She snatched her windbreaker from the coat hook beside the door to the garage and stepped outside into the evening's coolness. She wandered down the sloping hill to the high, solid gate. She stepped through the gateway and hiked down the trail to the edge of the pond with its narrow dirt path.
Eventually, if she followed it, the path would lead her to the horse stables. Sometimes she rode Mighty Boy along here, circling the entire pond and back around to the stable, passing her own home on the way. Quickly and steadfastly she strode through the twisted, tree-lined path in the moonlight. The stables lay a half-mile ahead.
It was supposed to have been her night to celebrate the memories of her marriage, but now she found herself thinking about the scene that had taken place in Mighty Boy's stall the other day. For better or worse, she had stopped him. She had admitted to him that she and Matthew were having problems, but they were still married, and even though she had desperately wanted him to go on, she said she could not let herself be with him. He had released her, and assured her that it would not happen again. Unless, he said, she came to him. Since that day she had not gone back to the ranch.
She slowed for a moment, then stopped. She absently stroked her left hand with her right hand as she examined her present state of mind. What was she going to do, just knock on the door of his cottage? She turned and looked back up the hill to her home. A few lights glowed - Matthew's office. She swallowed, and her left hand throbbed some more.
Yes, she decided, that was exactly what she was going to do.
She moved on, her pace quickening, her heart pumping. Shortly the stables came into view, illuminated by both the light of the moon and by the floodlights surrounding the property. Trailing along the border of light, just beyond its edge, she grew excited and reckless, like an inexperienced burglar. Her brisk walk had warmed her and she unzipped her jacket as she stealthily slipped around the stable.
She passed the main house, where the ranch's owner lived alone. Purple-blue light flickered from an upstairs window. About fifty yards from where she stood were two small cottages. She had passed them many times while riding. Jean-Pierre lived in one of those cottages, and though she had never been invited inside, she knew which one was his because he had mentioned once that it afforded a beautiful view of the pond from his bedroom window, through which he could see her home and its rear upstairs light glowing late at night. Though her home was too high and far away for him to see inside, she was excited by the thought of him lying in his dark bedroom, fixated on her bedroom window. Had he ever glimpsed her passing the window, closing the curtains?
The sound of a car engine starting suddenly broke through the quiet evening. A second later a swath of light beamed just a foot beside her and beyond, as far as she could see, into the woods. She ducked behind a small wooden utility shed stationed alongside the drive. White light pierced through the tiny cracks and seams of the shed. Cautiously she peeked around its edge. A car appeared from between the cottages, its light sweeping past the shed as it steered onto the drive. Greta flattened herself against the side of the small building and crept around the corner once the car had completely passed.
Was he going out for the night? The sound of the engine grew distant, then came a high squealing noise when the car reached the end and turned onto the main road. Once more, the sounds of the night and her own pulse were all she could hear. She left her cover and pressed on.
No, she saw at once, it hadn't been Jean-Pierre because his MG was parked in front of the cottage. Avoiding the light cast by the lamp outside the front door, she circled around to the back of the small house. She peered into the bedroom window. The room was lit by a small lamp beside an empty bed with twisted sheets. The sight caused her breath to catch. She rushed to the back stoop and halted before the door, flexed her hands a few times. Feeling the night's coolness breezing through the silken material of her gloves, she absently wiped them on her dress and turned and faced the pond for a moment to collect her thoughts.