The first recording began with Linda entering the living room and stepping into Karen’s slippers.
Mark stood motionless beside the kitchen counter, still holding his phone while his mother’s frightened breathing came through the speaker.
On-screen, Linda closed the front door, entered the alarm code, and placed her purse exactly where Karen usually left hers.
She moved through the house without hesitation.
She knew which cabinet held the glasses, which refrigerator drawer contained the cheese, and which remote controlled the television.
She did not look like a woman checking on an emergency.
She looked at home.
“Turn it off,” Linda said through the phone.
Karen ignored her.
The next section showed Linda heating the salmon Karen had prepared for dinner.
She ate it on the couch while watching television, then wiped her fingers on Karen’s throw blanket.
Mark lowered himself onto a kitchen chair.
“How many times?” he asked.
Karen opened the folder of saved recordings.
Nine dates appeared beneath the camera labels.
“Nine that I recorded,” she said.
“I don’t know how many happened before the cameras were installed.”
“I was checking the house,” Linda insisted.
“You two are gone all day.
Someone has to make sure everything is safe.”
Karen selected the pool camera.
Linda appeared carrying one of Karen’s towels and wearing a swimsuit beneath Karen’s robe.
She tested the water with one foot, dropped the robe onto a chair, and slipped into the pool.
For the next forty minutes, she floated beneath the afternoon sun, drank from one of their glasses, and took photographs of herself beside the water.
Nothing in her body language suggested duty or concern.
When she finished swimming, she left the wet towel crumpled near the patio door.
Mark rubbed both hands over his face.
“Mom, you told me you hated swimming alone.”
Linda did not answer that.
Instead, she attacked Karen.
“She put cameras in your home without telling you.
Have you thought about that? She has been spying on both of us.”
Karen looked at Mark.
The accusation landed because it contained one uncomfortable truth: she had not told him about the cameras.
“I installed them after you said I was stressed,” Karen said.
“I needed to know whether someone was entering our home or whether I really was imagining it.”
Mark stared at the frozen image of his mother beside their pool.
“You could have told me.”
“I tried to tell you someone was coming inside.
You told me I needed a break.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
Karen selected the bedroom recording.
Linda came through the bedroom door wearing Karen’s robe.
She opened the closet, ran her fingers over several dresses, sprayed perfume onto one wrist, and examined herself in the mirror.
Then she pulled back the comforter.
Mark watched his mother climb into the bed he shared with his wife.
Linda adjusted Karen’s pillow beneath her head, pulled the blanket to her chin, and slept for nearly an hour.
The kitchen seemed to shrink around him.
“Why would you do that?” he asked.
Linda’s voice became wounded.
“I was tired.
I raised you by myself, Mark.
I worked double shifts.
I sacrificed everything for you.
Now I rest in your house once or twice and suddenly I’m a criminal.”
“Nine times,” Karen said.
“Stop counting!”
