Chapter 8
THREE days after unwittingly having s*x with a married man in his office and two back-to-back remote physical therapy appointments on the other side of town, the 61C bus dropped Layla off on Murray Avenue. She lived about a fifteen-minute walk away from the bus stop and she usually relished the time it took her to get home. Squirrel Hill was a clean and peaceful neighborhood, populated mostly with Orthodox Jewish families and students from two nearby colleges. She felt safe there, even when walking home in the dark.
But that night the eight-block walk was a miserable slog. The summer night air felt hot and sticky on her skin, and she couldn’t help but think of the last time she had been hot and sticky, in Nathan Sinclair’s office with her back pressed up to one of his cold wind
