I unfolded my arms, as if I could undo that observation.
“You have the same eyes and hair. Joanna often wore red.”
“I don’t.”
“She loved reds and pinks,” he continued. “Of course, everyone told her she should wear green or blue. She wore red defiantly.”
I smiled. “Then we share that — defiance.”
“You should try those colors, perhaps just a pretty pink or red scarf. She loved to wear scarves. She loved anything that floated.”
I was glad Mrs. Gill wasn’t around to hear the tone in his voice. “Are you my father?”
“God above! No.”
“It seemed a reasonable thing to ask.”
“Joanna wouldn’t tell me or anyone else who your father was. He lived on the West Coast, traveled for work, and spent a lot of time on the East Coast — I know that much. He was married and didn’t tell her, not until she got pregnant.”
“Then left her high and dry — nice of him.”
“She had options,” he replied.
“Why do you keep saying that?”
“I offered to marry her and accept you as my child.”
“Oh!”
I tried to imagine it, living with this man in a manse on the river, wearing designer clothes, carrying the most expensive phone, driving a car that people envied. . I thought about it and decided that, if the choice had been mine, I would have preferred Joanna to shack up with Mom in our Baltimore town house. “Okay, I see now. Joanna said no.”
“William said no!”
“But it was her choice, wasn’t it?”
“Precisely,” he said, not understanding what I meant.
It seemed to me that if my mother had been anything like me — if she had been the kind to wear red defiantly — she would not have let Uncle Will dictate that decision. Maybe Mr. Gill just couldn’t admit she had rejected him.
He talked as if he were still in love with her. Her rejection must have hurt him deeply and made him angry. Erika had just turned seventeen, meaning she was eleven months younger than I. My mother had said no, and Elliot Gill had married someone else soon after.
“If Joanna had married me, she would be alive today.”
I glanced up. “Excuse me?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “She wouldn’t have been living in that wretched house when the place was robbed.”
There was a long silence between us. How angry was he? I wondered. Aloud I asked, “What do you think Uncle Will wanted to tell me about my mother?”
“I have no idea. We weren’t on speaking terms.” His hands were tightly clasped. The tips of his fingers twitched, then he said in a gentler tone, “I suppose he wanted to tell you what she was like. . I would very much like to see you with your hair up. You should wear a scarf—”
“I don’t have any scarves.”
“I’ll buy you one.”
I’d heard enough and started sliding out of the booth. As I was standing up, a woman with Erika’s hair and eyes, and Erika’s unfriendly expression, walked toward us.
“Elliot,” she said, “we are waiting for you.”
“My love, this is Anna O’Neill.”
She ignored me. “Erika wants to open her gifts.”
“Of course.” He rose to his feet, gesturing for me to join them.
“I’ll be up in a minute,” I said, and headed toward the ladies’ room. Before I had gotten to its door, they disappeared, and I left the restaurant.
ON THE OTHER side of the bridge, Scarborough Road became a country road with no streetlamps. When leaving the restaurant, I hadn’t thought about the fact that walking home at 10:45 at night meant finding my way down an overgrown driveway without the aid of headlights. At the entrance to the drive, the moon silvered the edges of the high grass and weeds, making it bright enough to see. But when I reached the trees, their dense foliage suffocated the light, and the humidity and darkness closed in around me.
As I walked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was hidden in the trees, watching me.
I heard a rustling sound, like a person brushing against leaves, and I stopped, turning my head slightly. The sound had come from somewhere ahead of me and to the right.
Reluctant to go on, I looked over my shoulder, but I was already too far down the driveway — I couldn’t discern a clearing either behind or ahead of me. I took two more steps. Again I heard the sound, this time directly to the right.
Cats, I told myself. The cats are out hunting. Sweat trickled down my neck. I moved quickly, hoping to get past whatever it was.
Reaching the front door, I found it unlocked as usual. I hurried inside, closed the door, and leaned back against it.
Then it occurred to me: Someone else could have done the same — the house was no safer than the woods. I felt for the wall switch, flicked on the hall light, and glanced around.
“Is that you?” Aunt Iris called from upstairs.
I let out my breath in relief. “Yes. It’s Anna. I’m home from the party. Sorry I woke you up.”
“You didn’t.” She sounded as if she were standing directly above me, in the hall outside her bedroom. “I just got home myself.”
“Aunt Iris, would you mind if I locked the door tonight?”
“The front door? Not at all, as long as you keep the kitchen door open.”
“I meant all the doors.”
“No, don’t do that,” she called down. “I lost my key.”
“Well, how about if we lock the house just during the night?”
“No, I lost my key.”
I sighed. “Okay. Remind me to look for it tomorrow.”
“Five years ago,” she said.
I told myself that it didn’t really matter. It was impossible to make the house secure; the old screens and windows could be worked open by a child. I checked the charge on my cell phone, then climbed the steps to the second floor. I heard my aunt scurry into her bedroom and shut the door, as if afraid I’d catch a glimpse of her.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, reaching the hall.
“Yes,” she called from behind her door.
I walked toward her room. “Can I get you something before I go to bed?”
“No. No, I’m perfectly well.”
“May I open your door?”
“Please don’t.”
I hesitated.
“I just need a little rest,” she said.
I gave in. Everyone needs privacy. Besides, with no mirror left to break, she might launch a missile at me. “Okay.
Good night.”
When I reached my room, I turned on the fan, snatched up my nightshirt, and headed back down the hall to
