Chapter One

As Lydia waited her turn in the meandering line, she gazed around the café’s eclectic surroundings, pausing on a haphazard stack of newspapers piled near the worn counter. The Washington Post’s front-page headline was tragically all too familiar: “The Red Scarf Murderer Strikes Again, Claims High School Chemistry Teacher in Silver Spring.” The details were grim. The victim had been slain in his own home as he and his wife slept. She’d woken to the gruesome discovery of her husband’s lifeless body, his throat slit, and a red scarf tied around his neck.

Lydia’s spine tingled at the thought of waking up beside a corpse. She snatched the paper from the rack and thrust it toward her friend Jen who stood beside her.

“I hope they catch that guy soon,” Jen said. “This makes four murders, and no one has a clue how the victims are connected. It creeps the shit out of me, you know? A killer roaming around DC like he owns the place.” Her eyes darted around the bustling café. “He could be here right now.”

Lydia tucked the newspaper under her arm, casting a glance at the people around them. The guy standing behind them exuded an eerie vibe. He totally had a serial killer look about him. When he flashed a tight-lipped smile in her direction, the hairs on her arms stood on end. She quickly averted her gaze, exchanging a glance with Jen.

“According to what I read online,” Jen said, “the police can’t establish any link between the victims. That’s what makes it even more unnerving. Maybe this guy is picking targets at random.” She blew out a breath. “I might seriously consider getting a dog.”

“At least you don’t live alone,” Lydia said, brushing a strand of unruly hair from her face.

Jen placed a hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “Maybe it’s high time you and Carrie moved in together. You’ve been dating what? A year and a half now?”

Lydia buried both hands in the pockets of her jeans. “I’ve brought it up a few times. Carrie doesn’t think her apartment is big enough for two and she doesn’t want to move again until she’s ready to buy a house.”

Jen raised an eyebrow. “A house, huh?”

Lydia sighed. “Yeah, Carrie’s fixated on the idea that we’re almost thirty, and it’s time to adult. But truthfully, as much as the idea of a house sounds appealing, my bank account is nowhere near ready for that.”

Jen looked poised to ask another question, but it was their turn to order.

Lydia smiled at the barista and ordered a double espresso.

When the barista stepped away to prepare her beverage, Jen nudged Lydia’s arm. “Since when do you drink espresso?”

Lydia shrugged. “Carrie not-so-subtly implied that grown women don’t drink hot chocolate, not if they want to be taken seriously.”

Jen rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

They found a table toward the front of the café. Lydia hesitated before she sat down. “Oh, gosh,” she exclaimed, reaching for the copy of The Washington Post tucked under her arm. “I didn’t mean to take this. I’ve got to go pay for it. Be right back.”

On her way back to the counter, she narrowly avoided a collision with a man wielding a cup of coffee in both hands. “Watch it, honey,” he growled.

Rather than point out that it was in fact he who needed to watch where he was going, Lydia bit her tongue. No need wasting her breath on a rude stranger.

She returned to her table and delicately sipped her espresso before setting it back on the hockey puck-sized saucer.

“You know,” Jen said, “you grimace every time you lift that little cup to your lips.”

“I do not.”

“Uh-huh, you so do.” Jen leaned forward and whispered, “Why don’t you go up and get yourself a cup of hot chocolate. I promise I won’t tell Carrie.”

Lydia sneered at her and forced down a few more tiny sips of espresso.

Jen gave her a questioning look. “By the way, how are things with you and Carrie? You haven’t talked about her much lately.”

“Everything’s great, why wouldn’t it be?”

Jen placed her hand over Lydia’s. “I mean it, Lyd, are you happy?”

Lydia gave her a dismissive wave. But the truth was, things with Carrie hadn’t been that great lately. “Well, sometimes…”

“Sometimes what?”

“Sometimes, I wonder if maybe I’m more in love with the idea of Carrie than I am with her.” Lydia sucked in a breath. She couldn’t believe she’d admitted that. Sure, Jen had been her best friend since third grade, but still, she hadn’t intended to vocalize her concerns.

Jen’s bright blue eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Carrie checks all the boxes, and I generally enjoy spending time with her.” Lydia dabbed her lips with a paper napkin. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just me being silly. The last thing I want is to be single again. Can we forget I even mentioned it?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being single.”

Lydia laughed. “Yeah, right. Easy for you to say. You and Eric have been together since college.”

“I don’t want you to settle, that’s all.”

“I’m not settling,” Lydia assured her. “Carrie’s good for me. We do lots of cultural stuff, she motivates me to go to the gym, and she introduced me to this keto diet she’s been on—”

“Wait.” Jen held up her hand like a traffic cop and made a show of looking Lydia up and down. “You’re on a diet? I’d kill to have your body.”

“Spare me.” Lydia pinched her stomach. “I could definitely stand to lose a few pounds.”

Jen leaned forward. “Um, I hate to point out the obvious, but aren’t you sort of the pot calling the kettle black?”

“What do you mean?” Lydia feigned innocence, although she was keenly aware of the point Jen was making. As the advice columnist for Forté, a women’s magazine, Lydia often emphasized the importance of positive body image when responding to the letters and emails she received.

Jen rapped her finger on the table. “You know damn well what I mean. You should listen to your own advice.”

Lydia leaned back in her chair. “Fine, point taken.”

“Speaking of advice, have you heard anything more from Maudie Zeller at the Post?”

Lydia nodded. “Yep, I’m having lunch with her later this week.”

“Have you decided what you’ll do if she asks you to become the next Dear Birdie?” Jen asked, referring to the coveted advice column in the Post.

“No, not yet. You know, becoming the advice columnist for The Washington Post is like a dream job for me. Problem is, I’m not sure I’m ready. It would be a big step up, a much bigger audience, a fatter paycheck, but I’ve only got five years of experience under my belt.”

“What does Carrie think about the opportunity?”

“She’s all for it. Honestly, I think she mostly likes the idea of telling people I work for the Post. She considers Forté to be a second-rate publication.”

Jen gave her another eye roll. “Well, it’s no secret how I feel about it. If the woman who currently holds the job wants you to replace her when she retires and is trying to convince you it’s a good fit, then it’s probably a good fit.”

“I guess.”

“Come on, Lyd. You told me Maudie has been impressed with your work at Forté.”

Lydia blushed. It was true. Maudie had in fact said that, although Lydia still had a hard time believing it. She cracked her fingers and let out a long sigh. “I know I’ll regret it if I turn the position down. I may never get an opportunity like this again, but what if people hate me? And what if moving to The Washington Post is too big a leap?”

“I totally get that you’re anxious about it,” Jen said. “But it would kill me to see you pass up the opportunity.”

Lydia finished the last of her espresso. By now it was cold, and she winced as she swallowed the bitter black liquid. She laughed. “Okay, I’ll admit it. Espresso tastes like tree bark.”

Jen cackled. “It sure as shit does.”

“Maybe next time I’ll get a mochaccino or whatever it’s called. You know, half coffee, half hot chocolate.”

“That seems like a happy medium to me. And mochaccino sounds sophisticated, so I’m sure Carrie will approve.” Jen stood and pulled her jean jacket off the back of her chair. “I need to run, but let me know what you decide about the Post thing, okay?”

“Sure,” Lydia said, checking her watch. “Actually, I’ll walk out with you. If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late to the English Center.”

Jen patted her on the back. “It’s fantastic that you’re still volunteering there.”

“I wouldn’t give it up for anything. I absolutely adore teaching there. Tonight’s the first night back after summer break and I can’t wait to see everyone—all my favorite students and the other teachers.”

Once they stepped outside, Jen gave her a hug goodbye and whispered, “You’re a good egg, Lydia.”

Lydia stepped back and huffed out a laugh. “I’m a scrambled egg, that’s what I am.” Waving goodbye to her friend, she started up the hill toward the church that housed the Washington English Center.

Lydia tugged open the heavy wooden door to the church. Her sneakers squeaked on the gleaming linoleum floors as she wound her way to the section of the massive old building that housed the Washington English Center, the WEC. Because tonight marked the beginning of a new semester, a welcome reception was being held in the auditorium before everyone dispersed to their respective classrooms.

Lydia greeted a cluster of fellow volunteer teachers with warm hugs. A tap on her shoulder drew her attention to Miray, one of her returning students.

Miray gave Lydia a broad smile. “Hi, Teacher!”

“Well, hello, Miray,” Lydia said. “It’s nice to see you back this semester.”

“Please,” Miray said.

Lydia smiled. Although they’d gone over it many times, Miray still managed to mix up please and thank you.

WEC’s executive director, Gabrielle Alvarez, beckoned from inside the auditorium. “Welcome, everyone, please take your seats.”

Once everyone was assembled, and the idle chatter settled down, Gabrielle delivered a few opening remarks before introducing the evening’s keynote speaker to the stage. A petite woman with beautiful wide brown eyes bounded up the steps and slipped behind the podium.

A mixture of pride, admiration, and yearning gushed through Lydia. Although she’d had minimal interaction with the woman, a latent crush had taken root during their brief encounters in the halls of the school or in the WEC’s computer lab. Lydia pegged her to be somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties and had heard through the grapevine that she’d come to the US from Venezuela.

The woman tucked her long brown hair behind her ears, tapping the microphone as she scanned the crowd. “My name is Sofia and I’ve been a student here at the Washington English Center for three years.” Her infectious smile filled the room. “This semester I’m taking on a new role at the school. Instead of being a student, I will be a teacher.”

The room erupted in sustained applause with many rising to their feet.

Lydia couldn’t help but be in awe. Sofia’s incredible journey from a non-English speaker to teacher in a short span was miraculous. In prior semesters, Sofia had been a constant presence in the school’s small library, scribbling on a notepad or burying her nose in a book.

Sofia continued, sharing her personal transformation and the initial trepidation that almost derailed her journey. “Three years ago, I was so scared to walk in the front doors of this building. In fact, one day, I took the bus here but only got as far as the front walk before I left and went home. The second time I came, I made it as far as the front stoop and nearly bolted again. I probably would have if it hadn’t begun to rain cats and dogs.” She laughed and pointed to one of the teachers in the audience. “That’s an idiom he taught me.”

After a beat, Sofia said, “Part of the reason I was so terrified to come here is because no one thought I could do it. No one thought I could learn English, and I almost believed it myself.” She paused for a long moment. “If you are to succeed as a student, you have to be here for yourself, nobody else. And don’t listen to anyone who says you can’t do it. You can.”

Microphone in hand, Sofia walked to the far edge of the stage and peered out at the crowd. “Now that I can speak English, people see me for who I am—a smart, educated woman—not who they thought I was—illiterate and stupid.” She waved her hand toward the section where a large group of students sat. “You’ve taken the hardest step. You’re here today. I won’t lie. English is one of the toughest languages to master. Learning it will take time and can be frustrating.” The muscles in her arm tensed as she pumped a hand into the air. “But don’t worry, we’re all here to help you on this journey.”

Lydia pulled a tissue out of her bag and dabbed her eyes.

The teacher sitting beside her nudged Lydia’s arm. “Geez, I didn’t expect this assembly to be such a tearjerker.”

Lydia smiled, glancing at the amazing woman on the stage. “It’s stories like hers that make teaching here so rewarding.”