“That’s not the point, Mark,” Laura said, exhausted. “We’re filming them. Without asking.”
“She said, ‘It’s not the cameras, dear. It’s that we forgot how to just talk to each other.’” He paused. “Then she gave us zucchini bread.” Village girl bathing hidden cam
Instead, she saw her mother struggling.
They’d watch the mailman from work. They saw the neighbor’s golden retriever escape and retrieve him before Mrs. Gable even noticed he was gone. They caught the raccoon that had been tipping over their compost bin. Laura felt a deep, primal satisfaction in it. Seeing was knowing. Knowing was controlling. “That’s not the point, Mark,” Laura said, exhausted
“My husband went out to get the paper this morning,” Mrs. Gable said, her voice trembling, “and he noticed a little red light on that new camera of yours. He got a ladder. He can see the lens. And from that angle, Laura, it looks directly over the fence into our hot tub.” It’s that we forgot how to just talk to each other
Laura’s heart slammed against her ribs. She shook Mark awake. “Someone’s in the backyard.” They watched the figure pause at the sliding glass door, try the handle, then slip away into the shadows of the neighbor’s yard. Mark called the police. By the time they arrived, the figure was gone. But they had the footage.