seven o’clock, when I had better hear a good explanation for what you have done. And while I’m saying drastic things, I might as well tell you something else, though since you have been an adult I have tried not to give you any advice on your affairs of the heart-or whatever. Do
“For John? It would be embarrassing for
We looked at each other in the mirror with stormy eyes. Then I tried smiling at her. She tried smiling at me. The smiles were tiny, but they held.
“All right,” she said finally, in a more moderate voice. “We’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“It’s a date,” I agreed.
When we came back to the sun deck, the party had swung around to the bones found at the end of the street. Carey was saying the police had been to ask her if there was anything she remembered that might help to identify the bones as her husband’s. “I told them,” she was saying, “that that rascal had run off and left me, not been killed. For weeks after he didn’t come back, I thought he might walk back through that door with those diapers. You know,” she told Aubrey parenthetically, “he left to get diapers for the baby and never came back.” Aubrey nodded, perhaps to indicate understanding or perhaps because he’d already heard this bit of Lawrenceton folklore. “When the police found the car at the Amtrak station,” Carey continued, “I knew he’d just run off. He’s been dead to me ever since, but I definitely don’t believe those bones are his.” Macon put his arm around her. The mousy McMans were enthralled at this real-life drama. My mother stared at me in sudden consternation. I pretended I didn’t see it.
“So I told them he’d broken his leg once, the year before we got married, if that would tell them anything, and they thanked me and said they’d let me know. But after the first day he was gone, when I was so distraught; well, after the police told me they’d found his car, I didn’t worry about him anymore. I just felt mad.”
Carey had gotten upset, and was trying very hard not to let a tear roll down her cheeks. Marcia Rideout was staring at her, hoping her party was not going to be ruined by a guest weeping openly.
Torrance said soothingly, “Now, Carey, it’s not Mike, it’s some old tramp. That’s sad, but it’s nothing for us to worry about.” He stood, holding his drink, his sturdy body and calm voice somehow immensely reassuring.
Everyone seemed to relax a little. But then Marcia said, “But where’s the skull? On this evening’s television news they said there wasn’t a skull.” Her hand was shaking as she put the lid on a casserole. “Why wasn’t the head there?”
It was a tense moment. I couldn’t help clenching my drink tighter and looking down at the deck. My mother’s eyes were on me; I could feel her glare.
“It sounds macabre,” Aubrey said gently, “but perhaps a dog or some other animal carried off the skull. There’s no reason it couldn’t have been with the rest of the body for some time.”
“That’s true,” Macon said after a moment’s consideration.
The tension eased again. After a little more talk, my mother and John rose to leave. No one is immune to my mother’s graciousness; Marcia and Torrance were beaming by the time she made her progress out the front door, John right behind her basking in the glow. The McMans soon said they had to pay off their baby-sitter and take her home, since it was a school night. Carey Osland, too, said she had to relieve her sitter. “Though my daughter is beginning to think she can stay by herself,” she told us proudly. “But for now she definitely needs someone there, even when I’m just two houses away.”
“She’s an independent girl,” Macon said with a smile. He seemed quite taken with Carey’s daughter. “I’d only been around boys before, and girls are so different to raise. I hope I can do a better job helping Carey than I did raising my son.”
Since the Rideouts were childless, and so was I, and so was Aubrey, we had no response that would have made sense.
I thanked Marcia for the party, and complimented her and Torrance on the decorations and food.
“Well, I did barbecue the ribs,” Torrance admitted, running his hand over his already bristly chin, “but all the rest of the fixing is Marcia’s work.”
I told Marcia she should be a caterer, and she flushed with pleasure. She looked just like a department store mannequin with a little pink painted on the cheeks for realism, so pretty and so perfect.
“Every hair is in place,” I told Aubrey wonderingly as we walked over to his car parked in my driveway. “She wouldn’t ever let her hair do this,” and I sunk my hands into my own flyaway mop.
“That’s what I want to do,” Aubrey said promptly, and, stopping and facing me, he ran his hands through my hair. “It’s beautiful,” he said in an unministerly voice.
Woo-woo. The kiss that followed was long and thorough enough to remind me of exactly how long it had been since I had biblically known anyone. I could tell Aubrey felt the same.
We mutually disengaged. “I shouldn’t have done that,” Aubrey said. “It makes me…”
“Me, too,” I agreed, and he laughed, and the mood was broken. I was very glad I hadn’t worn the orange- and-white dress. Then his hands would have been on my bare back- I started to chatter to distract myself. We leaned against his car, talking about the party, my new stepfather’s flu, my quitting my job, his retreat for priests he’d be attending that Friday and Saturday at a nearby state park.
“Shall I follow you home?” he asked, as he slid into his car.
“I might spend the night here,” I said. I bent in and gave him a light kiss on the lips and a smile, and then he left.
I walked to the kitchen door and went in. The moon through the open kitchen curtains gave me plenty of light, so I went to the bedroom in darkness. The contrast of quiet and dark with the talk, talk, talk I’d done that day made me sleepier than a pill would have. I switched on the bathroom light briefly to brush my teeth and shuck my clothes. Then I pulled the rose pink nightgown over my head, switched off the bathroom light, and made my way to the bed in darkness. To the quiet hum of the air-conditioning and the occasional tiny mew from the kittens in the closet, I fell fast asleep.
TWELVE
I woke up. I knew where I was instantly-in Jane’s house. I swung my legs over the side of the bed automatically, preparing to trek to the bathroom. But I realized in a slow, middle-of-the-night way that I didn’t need to go.
The cats were quiet.
So why was I awake?
Then I heard movement somewhere else in the house, and saw a beam of light flash through the hall. Someone was in the house with me. I bit the insides of my mouth together to keep from screaming.
Jane’s clock-radio on the bedside table had a glowing face that illuminated the outline of the bedside phone. With fingers that were almost useless, I lifted the receiver, taking such care, such care… no noise. Thank God it was a push-button. From instinct I dialed the number I knew so well, the number that would bring help even faster than 911.
“Hello?” said a voice in my ear, groggy with sleep.
“Arthur,” I breathed. “Wake up.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Roe. I’m across the street in Jane’s house. There is someone in the house.”
“I’ll be there in a minute. Stay quiet. Hide.”
I hung up the phone so gently, so delicately, trying to control my hands, oh Lord, let me not make a sound.
I knew what had given me away, it was my downward glance when the skull was mentioned, at the party. Someone had been watching for just such a reaction.
I slid my glasses on while I was thinking. I had two options on hiding: under the bed or in the closet with the
