Parking the truck at the bottom of the hill he approached the house on foot. He did not want her to hear him coming, didn't want her to have time to realize what was about to happen. He made his way slowly up the steep hill, breathing in the fresh scent of newly mown grass as he climbed. He congratulated himself on his choice, the house was set back well from the road, no one would see him enter. His truck parked at the bottom of the drive might warrant suspicion, but being in construction, he was able to leave a few tools scattered about. Anyone passing would not give a second look at a workingman's truck. He felt that he had prepared well for this, had thought it out, and now that the plan was rolling, he felt very sure of success.
He went directly to the back door of the house, carefully avoiding windows as he crept along. He reached out and tried the knob, and finding the door unlocked, let himself in. Quickly he scanned the room he had entered, it was a combination entrance-way/laundry- room, the floor was littered with the shoes of children, as well as an empty blue plastic laundry basket. Behind the doors to his right he heard a dryer laboring to perform a task the sun should be doing. He had passed her car in the drive, and the dryer confirmed that she was at home, alone till her children returned from school.
He stood silently in the makeshift foyer listening for sounds of her, straining to determine where in the house she was. He finally decided, based on the quiet music emanating from the room at the far end of the hall, that she was in the bedroom. This was not a good thing, he had hoped to be able to surprise her in the kitchen, or even the living room, now he had to walk down the long hall to the bedroom, leaving him only the children's room to hide if she decided to come out of the bedroom. He slipped through the kitchen, his ears tuned, ready to dive behind the counter if she emerged. Another sound came to him, disturbing the music, soft clicks, the tapping of a keyboard. He smiled, not believing his luck. He knew as long as he could hear the keys being used, he was safe, and he would not be detected. He knew the layout of the home, knew that the computer was in a far corner of the bedroom and she would have her back to the door.
He boldly strode down the hall; listening to the tap, tap of the keyboard. Behind him a buzzer went off, startling him. He looked left, then right, searching for a place to hide. The buzzer signaled the end of the drying cycle, and her being a good housewife, would be soon emerging to remove and fold the clothes. He slipped into the room on the right, one with bunk beds along one wall, and children's toys strewn about the floor. He toed a model car with a missing wheel, suddenly lost in the reverie of youth. The memories flooded his mind, almost causing him to forget his purpose here today. The second buzz from the dryer brought him back, and he stepped against the wall by the door, effectively hiding himself from anyone coming down the hall. He listened, straining to hear her rise from the computer.
All he heard was the sound of typing; even the music had stopped. He wasn't sure what to do, the indecision of the moment causing small beads of sweat to form on his forehead. He chastised himself for the lapse, and moved on. If she hadn't risen by now to do her chore, she was not going to for some time. He exited the children's room, and moved forward the events he had been planning for weeks. Entering the bedroom, he looked around; the bed was made up, the signs of laundry day evident by the neat piles of freshly folded clothing. He glanced across the room at the woman seated in front of a computer monitor, tapping away at the keys, while the clothes wrinkled in the electric monstrosity at the far end of the house. She must have sensed him there, for as he crossed the room, she turned her head. As she was turning, he took notice of her blonde curls, lying lightly on the back of her neck. He loved her hair, couldn't wait to get a handful.
