It’s not as easy as it seems to make an appointment with a new primary care doctor.

I called half a dozen practices in the area, and none of them said they were taking new patients. Honestly, I would have given up except Enzo kept asking me every night before we went to bed if I made that appointment yet. Finally, on my seventh try, I booked an appointment with Dr. Sudermann, but I had to wait three weeks to get in.

But here I am, wearing one of those gowns that opens in the back as I sit on the examining table, waiting for Dr. Sudermann to enter the room. I have already had my blood pressure taken, and the nurse made a surprised sound when she saw the number, which didn’t make me feel great about the whole thing. So now I’m sitting here nervously waiting, and there’s this breeze from the vent that is hitting me exactly where my gown opens up in the back.

After what feels like an hour of waiting, Dr. Sudermann knocks once, then enters the room. I saw a picture of Amanda Sudermann online when I booked the appointment, but I was not fully prepared for how young she would look. If someone told me she was still in college, I would believe it. Thankfully, she at least looks older than Ada does. But not by much.

Still, she has a confident air about her. And presumably, she finished medical school and residency, so she’s got to be at least thirty? Unless she’s one of those child prodigies you hear about. But she has a sweet

face, and that in itself is comforting. I can’t imagine this woman giving me really bad news.

“Mrs. Accardi?” she says. I nod.

“I’m Dr. Sudermann,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

I nod again. Maybe I can get through this appointment without saying a single word.

“I hear you have some concerns about your blood pressure,” she continues.

“I had it checked at the hospital where I work,” I say. “They told me it was a little high.”

“It’s very high.” She sits down on the stool next to the computer in the room, logging in to access my file. “I’d like to do an exam and some tests to see if there’s an underlying cause, but either way, I’d like to start you on a blood pressure medication today.”

“I’ve been under a lot of stress,” I say, hoping that could change her mind. “I recently moved, I have two young kids, and my job can be really stressful. If I weren’t under so much stress, my blood pressure would be fine.”

“Stress definitely contributes to high blood pressure,” she concedes. “Working on stress management is a great idea. A lot of my patients say that meditation has helped them.”

I tried meditation once and found it impossible. How are you supposed to just sit there without thinking for five entire minutes? That’s like not breathing for five minutes. But I don’t say that.

“But either way,” she says, “you need to start medication for your blood pressure. It’s way too high.”

Great.

Dr. Sudermann goes ahead with her exam, and the whole time, I’m seething with resentment. I’m not that old. I shouldn’t be taking medication for my blood pressure. That’s something my father did when I was a teenager, and he was old then. I am well, at least five years younger than he was. I think.

I leave the office, promising to pick up the prescription at the pharmacy on my way home, and she also puts in orders for blood tests, a mammogram, and something called a renal ultrasound. All this because

my blood pressure is a little high. Okay, very high. But Enzo will be upset if I don’t do everything she tells me to do. (He, incidentally, got in to see a doctor a few days ago, and he has absolutely no medical problems whatsoever. He is a perfect specimen of good health.)

When I get back to the house, I notice Jonathan Lowell sitting out on the front porch of 12 Locust. They have a swing mounted there, and he is rocking slowly on it, looking down at his phone. When he sees me get out of my car, he raises a hand in greeting.

“Millie!” he calls out. “Do you have a minute?”

Not really. I don’t feel like having a conversation with my neighbor, but I also don’t want to be rude, especially since Jonathan always seems extremely pleasant. I hope whatever he wants to speak to me about will be quick. I’m already feeling extremely stressed out since it took almost an hour for the pharmacy to get my medication ready when I stopped in on the way home.

Jonathan hops off his front porch and sprints across our respective lawns to talk to me. Enzo would hate him walking over the grass, but I’m not about to give him a hard time.

“How are you doing, Millie?” he asks me. “Oh, fine,” I lie.

He flashes me an apologetic smile. “Listen, we have enjoyed having Nico over helping out these last few weeks, but ”

Oh no, now what?

“Yesterday, he was putting some dishes away for us,” Jonathan says, “and he dropped one of the plates on the floor. It wasn’t a big deal, but he just left it there. He didn’t tell anyone.”

“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth. I’m simultaneously surprised and not at all surprised. “I’m so sorry.”

“Anyway.” Jonathan runs a hand through his thinning light brown hair. “We’re all set with him doing chores around our house to pay off the window. I think it’s better if he stops coming.”

“Right. Sorry. If I owe you anything ”

I hope to God he doesn’t tell me I owe them money. Even though Enzo is getting extra business thanks to Suzette, we are still on a very tight budget.

“It’s fine,” Jonathan says. “Really.”

I look over Jonathan’s shoulder at the house behind him. I see movement from one of the front windows, and I catch a flash of butterscotch hair. It’s Suzette. And she’s observing our interaction, for some reason.

Does she not trust me with her husband?

It occurs to me that this is my chance to give her a taste of her own medicine. She’s been flirting with Enzo since we got here. How would she like it if I do the same with her husband? And while I’m not attracted to Jonathan, there’s nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting, right?

I take a step closer to Jonathan. I tuck a strand of my dark blond hair behind my ear and offer him what I hope is a come-hither smile. It’s been a while since I’ve flirted—I’m a bit out of practice.

“I really appreciate that.” I slide my hand onto Jonathan’s slim shoulder. I don’t squeeze it or do anything suggestive, but I’m hoping it looks that way from the window where Suzette is watching. “You guys have just been wonderful.”

“Uh, thanks.” Jonathan flashes me an uncomfortable smile, and then he takes a step back from me, out of my reach. He takes a quick look over his shoulder, then glances back at me. “Anyway, you have a good day, Millie.”

And then he runs back into his house as fast as he can, slamming the door behind him.

Wow. That was a quick rejection. Slightly humiliating, if I’m being completely honest.

Jonathan didn’t even play along for a split second. The moment I touched him, he couldn’t get away from me quickly enough. And the first thing he did was check back to make sure Suzette didn’t see anything.

He knew she was watching him.

What is going on at 12 Locust Street? What does Suzette Lowell want from us? It feels like even though we have our shades down, she is always keeping an eye on us.