He mulled that over. It couldn’t hurt. Picking locks and snooping around wouldn’t tell him who’d been in the space in 1934, but Sybil might. “All right. But it might have to wait until Monday. I have to meet Eliot tomorrow afternoon. But I can go with you in the morning to the morgue. You are going tomorrow?”
She nodded. “But you don’t have to help me.”
“You help me, I help you.”
She smiled like it was Christmas Eve and she couldn’t wait for the morning. His heart flipped and sank simultaneously. He wasn’t going to be able to avoid Dani anymore. He didn’t want to avoid Dani. But he should. He knew he should.
“And can I please come with you when you pick the lock?” she pled.
“No.”
“Please, Michael?”
And that’s all it took for him to capitulate. Please, Michael. Please, Michael, and a pair of pleading, mismatched eyes framed in thick lashes and winged red-gold brows.
“All right, Dani. All right.”
14
He came to dinner that night and stayed to listen to the Cleveland Orchestra play Debussy, stretched out on the rug, feet crossed, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes closed. He fell asleep that way and didn’t awake, even when Zuzana flipped off the radio and Lenka sighed that it had been the best ever.
“He has made himself quite at home, hasn’t he?” Zuzana muttered, scowling at him.
“Shh, Zuzana,” Lenka hissed. “Let him be. I like looking at him.”
“Good grief, Lenka. What a thing to say,” Zuzana said, shaking her head.
“He has beautiful lips. Did you notice that, Daniela? And lovely teeth too when he decides to smile.”
“God save me,” Zuzana groaned.
“Well, it’s true, Zuzana,” Lenka argued. “And the truth is never unwelcome.”
“The truth is always unwelcome.” Zuzana snorted. “One would think you were born yesterday, sister. I’m going to bed. You two can gawk at the man, but I’d rather look at my eyelids.”
“Good night, Zu,” Lenka said, unbothered.
“Good night, Tetka,” Daniela added.
Lenka sat for a minute more, her hands in her lap, her eyes on Malone, the same soft smile on her lips that she’d worn while listening to the orchestra. “He likes you, Daniela,” she purred.
“Shh, Lenka. Shh,” Dani whispered, embarrassed but pleased.
“Did I not tell you there was a man for you?” Lenka said, not altering her voice at all.
“Aunt. Stop.”
“Do not be shy with him, darling. Sometimes we women must be very direct.”
“Zuzana clearly does not think so.”
“I know. Funny that. She is so direct in every other way. But Zu didn’t speak up when she should have. Now she lives with that regret.”
Dani knew this story, though she was not certain Lenka’s version was the truth. Perception was everything. Zuzana had never expressed regret.
“She was in love once with a man named Viktor,” Lenka continued. “A long time ago. I think Viktor loved her too. But she was coy. And cold. And he never knew how she felt.” She was silent for a moment, studying the past like it hovered in the corner of the room.
“Mr. Malone does not know how you feel, Daniela,” she warned.
“Yes he does,” Dani muttered.
Lenka’s brows rose and she blinked, surprised. “I doubt very much that’s true. I wasn’t certain, darling, and I know you very well. Sometimes you assume the world can see you as clearly as you see it. But you are a lovely mystery to most. Don’t be mysterious with Mr. Malone.” Lenka rose and stayed bent for a minute, letting her back catch up.
“Are you going to wake him?” she asked Dani.
“No. He will wake when he’s ready. He can’t be very comfortable there on the floor, so I doubt it will be long. Go on, now. I’ll finish up here and get the lights when I’m through.”
Lenka blew her a kiss from the ends of her fingertips and hobbled down the hallway to her room. Dani kept working, her eyes on the wide lace collar she was adding to the bodice of a client’s dress. But she was listening to Malone’s breaths.
Malone had been relaxed at dinner, more so than she’d ever seen him, as if he too had been burdened by the strain between them and felt the relief of reconciliation. But she was afraid if she went to bed, he would leave her behind and explore the apartment in Peterka’s upstairs without her.
She finished the blouse and set it aside. He had not moved, not even to shift his hands from beneath his head. His arms were going to fall asleep, and the night was cold and the floor hard.
A soft snore escaped his lips, signaling he was well and truly out.
She turned off two of the lamps nearest her but left the light glowing on the side table. She took a throw pillow from the sofa and made sure there were no stray pins or needles jabbed into it, a hazard when three seamstresses lived together, and crouched beside him, trying to decide whether she could ease the cushion beneath his head. He would sleep much more comfortably if she did.
Lifting his head with her right hand, she shoved the cushion under his head with her left. His arms, now free, unfurled at his sides, and she thought for sure he would wake. But he didn’t.
She went to her room and drew a blanket from the end of her bed and lay down beside him, not too close, but close enough that she could share the edge of her blanket with him. This way, if he woke up she would hear him, and he wouldn’t go without her.
He rolled away from her, burrowing down in her blanket and gathering it around him. She moved a little closer, just to stay under the covers. He rolled again, this time toward her, and her half of the blanket became his too. His eyes were closed and his breathing slow and deep or she might have thought he was playing possum. She didn’t think Malone capable of that kind of silliness.
She inched her pillow closer and tried to free enough of her blanket to just put it around her shoulders, but it brought her so close that she could count his eyelashes, and his exhalations tickled her lips. She lay beside him for several deep breaths, too out of her element to know what to do, or even if she was allowed to enjoy it.