She skipped dinner again, eating a cup of cherry gelatin in her room instead.
What she really had a taste for was a meal of some very fresh eggs, but there was nothing of the sort to be had around Eastbridge.
She had no roommate, she had finally gathered. The bed next to hers was empty and perfectly made. Which meant either they had never filled that bed when the world lost Marilyn Higgenbotham, or they had filled the bed with someone who had then also died.
It felt discouraging either way, she decided.
She picked up the phone, called directory assistance, and asked for a listing for Stacey Little in Lake View.
She was prepared with a pencil to write down the number she was given.
She dialed it, and waited while it rang, nursing a surprising load of fear. It jangled in her belly like something sharp and electric.
Please let the boy answer, she thought. Or his brother. Please don’t let Stacey answer.
Stacey had come to represent, to Marilyn, a sort of “guard at the gate” for her little brother’s life. More to the point, Marilyn had the distinct impression that the young woman was not her biggest fan.
Stacey answered.
“Hello?” Stacey asked, as though it were an actual question.
“It’s Marilyn,” Marilyn said quietly.
A long, stony silence fell. Marilyn wanted to fill it, but she couldn’t imagine with what.
“Where are you?” Stacey asked.
“That’s kind of a long story. Can we maybe save it for another time? I was hoping I could speak to him.”
“Are you in jail? Stewie told me you got arrested.”
Stewie, she repeated in her head. Because she had forgotten it, and this was a bad time not to know it. Stewie, Stewie, Stewie. Like the mouse.
“I’m not in jail. I’m just in an assisted living facility.”
“Since when do they arrest people and take them to an assisted living facility?”
“They arrested me for running away from one,” she said, purposely leaving out the actual reason they had arrested her. Stacey wasn’t saying anything, so she added, “Please may I speak to Stewie?”
“I don’t know, Marilyn. I’m not sure if that’s a good idea or not. He’s been very upset since the . . . incident. You know. Yesterday. Watching you being taken away like that. He’s been just completely . . . I don’t know the word. But you know Stewie. He takes things very hard. He doesn’t cope well.”
“I understand. But don’t you think he’d be better off talking to me and hearing that I’m okay?”
She waited for an answer. Waited for what felt like a long time. Those electric knives of fear seemed to be doing a little dance in her belly as she sat waiting, cutting her with every step.
Then she heard Stacey call his name, and she breathed for what felt like the first time in days.
A moment later she heard his welcome, breathy little voice on the line.
“Marilyn?”
He sounded like a mouse, too. That thought struck her when he spoke her name, but she quickly dismissed it again.
“Yes, it’s me,” she said.
“Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m more or less okay. I’m at a . . . home. For older people. I don’t like it here, but I’m not in danger or anything of that sort. I’m not in jail. But I could be. In jail, I mean. I need a favor from you. It’s hugely important, Stewie. It’s to keep me from having to go to jail. That’s how important it is.”
She waited for him to ask why she could be about to go to jail, but heard only silence. She tried to watch the little birds in the nest outside her window, to calm herself, but she was losing her view of them to the evening twilight.
It occurred to her that maybe Stacey was listening to his end of the conversation. Maybe that was why he didn’t ask.
“Okay,” he said. “What?”
“I have some money at the house. The house where I’ve been living. I need you to go get it and bring it to me.”
“How much is it?”
“A little over five thousand dollars.”
Another long silence on the line.
Then, his voice smaller than she’d ever heard it, he said, “Marilyn, that’s too much responsibility for me.”
“Please. It’s so important. I have no one else to help me.”
“Ask your daughter.”
Marilyn was vaguely surprised that he knew she had a daughter. Had she mentioned it to him and then forgotten that she ever had?
“I tried that, but she won’t return my call.”
“I’ll go over and tell her to do it for you.”
That’s when she realized what he had meant by “your daughter.”
“Oh, Sylvia’s not my daughter,” she said.
“She’s not? So Izzy’s not your granddaughter?”
“No.”
“Well, who are they, then?”
“I was just living with them because I needed a place to stay. She needed a babysitter for the girl, and I offered to do it for room and board.”
“Oh,” the little voice said.
She opened her mouth to tell him where the money was hidden, but he cut her off.
“Why did they say your name is Jean?”
“Oh, that’s such a long story, love. Please, can we talk about it when you bring me the money? We’ll have a nice visit. We can even do another reading lesson if you want.”
“But what do I call you?”
“Marilyn. You call me Marilyn.”
“Okay.”
Again she opened her mouth to tell him where to find the money. Again he cut her off.
“Are you a grandmother at all? To anybody?”
“Yes,” she said. “I am. I have four grandchildren. Now, please, Stewie. This is important. The money is at the very back of my closet in the room where I was staying at Sylvia’s. It’s in a pair of shoes. It was my only spare pair, so they’re the only shoes in there. They have orthopedic insoles. The money is underneath. They’re much too lumpy to wear, because it’s a lot of money. But I figured nobody would notice it there. There’s some in each shoe. Maybe best if you just grab the shoes and put them in a bag and bring them to me.”
She waited. He said nothing.
“Stewie? Are you there?”
“Yes. I’m here.”
“You’ll bring them to me, right? It’s so important.”
“I don’t know. It’s so much responsibility. Can’t I just go ask Sylvia to bring them to you?”
“No!” she shouted. It came out far too loud.
“Jeez,” he said. “You don’t have to yell at me.”
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to yell. But under no circumstances are you to tell Sylvia about the money. I don’t trust her. I think there’s a chance she might take it for herself. Please, Stewie. I hate to ask this of you, but it’s just so important. I know you’re uncomfortable with it, and I’d ask somebody else if I could. If I had somebody else. But you’re my last hope. I need you to do this for me.” She paused, wondering if she should break out the big guns. It seemed she had no other viable options. “I need you.”
Another silence on the line, but it was brief this time. Just long enough for the boy to sort things into place in his brain, she figured.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. If you need me, then I’ll be what you need me to be.”
She heard herself blow out a very long, deep breath.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice still breathy with the fear flowing out of her. “Really, thank you. I won’t forget this. Let me give you my address and phone number here.”
“Okay. Wait, please, while I go get a pen to write it down.”
Chapter Seventeen
She Stole
Stewie
Through the whole conversation, Stacey had been hovering over Stewie as he sat at the kitchen table talking on the phone. She seemed to be trying to hear as much as she could, which made him uneasy.
Then again, most everything did.
The minute he hung up the phone, she lit into him.
“What did she want, Stewie? Why was that woman calling you?”
“Don’t call her ‘that woman,’” he said, getting up and walking the phone back to its base, so it could charge again.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stacey said. “She’s a woman. What’s wrong with calling her that?”
“It just doesn’t sound very nice the way you say it.”
He tried to slip off to his room, but Stacey was having none of it.
“You stop right where you are, young man. This conversation is not over.”