His overcoat swung around his legs as he sidestepped a puddle with the agility of a young man, though he no longer was, not like he’d been. Not like she remembered. He wasn’t yet gray and his hair was still thick, but the lines were deeper around his eyes, the half-moons beneath them darker, like he didn’t rest well. Or maybe that too was just the world. The times they were living in were not happy ones, or maybe such days had never existed. Not collectively. She knew there were pockets of peace and calm, of laughter and ease, but no one she knew lived in those alcoves. She had . . . once. Then Michael Malone had looked down into her eyes and told her the truth that had changed her life.
She hadn’t blamed him, even then. In fact, before they’d parted, she had honestly loved him. It was a childish devotion, true, but deeply felt. Seeing him now, with adult eyes, she recognized that he was a rather sinister-looking character and not a hero type at all.
He was lean in the way a cat was lean, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, with a back that was longer than his legs and light feet that always seemed to know where to step.
He was also somber to the point of gloom. He was grim. She could think of no word that described him better. Oh, not in the way death was grim. She knew that darkness. Malone’s darkness reminded her of deep waters and long nights. She suspected his darkness was loneliness, and it echoed in her own breast.
When she was a child, he had seemed almost towering. Solid and safe. Now he was merely a man, a shade too thin and a bit too old, at least . . . for her.
He loped for the rear of the house, his decision clearly influenced by the sudden crack of thunder and the rain that followed. With just a few steps, he was completely out of view. She listened for him and moments later heard the back door open and close—just a snick and a whine—and the faint tread of wet shoes on wood floors.
She would be wise to steer clear of him as much as possible, the voice that sounded like Zuzana said from her head.
But she feared she would not.
She feared she could not.
She already knew him too well.
6
They ate dinner in awkward silence, just as they’d done every night for the last month. Malone hardly raised his eyes from his plate. Dani suspected that was her fault, though maybe not. Her two aunts had lost the art of subtlety in their old age. They watched Malone with worried gazes and pinned him in baleful stares. She wouldn’t blame him if he demanded a tray in his room, but he didn’t. He joined them each night and ate with polite gusto, and he spoke only when he was questioned directly.
He always helped them clear the dishes away, despite their insistence that he go. He said he was used to cleaning up after himself and didn’t like being waited on.
“Your wife didn’t fuss over you, Mr. Malone?” Lenka asked.
“No. She didn’t.”
“And what about your mother? Surely she doted on you.”
“My mother died when I was twelve, and I haven’t had a woman fuss over me since.”
It was the most personal information he’d offered yet, and Lenka looked at him sadly and clucked her tongue. “Poor tyke.”
“I am forty years old, Miss Kos. I have not been a tyke for some time.”
“We listen to Dick Tracy most nights if you’d like to join us around the radio,” Dani invited. “Or perhaps you have your own favorite programs. You’re welcome to listen to them here.”
He hesitated, like he was considering it, but then shook his head. Lenka’s shoulders sagged in disappointment, but Zuzana seemed relieved.
“I have work to do. So I’ll say good night,” he said, characteristically polite, characteristically guarded. But Malone had barely made it to the bottom of the stairs when the lights began to flicker. Lenka mumbled and crossed herself. Dani was tempted to do the same but instead rushed to gather the lanterns in case they lost power. Zuzana griped, trying to tune into her program, determined not to miss it, storm or no storm, and was met with static and nothing more.
“The radio towers are getting battered just like we are,” Lenka explained, as if Zuzana wasn’t well aware of the reason the radio wasn’t working. Then the lights flickered and didn’t come back on, and Lenka’s moans and Zuzana’s grumbling rose in volume. Dani heard Malone climbing back up the stairs.
He set about making a fire in the sitting room and even remained with them, keeping it stoked and hot, listening to them chatter over hems and darts and seams. Maybe the cold darkness of his room was the reason he stayed, but his presence was a welcome addition.
Lenka needed more light than the lanterns provided. She struggled in full light and glasses, so her ability to work in the current circumstances was limited. Zuzana wasn’t nearly as visually impaired as Lenka and sat adjusting a pattern for their spring line.
Dani had a stack of piecework she needed to get through, mending mostly. Buttons and tears and holes to be patched. They didn’t turn work away, even though it paid little and took precious time. Eventually, Dani would be doing it all alone. Her aunts would not live forever. When that day came, she would have to decide where to put her time and attention, and maybe then she wouldn’t take on the patching and stitching of clothes that were hardly worth saving.
Malone sat near the fire, occasionally poking at the logs. He seemed content enough to listen to them chat as they worked, but Dani guessed he was simply reluctant to make another fire—or be cold—in his room.
“Stop slouching, Daniela,” Zuzana said. “You have a spectacular figure, but no one would know, the way you hunch over.”
Dani straightened her back and rolled her shoulders but didn’t raise her eyes from her task. Zuzana said the same thing about once a day.
“Not one bit of you is not perfectly lovely. You look so much like Aneta. And Vera too when she was young,” Lenka interjected, trying to soften Zuzana’s criticism.
Dani darted a glance at Zuzana. Her blue eyes had begun to water, and she lifted a shaking hand, dabbing at them with the handkerchief she kept tucked in her blouse.
Daniela didn’t argue with the claims of her loveliness or take offense at the nagging. It would only upset her aunt. Zuzana had not recovered from Vera’s death. Daniela feared she never would. She would simply miss her terribly until they were reunited again.
“Tell us one of your stories, Daniela,” Lenka said, yawning like she needed the story to stay upright. She was slouching too.
“Not tonight, Lenka,” Dani said.
“I thought you said Mr. Malone knew all about you, Daniela,” Zuzana commented dryly.