched slightly forward at an angle that would’ve given an adult a stiff neck for days. The only thing worse than no nap was one that got cut short. Poppy would awaken ravenous, Jasper sweaty and disoriented. I’d tried to prepare him by scrolling through the listing photos on our iPad. ‘This is our new house!’ I’d repeated as we practiced the address.
To the left of the driveway, just beyond a hedge of low shrubs, something caught my eye. A young woman swept her chestnut hair into a high ponytail, her long legs encased in black tights as she lunged on the front steps either heading out or returning from a run. AirPods plugged her ears.
‘Our new neighbor.’ I jutted my chin in her direction.
‘Yeah, I met her the day of the home inspection. Really sweet. She can’t wait to meet you and the kids.’ Rob’s head was turned in the opposite direction, his hand raised in a wave. I realized we were talking about different people. I twisted in my seat and spotted an older woman, her hair white and roundish as dandelion fluff. She held a bright yellow watering can above a flower box of geraniums and grinned at us. I forced a smile, but groaned. I wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone. The thought of making small talk when we still had so much to do, such a long day ahead, wore me out.
The back doors of the cavernous moving van rattled open, snapping my attention to the street. The men we’d hired had two more jobs that afternoon so they wasted no time unloading our belongings, planting them on the grass like strange saplings.
I wished we’d arrived at dusk. Beneath the brilliant sunshine, the shabbiness of our old furnishings was on full display. I cringed at the tufted ottoman resting on its side, buttons missing, and the pale-pink sofa dappled with red wine and juice stains. As the contents of our apartment piled up, the lawn took on the appearance of a desperate yard sale.
‘Here we go!’ Rob’s warm, hazel eyes were bright in the almost-summer light. He kissed me on the cheek before jumping out to let the movers in.
I watched as he slid the key into the lock and opened the turquoise front door. A wreath of browning forsythia hung crookedly below the panel of windows at the top. I’d meant to ask him to change the locks. How had I forgotten? I chalked it up to ‘baby brain’ and told myself I’d mention it later.
‘Mommy!’ Jasper whimpered, kicking the back of the driver’s seat. ‘Where are we?’
I turned around and patted his leg. His soft skin was still cool, but with the engine off, the car grew stuffier by the second.
‘We’re here! This is our new house!’ I wished I felt as cheerful as I forced my voice to sound.
My son rubbed his eyes with the back of his fists and blinked. He strained against the straps of his car seat, fingers fumbling with the buckles. ‘I wanna get out! I wanna get out!’
As I reached into the back seat, careful not to wake Poppy, a sharp tug where my incision was slowly healing pulled at my side. I winced as I stretched to free Jasper. He shot from the car. I hurried to catch him before he darted into the path of the movers carrying our hulking dresser with its nicks and missing knobs.
We watched it disappear into the house. When I turned back, she was there – the neighbor who’d been gardening, standing on the other side of the walkway, watery blue eyes fixed on my face.
‘I’m Marian.’ She extended her damp hand and remained unsmiling. ‘Marian Murdoch.’ She wore a white linen shift dress and small pearl earrings. Her expression softened when she looked at Jasper. As she bent down to meet him at eye level, her knees popped.
Some kids were shy. Not my son. Like a hothouse flower, Jasper blossomed beneath the warm glow of attention. The way he’d eagerly approach older kids, dogs, even men playing guitar in the park near our apartment made me nervous.
‘Shouldn’t he be scared of strangers?’ I’d fret to Rob. ‘Where’s that innate sense of fear?’
‘He sees the world as a safe place, Laur,’ my husband had said. ‘That’s a good thing.’
‘This is my new house!’ Jasper beamed at Marian, who smelled like a mix of dusting powder, perspiration, and raw earth. ‘Wanna see it?’
‘Oh, I’ve been in your house many, many times.’ She pursed her lips like a small child sucking on a secret. ‘Once you’re settled, I’d love to . . .’ She stopped mid-sentence and straightened to her full height, her gaze shifting. ‘You’re not going to leave that baby in a hot car, are you?’ Her mouth hung open as she pointed toward the back seat of the Accord where Poppy’s tiny feet flailed in the window.
How had I not heard her? At the sudden recognition of my daughter’s cries, my breasts began leaking. I dropped Jasper’s hand and flung my arms across my chest.
Just then Rob came striding down the steps. ‘Morning, Marian! Nice to see you again,’ he chirped, ever the salesman. ‘You’ve met my wife, Laurel.’
‘Well, she didn’t introduce herself, no. But, Rob, I’m more concerned about your baby.’ Her bony finger directed his gaze to the car.
‘Geez, Laurel! What the—?’
‘She just started . . . I . . .’ As I lurched backward toward the car, that familiar flicker of doubt filled his eyes. I’d been so busy feeding everyone else that morning, I’d had only coffee. Jittery and lightheaded, I pulled Poppy from her seat and cradled her small, sweaty body with my shaky hands.
When I looked up, Rob and Marian were scowling while Jasper sing-songed, ‘That’s my sister! That’s my Poppy!’ He raced toward me, tugging on the long cotton maternity skirt that had become part of my daily uniform.
‘Don’t you have one of those whatchamacallems?’ Marian snapped her fingers as if summoning the word. ‘Carriers? Then you could keep the baby close and have your hands free.’ She tilted her head toward our belongings spread across the lawn like litter. ‘You’ve got your work cut out for you here.’
My chest tightened.
‘Great idea.’ Rob turned to me. ‘Laur, where’d you put that thing?’
A high chair and a lamp were whisked inside as I tried to picture where I’d packed the blue baby sling. ‘I . . . I . . . I don’t know,’ I stammered.
Jasper wriggled beside me. ‘Potty, Mommy! Potty now!’
And so rather than take a moment to savor my first look inside our new home, to appreciate the built-in corner cabinets in the dining room or admire the fireplace, I rushed through the rooms in search of the toilet before I had another mess to clean up.
The day continued in a blur of putting away dishes and setting up small appliances, making Jasper’s toddler bed, locating Larry, the ring-tailed lemur he refused to sleep without. His room had a sweet little window seat. I imagined filling it with throw pillows and reading to him in that cozy nook.
The house was clean and well kept. Though it was small, it seemed like a mansion compared to our apartment. The kitchen’s ample counter space meant I had plenty of room to roll out dough for pies and pastries. I smiled, envisioning Jasper, cheeks dusted with flour, helping me. A washer and dryer waited in the mudroom on the first floor. The upstairs bathroom had double sinks. Rob had been right. It was perfect.
Briefly, I wondered about the former owners. Why hadn’t they insisted on the asking price? Did they have children? If so, how many? Where were they now?
Those thoughts scattered as I looked around the rooms, mentally arranging our family photos, pondering which window treatments would work best: blinds, shutters, curtains?
Around two o’clock, as Jasper and Poppy napped, the doorbell rang. My stomach clenched – first out of fear that it would wake the children and then because I was sweating, makeup-less, and unprepared to meet another neighbor. I stayed in the kitchen while Rob opened the door. He carried in a large box. It held a woven seagrass basket filled with fluffy white towels rolled to spa-like perfection. A red bow and a note were looped through one of the handles.
Sorry we’re not there to help on your big day. Wishing you good health and happiness in your new home and always! Love, Mom and Dad.
Susan had stopped trying to get me to call her ‘Mom’ years ago, but she still signed cards that way. I never got used to it. She and Dennis were with Rob’s sister, Emily, and her fiancé, Colin, sampling the tasting menu for their August wedding.
When Rob had told his mother our move-in date, she’d said, ‘Oh dear, I could ask Em to reschedule, but you know how brides get when you try to change their plans.’
‘Don’t give it another thought,’ we’d told her. It would’ve been nice to have them there to help with the children at least, but we managed.
The dining room glowed a gauzy pink in the early-evening light as we sat down to dinner. Rob had picked up pizza in town and brought home a bouquet of peonies for me and a foam football for Jasper. I was struck by how much my husband and son looked alike with their brown hair and hazel eyes. Each had a sprinkling of freckles from the sun they’d gotten earlier while playing tag in the backyard, the sound of the creek burbling behind them mixing with Jasper’s deep belly giggle.
Opening a bottle of sauvignon blanc, Rob turned to me. ‘I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately with . . .’
I waited. Would he bring it up? The man who murdered my mother had been released from prison the day before. We hadn’t talked about it.
‘With a new baby and a new house,’ he went on. ‘You’ve been really strong. I’m proud of you.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, disappointed he didn’t address how hard the past few days had been for me. Maybe he didn’t want to spoil the moment.
We clinked glasses and I took a small sip, knowing I’d have to feed Poppy in a few hours.
‘All our dreams will come true here, Laur.’ Rob smiled, dimples flashing. ‘Just watch.’
Through the window, I watched Marian puttering in her garden, stealing side-glances at our home, and willed myself to believe him.
By the time we tumbled into bed, the heat of the day had relented, giving way to a cool evening. We were grateful. The house didn’t have central air conditioning. We’d need to buy and install window units. Rob added it to his never-ending to-do list.
The landline, Wi-Fi, and cable TV hadn’t been hooked up yet. I was glad for a break from the outside world. I couldn’t bear the footage of Lyle Hartsell, my mother’s killer, walking out of prison and into his new life. But I also couldn’t look away. I’d seen recent photos of him online. His dark hair and scruffy beard were threaded with gray. Deep lines creased his cheeks and forehead, making him appear much older than his early fifties. He’d only been locked up for twenty years, but it had aged him twice that. Still, it was nothing compared to the crime he’d committed, the lives he’d cut short, the others he’d destroyed.
All week journalists had called our apartment asking for a statement. ‘You were just twelve when your mother was viciously murdered, Laurel. What’s it like to know Lyle Hartsell is going to be a free man?’
My hands had trembled as I deleted their voicemails. The move had kept me busy, offering me a brief distraction. But Lyle was on the move too, doing whatever he pleased, going wherever he wanted.
The thought gave me chills. I pulled the flat sheet up to my chin.
‘We should change the locks,’ I said to Rob, goosebumps creeping across my arms. He’d opened the windows, letting the light breeze filter through our bedroom, something we never could’ve done in the city with its horns, sirens, and three a.m. fights that spilled into the street after the corner bar closed.
‘I don’t think we have to.’ He switched off the lamp without jotting it down on the small notepad he’d placed on his nightstand. ‘The house was vacant when I saw it in April. It’s not like the former owners are going to come back and let themselves in.’
‘No, it’s not that.’ I turned toward him. ‘People give out keys, maybe to a dog walker or a neighbor in case they lock themselves out. I think it’s safer if we . . .’
‘Stop, Laur. This is a fresh start, OK?’ My husband punched an indent in his pillow and rolled away from me. ‘Moving forward, right?’ The edge in his voice told me the conversation was over.
I knew Rob believed setting up a lovely home in the perfect neighborhood would transform me into the woman and mother he hoped I could be.
If only it were that simple.
I inched closer and draped my arm across his chest, not wanting our first night in our new house to end on an unpleasant note. I was sore from unpacking, but happy, grateful, desperate for life to be good here.
‘That’s nice, isn’t it?’ Rob whispered, rolling over, his fingers brushing my cheek. Pale moonlight spilled through the curtain-less windows, brightening his face.
‘Hmmm?’ I moaned, already slipping toward sleep.
‘The sounds – the crickets.’ He went quiet. ‘Is that a bullfrog by the creek?’
‘I think it is.’ I laughed and gave a half-hearted croak before nuzzling his neck.
Teen voices floated in, followed by the slap of a skateboard. It was early, not even 10 p.m.
‘Want me to close the windows?’ I offered.
‘Nah,’ Rob said. ‘We’ve got a whole new soundtrack here. Let’s give it a try.’
I yawned and closed my eyes. ‘Whatever you say.’
*
If I’d gotten out of bed that night, crossed the room, and walked to the windows, would I have seen the pair of eyes watching our home?
Would I have called to Rob in an uneasy whisper, urging, ‘Come here. Look.’
Would I have kept my hand just below the sill, pointed, and said, ‘We need to leave. Now!’
And if I had, would he have listened?
