Karen's heart jumped.
She approached slowly.
It was Marcus.
She almost didn't open it.
Then she did.
Marcus stood on the porch.
"Karen?"
"Yes."
"I'm Marcus."
"I know."
He nodded.
"I figured."
Karen couldn't look at him.
"I'm sorry if—"
"Why did you call?"
The question was direct.
Karen looked down.
"I was concerned."
"About what?"
"I don't know."
Marcus waited.
Karen swallowed.
"There were a lot of people."
"There were fourteen."
She looked up.
"How do you know?"
"It's my family."
Silence.
Marcus continued.
"There were fourteen people in my backyard. My wife, my children, my brother, my cousin, two friends from work, and their families."
Karen's face became pale.
"I didn't know."
"You didn't ask."
She had no answer.
Marcus's voice remained calm.
"That's the part I can't understand."
Karen looked toward the sidewalk.
"I didn't mean for—"
"You called the police."
"I know."
"You told them we were suspicious."
"I was afraid."
Marcus nodded.
"Of what?"
Karen opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Marcus waited.
Finally, she whispered:
"I don't know."
Marcus looked at her for several seconds.
Then he said something she would remember for a long time.
"That's exactly the problem."
He turned and walked away.
Karen closed the door.
For the first time since moving into Willow Creek Drive, she wondered whether the problem had never been the neighborhood.
Maybe the problem had followed her.
That evening, Marcus found Jordan sitting alone in his bedroom.
The boy was staring at the floor.
Marcus knocked softly.
"Can I come in?"
Jordan nodded.
Marcus sat beside him.
"You okay?"
Jordan shrugged.
"Did we do something wrong?"
Marcus frowned.
"No."
"Then why did the police come?"
"Someone made a report."
"About us?"
"About the gathering."