Bedbugs

bring up some pictures. As Andrea might say, you will plotz.”

He gave the Yiddish word a thick, comical Andrea-style growl, and Susan smiled. “And when did Howard pass away?”

The pleasant grin slipped from Louis’s face, and he looked down at the floor. “Four years ago. And may God rest his poor unfortunate soul.”

A deep silence welled up, and Louis turned back to scouring the floor. As Susan watched him, she felt a twinge of remorse for the way she had sized him up yesterday: though he was clearly no kind of professional handyman, he was forceful and competent as he went about his business in the small room. He focused his efforts on no specific spot, just blasted away at the whole floor with bleach and Pine-Sol, inch by inch, the shock-and-awe cleaning method.

After a few moments, Emma called out from the kitchen. “Mama?” she said. “All done.”

“OK, baby.” From the kitchen came the scrape of a chair leg and a gentle thud as Emma lowered herself to the floor. Susan smiled: she’s growing up so fast. Louis’s memories, his nostalgic attitude, had put her in a sentimental frame of mind. My little girl.

“Hey. Uh, Susan?” She turned and saw that Louis had shifted up onto his knees and was now hauling himself laboriously to his feet. He crossed his arms over his sizable stomach and stood with evident nervousness, not meeting her eye. “Something I need to say to you.”

“All right.”

“I wasn’t looking in your little girl’s room. That night. I need you to know that.”

“Yes,” she replied, taken aback. “You said.”

There was an adamance in this declaration, a pleading quality, as if Louis was sickened by the idea of anyone thinking even for a moment that he was the kind of person who would peep at a child. Susan believed him.

“But …”

“But?”

“I was standing out there. I like to keep an eye on Andrea. Just between you and me, Susan, I get a little … just a little worried about the old girl, sometimes.”

“Worried?”

Louis looked around, discomfort emanating like sweat, his big hands knotted together. “Yeah. Since Howard died, she hardly sleeps, you know, and that’s not right. She seems … oh, just sad, I guess. Tell you the truth, this house has always had an atmosphere to it. Something. Just a whole lot of sadness in the place since Howard died. So sometimes I peek in on old Andrea. Just keepin’ tabs. Figure I owe it to my friend.”

“Huh.” Susan wasn’t sure what she thought about this information. A brief, painful surge of memory coursed through her, of her mother, her mother’s death, the stupid funeral. They had tried to make her look, right in the casket, but for God’s sake …

“And, if you don’t mind my asking,” Susan said suddenly. “What was it Howard died of, exactly?”

“No, I don’t mind.” Louis heaved a big, body-shifting sigh, juggled the bucket of supplies from one hand to another. Now the room smelled thickly of cleaning fluids, of bleach and ammonia. “He was sick. Real sick. It came on sudden, because before that, I tell you straight up, this was the healthiest person you could ever meet. We played racquetball three times a week, and if I beat him once in forty years, I can’t say when it was.”

“Wow.” Susan was blatantly prying now, but she couldn’t help it. “What did he have?”

“I don’t exactly know. A disease. Something in his blood. He didn’t let it kill him, though. That was not Howard’s style.” Louis tilted his head to one side, his eyes glinting with the memory of his friend. “He shot himself, you see? Did himself in before the disease could do it first. Shot himself right in the head.”

In the front hall, Emma eyed Louis warily, but he crouched down, tugging up the cuffs of his jeans, and grinned at her. “Hey, little sister, can I tell you a secret? I got a granddaughter just your age, and you want to know her name? Her name is Amethyst.”

Emma’s eyes widened, and she nodded, as if, yes, she had known that. “And guess what?” she asked, leaning confidentially toward Louis. “That’s a kind of jewel.”

“No kidding!” He pretended astonishment, and Emma nodded rapidly, beaming. “It is! It’s a jewel. And it’s purple.”

As Louis stood up, a faint but clear ping filled the room.

“Ping!” Emma yelped merrily in reply.

“That’s—” Susan began, but Louis held up one hand, palm up, listening. “Hold on.”

It went again. Ping.

And then, a moment later, came a ghostly, deflating moan, raspy, long and low. It was an ugly, uncanny noise, all the more so for being so indistinct — barely audible, really, and originating, or so it felt, from no particular place. Louis narrowed his eyes, took a halting step in no particular direction, then stopped. Susan reached for Emma and grasped her hand. She held her breath, waiting for the noises to come again, felt her whole body grow thick with tension and unease.

A second passed, then another. Silence.

And then her iPhone rang, ripping through the silence, and Susan screamed.

8

“Marni,” said Susan into the phone. “Crap, you scared me.”

“Why? What?”

“Mama?” said Emma. “What’s crap?”

“Nothing, love. Marni, what’s up?” Susan glanced at the clock on the cable box: 8:17. Marni was supposed to be walking through the door in thirteen minutes. Louis gave a cheerful salute and mouthed “so long.” Susan held up a finger for him to wait—the pinging noise, what about—but it was too late.

“Listen,” Marni said. “I am really sorry about this … ”

Speaking in a voice so exaggeratedly throaty and congested that Susan immediately suspected playacting, Marni explained that she’d felt ill last night, hoped it would fade by this morning, but woken just as bad. Of course she would come in anyway, knowing how much Susan had to do, but the last thing she wanted was for Emma to catch anything from her.

“Sure, sure,” said Susan, only half listening to Marni’s elaborate apologies. “All right, then. Feel better.”

She hung up, took a deep breath, and called out, “Guess what, Emma? Looks like it’s an all-day mama day!”

“Really? Yay!”

Emma bounced up the stairs to her bedroom to get dressed while Susan chastised herself for feeling irritated. After all, it’d been ages since she’d spent a whole day with her spirited, funny little daughter, just the two of them. Come on, she told herself, turning her back on her studio and heading up the stairs. We’ll have a blast.

While Emma rifled through her drawers, loudly considering different possible outfits, Susan waited on the landing between the bedrooms and examined the floorboards.

The gap, that little crack … was it widening? She hadn’t measured, of course, and it was still an infinitesimal separation, but she felt sure it was slightly bigger. The wood was groaning, separating, or whatever it was that wood did. I’ll get Louis back up here, Susan thought. Maybe he can take care of it.

According to 1010 WINS, the morning would be rain streaked but the afternoon clear, so Susan decided she and Emma would start their day at the small branch library in Cadman Plaza before lunch and then head to Pierrepont Playground after nap. On the way to the library, Susan left a message for Alex, letting him know that Marni had bailed, so if there was any way he could get home earlier than usual, she’d appreciate the relief. An hour passed, and then two, as Susan and Emma read picture books and put Dora the Explorer through her paces on the ancient desktop computer in the children’s section. Susan became more and more irritated with Alex’s failure to