“It’s nothing,” I said to Gay. “She’s fine. Listen, I think that calling the police on Nancy is the wrong move.”
“Let me see what’s going on. Turn me around, L.J.,” Gay said, but I made no move to do so.
A waiter approached the girl, but this only made her more upset.
“Hey, behind me!” Gay yelled, sitting there in our booth, limp as a puppet. “Excuse me!”
“Gay, the waiter’s got it under control,” I said. “Gay! I’m talking to you!”
The waiter continued to speak to the girl, until she said, “Fine! Of course!” She threw some money on the table and then got up and headed toward the door. She was even taller than I’d thought, over six feet.
When she approached our booth, Gay said, “That’s a lovely bag, miss.”
She glanced at him but kept walking.
“I’d love to hear you sing sometime,” Gay called after her.
Once she was gone, Gay shifted his gaze to me. “Why didn’t you help me, L.J.?”
“I didn’t hear you. I was thinking about Nancy.”
“You should have turned me around,” said Gay. “She’s obviously in need of some kind of help.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, ashamed and eager for the incident to be over.
Gay sighed. “That’s all right, L.J.,” he said. But there was a sadness in his voice, a tiredness. He asked me to help him into his chair, which I did.
“Now, where were we?” he said as I unlocked the brake.
I tried to remember what I’d just told him about Nancy. My mind scrambled to come up with something, but I couldn’t bring myself to say one more word about her.
I glanced at Gay. He was watching me, his gaze sympathetic but also strangely appraising, almost judicious. I had the sinking feeling that this would be my last chance to tell him the truth about my family. I reached into my shirt, but just as my fingers closed around the earrings, the sun came out from behind a cloud and light poured in through the window, bringing Gay’s face into harsh relief—the pits, the knots and whorls of scar tissue—and my fears returned. The earrings felt warm in my fingers. I had them pinched all the way up at my shirt collar, dangling right there at the base of my neck. “I have an idea,” I said. “Let’s go up to the overpass and have a drink.”
Gay sucked air through his teeth. “I wish I could, L.J., but I should get some rest soon. I have time to talk a bit, though. Were you about to say something?”
“You’re heading to bed? It’s only six o’clock.”
“What I meant was that I have to practice my speaking a little, in my room. I should lecture the mirror for a bit. Unless there’s something else you want to tell me about?”
I was still holding the earrings. “No. I was all done.”
As we left the restaurant I took the earrings from around my neck and slipped them into the pouch on the side of his wheelchair. I don’t know what I hoped to accomplish. Maybe I thought he would find them and it would force the issue. Maybe I wanted to give him something, a gift to keep him my friend. “Gay, listen,” I said, but he was already pulling away from me and heading toward the elevators.
After he’d gone up to his room, I sat alone in the lobby for a long while. I watched people check in, check out. I know I might have made it seem that only strange people lived in this area of Florida, but it wasn’t so. There were plenty of plain men and women, children too, living and visiting. But detectives are very plain people, the plainest of all. You might imagine them hunching around in rumpled trench coats, their faces always surfacing through cigarette smoke, but they are dull almost to being invisible. They look like your mother with no makeup, or your uncle.
Gay started spending less and less time in and near Orlando; he left to speak at places farther away, in Velusia or Delans, and he wouldn’t come back for days at a time. More and more often, I’d return from the Home Wrecker and find his room locked, find it dark. My fear was that I’d return one afternoon and see it being vacuumed out, or even worse, rented to someone new. One evening, as I drove toward the Shores, I spied Gay up on the overpass with that girl, the one from the a capella troupe. He was beaming at her from his chair, smiling as widely as I’d ever seen him smile. I pulled to the side of the road and watched. Even from far away I could hear her singing. Her voice sounded beautiful and deep; so deep in fact that it seemed more like a low vibration than an actual voice, the kind of voice that moves beneath the other voices in a choir like a current on which everything else floats.
I began to have trouble concentrating on work. There was no joy in it. I changed my name to Mel Captiol, then changed it again, this time to something very close to my given name. One afternoon, just before closing, a massive girl came into the Home Wrecker. She wore a sleeveless dress and her arms had to be two, even three times the size of my legs. She had it
The girl marched around for a minute, sizing everything up, poking at this and that with her shoe—the coffee table in the living room, the refrigerator. I looked on from the doorway, excited. She carried her purse in a tight fist. She sank up to her shins in the balloon floor each time she took a step. The whole house shook with her, as though terrified. She was the one. I knew it. She was going to bring the place down. I could almost feel the heat coming off the back of her neck. The flowers on her dress were red on red.
Suddenly she flopped down on an inflated sofa, took a book out of her purse, and started to read. I was stunned with disappointment. There was nothing to do but stand there and watch as her eyes scanned the pages, her book propped on her chest, her crossed feet wagging from side to side.
When I got home, I went straight to Gay’s room, but he wasn’t there. I sat outside his door and waited for a long time before finally heading to my room. As soon as I entered, a detective gently shut the door behind me, just slid it closed with his loafer. There were five of them sitting calmly about, waiting. A woman with a cast on her foot had already gone through my clothes and stacked them neatly on the bed. Her blouse was the exact color of the walls. Another one had dragged the safe out of the closet and onto the balcony, where he was banging on its bottom with a wedge and hammer.
Normally at this point I would have fled, maybe fought, but I felt so defeated, so run-down. One of them was sitting on the air conditioner, his T-shirt tucked into his bathing suit. “You can run if you want,” this one said. “We’ll just find you again.”
“Your family’s worried about you,” said the woman, yawning.
“They want the best for you,” said another.
“No, they don’t,” I started to say, but my tongue felt big. The bitter taste filled my mouth. “I’ll give you money if you leave,” I said, though I’d tried this with them before.
“We don’t want money. We want you,” a familiar voice said from the balcony. Then it called me by my real name. Melanie came in through the curtains. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, the same way she’d worn it when we were kids. She had on jeans and sneakers and a sweater with a row of crowns across the front. For a moment I thought she’d come to save me.
“It’s been so long. I missed you,” she said, and gave me a hug. Her hair smelled both lemony and strangely medicinal. When she pulled away, she kept her hands on my arms. “How have you been?”
“I want to stay here,” I said.
“Please don’t,” she said, smiling at me, her hands still gripping my arms.
“I don’t want to go back,” I said.
“Well, I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter, okay?” she said. “You know you can’t just gallivant around forever. Don’t you ever think about how it reflects on Mom and Dad and the rest of us? Believe me, you’re lucky we found you before you did anything to attract bad attention. I know. You don’t want to see what happens to someone from a family like ours when they screw up.”
“Melanie, I won’t embarrass anyone. I just want to—”
“No. All right?” she said, her voice growing strained. “I’m sorry. I am. But I’m too tired to start arguing. I want to get back home.” There was something a little anxious about the way she said all this, almost frantic. “Now,
