Later, I was lying in bed with a copy of Robert Heinlein’s The Star Beast, which I’d started the evening before. The story was hilarious. The previous night, I’d giggled frequently while reading. But now I couldn’t get Tilton-on-TV out of my head, and scenes that should have made me laugh out loud could raise no more than a smile.
My door was ajar, and Mom appeared at the threshold. “Hey, big guy, you have a minute?”
“Well, I was about to get dressed and go bar-hopping, then take a jet to Paris for breakfast.”
“What time’s your flight?” she asked as she came into the room.
“It’s a private jet. I can leave anytime I want.”
“You’ve been saving your lunch money, huh?”
“And investing it wisely.”
She sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you happy here, sweetie?”
“In Grandpa’s house? Sure. It’s better than an apartment. It’s so quiet here.”
“Your room’s bigger.”
“A piano right in the living room. And no cockroaches.”
“It’s nice having the second bathroom, even if it does just have a shower without a tub.”
Putting the book aside, I said, “I miss Grandma, though.”
“I’ll miss her till the day I die, sweetie. But she left a lot of love in this house. I feel it all around.”
She picked up my left hand and kissed each finger. She always did things like that. I’ll never forget the gentle things she did, not ever.
“You like Malcolm, do you?”
“Yeah. He’s cool.”
“I’m glad you found a friend so soon. Which reminds me, someone came by to eat at the lunch counter today and gave me a message for you. She said you were the sweetest, most courteous boy, and I was so proud of you.”
“Who?” I asked.
“I never saw her before, but she said she lived in our building for a short while. Said she met you in the foyer and on the stairs a few times. Eve Adams. Do you remember her?”
If ever I suspected I might be a better actor than musician, that was the moment. “Miss Adams, yeah. Pretty lady with kind of purple eyes. That was way last summer.”
“You never mentioned her.”
“I just saw her a couple times, coming and going, you know.”
“She said she’s a photographer.”
“I didn’t know for sure what she was.”
“She said to tell you she still has the photo of you and it’s one of her favorites.”
I frowned as if trying to remember. “Yeah, she asked to take my picture once, out on the stoop. I don’t know why.”
“She said you’re very handsome and photogenic. She’s obviously got the good eye of a first-rate photographer.”
I pretended to be embarrassed by the compliment. “Yeah, I’m a regular Rock Hudson.” I was mortified, but only because I was in a box labeled HE LIES TO HIS MOTHER; and maybe I would never be able to get out of it.
She kissed me on the forehead. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your book. I know you love Heinlein.”
“He’s okay. You’re not an interruption.”
Getting up from the bed, she said, “I love you, Jonah.”
“I love you, too.”
“Remember to say your prayers.”
“I will.”
Leaving, as she pulled shut the door, she said, “Sleep tight, Mr. Hudson.”
I felt lower than dirt.
After that, I had no interest in The Star Beast.
I said my prayers and turned out the light, but I didn’t expect to sleep well.
In my mind, I kept hearing Fiona Cassidy from almost a year earlier: If you love your mama, then you think about what I said. I like to cut. I could make her a new face in half a minute.
In the dark, something kept tickling in my left nostril, but nothing was there. Not a tickle, really. A sensory memory of the cold point of the switchblade with which she’d threatened me.
Whatever Fiona Cassidy and Lucas Drackman and Mr. Smaller and my father and Miss Delvane might be planning, if indeed they were scheming together, they must be getting close to executing the plan. The purple-eyed witch had gone to Woolworth’s not primarily for lunch but to deliver a compliment that she wanted my mother to pass along to me, a compliment that was actually a threat, to be sure that I hadn’t forgotten the consequences of not keeping my mouth shut.
49
This next bit is based on hearsay. Because the source was Mr. Yoshioka, however, I’m certain it is reliable.