“Frank,” I asked, “have you ever watched the presses run?”
He shook his head. I took his hand and led him into the basement.
Danny Coburn, a pressman who used to work days, had recently moved to the night shift. He saw us and brought over earmuffs that were hearing protectors. I shouted an introduction, and Frank and I donned the heavily padded headsets.
They were running full bore at that point. I watched Frank’s fascination with the overhead wires and rollers, the presses themselves, the movement of paper as it unspooled from giant rolls and was printed and cut and divided and folded.
We walked through a maze of small offices to look above us and see finished sections flying toward machines that would bundle them for distribution to the delivery trucks.
I realized after a moment that Frank had guided me out of the sight of the security cameras. He cornered me against a wall, an absolutely wicked grin on his face. The vibration from the presses was so strong here, I felt it all the way through my body.
He pulled one earmuff a little away and said, “I never thought I’d meet a girl who looked sexy in earmuffs.”
“Frank, I don’t think-”
He kissed me, earmuffs and all.
After a few minutes of that, I lifted his earmuff and said, “I am so tempted to give the crew down here something to tease me about forever, and to try to forget the dogs, and Cody, and all of the world.”
He laughed. “Come on, I’ll take you home. I guess I’ll just have to take you into the garage and turn the washing machine on to the spin cycle.”
“Deal. I think I even have a pair of earmuffs somewhere.”
59
ON TUESDAY MORNING, I WAS SURPRISED TO GET A CALL FROM HELEN Swan.
“Irene, I need your help.”
“Whatever I can do, Helen.”
“I need someone to take me over to Lillian’s as soon as possible.”
“All right, I think I can manage that.” I told her I’d be right over.
The morning was chilly and overcast, the kind of dull weather that saves itself for the weekend, when it can really make you miserable. Helen was bundled into a coat that probably fit her once, but she seemed lost in it now. She complained that the Kelly women’s cars were either too high or too low as I helped her into the Jeep.
She seemed extremely agitated, but after an attempt to get her to tell me what was on her mind was met with a polite but firm rebuff, I stayed quiet.
She noticed and said, “Tell me about your search through the storage unit. Anything interesting?”
“A great deal.” I told her about going through O’Connor’s early diaries, but given her mood, decided not to tell her of his first impressions of her. Instead I generally described some of the things I had found so far. I wasn’t entirely sure she was listening to me. We spent the last few minutes of the ride in silence.
When we reached Lillian’s house and pulled into the big circular drive, she said, “This won’t take long.” Then she paused and said, “I’ve been rude, and you’ve been so kind. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
“That’s my girl!” she said.
“Need help getting out?”
“No,” she said, and jumped down, scaring the hell out of me.
I saw her walk up to the house-apparently uninjured-and knock on the door. I waited.
She rang the bell. I waited.
She knocked again. I got out of the car.
“Was Lillian expecting you?” I asked.
“Of course she was.” She turned toward the house and shouted, “That’s why she’s not answering the damned door!”
“Did you call her?”
“She has that obnoxious thingamajig that allows a person to screen calls.”
“An answering machine?”
“No! I’ve got an answering machine. She’s got-oh, what do they call it?”
“Caller ID?”
“Yes! That’s it! Incredibly rude.”
“Are you telling me she got a call from you and refused to answer when she saw your number?”
“Yes.”
“And you came over here, anyway.”
“If you have somewhere else to be, you needn’t wait for me. I’ll stay here until she”-turning toward the house again-“opens the damned door!”
I took my cell phone out of my purse. “What’s Lillian’s phone number?”
Her eyes lit up in appreciation. She gave me the number.
Lillian answered on the second ring.
“Hello, Irene.”
“Lillian, I’m on your front porch. Helen’s here, too. Please don’t make her stand out here. I’m afraid she’ll get a chill, and even if that doesn’t kill her, the guilt will kill me.”
“That stubborn old woman!”
“Please, Lillian.”
“All right, all right. Might as well get this over and done with.”
A pale, thin housekeeper, who must have been just on the other side of the door-the damned door, Helen would have said-opened it and asked us to come in.
“I miss Hastings,” Helen murmured, not as softly as she probably thought she did.
“Now, Swanie, why on earth have you dragged Irene into this?” Lillian asked as she came forward to meet us.
“Because she and Lydia are the closest thing I have to daughters these days,” Helen said sharply. “Granddaughters, I suppose I should say. The point is, I’m old as hell and I want to make sure that if I croak in my sleep, someone else will know full well what you are up to.”
Lillian looked as if she had been slapped.
“Yes,” Helen said. “Unlike some people I know-”
“That’s enough!” Lillian snapped.
They stood glaring at each other.
I glanced toward the housekeeper, whose wide blue eyes indicated she was a fascinated audience.
I ventured onto the battlefield with, “Maybe we could move into a room where we could discuss this calmly and privately.”
They both fixed their glares on me, seemed to recognize that I was not the enemy-yet, anyway-and thawed a bit. Lillian glanced at the housekeeper. “Yes. Let’s go into the library.”
“Do you need me to bring anything, ma’am?” the housekeeper asked hopefully. She had an Eastern European accent that I couldn’t quite place.
“No, thank you, Bella,” Lillian replied.
“I’ll just clear the-”
“Let that wait, please,” Lillian said. “Thank you. That’s all for now.”
In the library, a fire was already burning in the hearth, a coffee urn had been brought in, and several china cups-three of which had been used- rested on saucers on a side table.
“Oh, Lillian, how could you?” Helen said in despair. “You’ve already done it, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Lillian said.
