The six houses rested on a hill, overlooking two ponds, the newest home made entirely, inside and out, of glass. The woman inside lived a transparent life: gathering the delivered ingredients each night for overgrown salads scattered with pistachios and cashews, scurrying from room to room, rearranging, scampering, squeegeeing the windows, out damn spot, out. The only curtains covered the shower and bathroom. Her closet – a pile of flats, boots, bags, blouses, and jeans – bespoke a disordered mind, or so the talk went.
But it was the glass itself that brought the neighbors to her door. The glass
