“You okay, Victor?” Jules says.
Malorie hears the cellar door open, then Jules calls out.
“Don? You down there?”
“Don?” Cheryl echoes.
There is a muffled response. The door closes again.
Curious and anxious, Malorie pulls her shirt over her belly and heads downstairs.
When she enters the kitchen, she sees Jules is kneeling, consoling Victor, who now whines and paces. Malorie looks in the living room. There she sees Tom is looking at the blanketed windows.
He’s listening for the birds, she thinks. Victor is scaring him.
As if sensing she is watching him, Tom turns toward Malorie. Victor is whining behind her.
“Jules,” Tom says, entering the kitchen, “what do you think it is? What’s scaring him?”
“I don’t know. Obviously something’s got him rattled. He was scratching at the cellar door earlier. Don is down there. But it’s like pulling teeth to get him to talk. Even worse to get him upstairs.”
“All right,” Tom says. “Let’s go down there then.”
When Jules looks up at Tom, Malorie sees fear on his face.
What has Gary done to them?
He’s introduced distrust, Malorie thinks. Jules is afraid of confronting Don at all.
“Come on,” Tom says. “It’s time we talk to him.”
Jules stands up and puts his hand on the cellar doorknob. Victor begins growling again.
“You stay here, boy,” Jules says.
“No,” Tom says. “Let’s bring him with us.”
Jules pauses, and then opens the cellar door.
“Don?” Tom calls.
There is no answer.
Tom goes first. Then Jules and Victor. Malorie follows.
Despite the light being on, it feels dark down here. At first, Malorie thinks they are alone. She expected to see Don sitting on the stool. Reading. Thinking. Writing. She almost says that nobody is down here, then she shrieks.
Don is standing by the thin tapestry, leaning against the washing machine in the shadows.
“What’s gotten into the dog?” he asks quietly.
Tom speaks carefully when he responds.
“We don’t know, Don. It’s like he doesn’t like something down here. Is everything okay?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve been down here more than we have lately,” Tom says. “I just want to know if everything is okay.”
When Don steps forward, into the light, Malorie quietly gasps. He does not look good. Pale. Thin. His dark hair is dirty and thinning. The features of his face are claylike in texture. The dark circles beneath his eyes make it look like he’s taken in some of the darkness he’s been staring into for weeks.
“We called the whole phone book,” Tom says, attempting, Malorie thinks, something bright in this damp, dark cellar.
“Any luck?”
“None yet. But who knows?”
“Yes. Who knows.”
Then they are silent. Malorie understands that the divide she sensed growing between them is complete now. They are checking on Don. Checking up on Don. As if he lives somewhere else now. Repair feels impossible.
“Do you want to come upstairs?” Tom asks gently.
Malorie experiences a wave of light-headedness. She brings a hand to her belly.
The baby. She shouldn’t have taken the cellar stairs. But she’s as concerned about Don as anybody.
“What for?” Don finally answers.
“I don’t know what for,” Tom says. “It might do you some good to be around the rest of us for a night.”
Don is nodding slowly. He licks his lips. He looks once around the cellar. To the shelves, the boxes, and the stool Malorie sat on, seven weeks ago, when she read the notebook in Gary’s briefcase.
“All right,” Don whispers. “Okay.”
Tom puts a hand on Don’s shoulder. Don begins crying. He brings a hand to his eyes to hide it.
“I’m sorry, man,” he says. “I’m so confused, Tom.”
“We all are,” Tom says quietly. “Come upstairs. Everyone would love to see you.”
In the kitchen, Tom pulls the bottle of rum from a cabinet. He pours a drink for himself and then one for Don. The two clink glasses, softly, then sip.
For a moment, it’s like nothing has changed and nothing ever will. The housemates are together again. Malorie can’t remember the last time she saw Don like this, without Gary crouched beside him, the demon on his shoulder, whispering philosophies, discoloring his mind with the same language she found in the notebook.
Victor rubs against Malorie’s legs as he heads back into the kitchen. Watching him, she feels a second wave of dizziness.
I need to lie down, she thinks.
“Then you should,” Tom says.
Malorie didn’t realize she said this out loud.