“Oh, yeah.”
“Usually can’t sleep in past six. Used to read the paper in the morning, but the goddamn assholes shut the Standard down.”
“I heard,” I said.
“Come into the kitchen. Want some hot chocolate? I usually make some hot chocolate at night.”
“That’d be nice.”
The place was done in lots of wood: wood cabinets, wood floor, even wood panels over the fridge and other appliances. Not one thing out of place, either. Nothing in the sink, no piles of bills and envelopes by the phone. A real estate photographer could have walked in and not had to do a moment’s prep.
“Beautiful home,” I said.
He filled two mugs with milk from the fridge and put them into the microwave. Set it for ninety seconds. “I’ll give it a stir halfway through,” he said.
“Did you know the Gaynors well?”
Terrence shrugged. “Said hi coming in and out, that kind of thing. And they have a nanny, too, comes by most days. Name of Sarita. She was the nicest of the bunch, really.”
“Yeah?”
“Sweet girl. I know you’re not supposed to call them girls anymore. She was a woman. Tough little thing. Went from one job to the other. I think she was sending money back to family in Mexico. Don’t think she was here legally, but hey, people do what they have to do.”
“Do you know what her other job was?”
“Nursing home. I was trying to remember the name of it earlier, when the cops were here asking questions, couldn’t think of it. There’s only about fifty of them in the area. Reason I know she worked at one is, I asked her what it was like there, in case I get to the point I can’t look after myself here on my own, and it sounds like an okay joint, but truth is, I hope one day, when it’s my time, I just go.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. I go to bed one night and just don’t wake up the next day. What do you think about that?”
“Who was it who said, ‘I expect to die at one hundred and ten, shot by a jealous husband’?”
“Thurgood Marshall, associate justice of the United States Supreme Court,” Terrence said, and chuckled. “That sounds good, too.” The microwave beeped. He took out the mugs, gave each a stir, and put them back into the oven for another minute and a half.
“I think I had more conversations with Sarita in the last ten months she’s been coming over than I’ve had with the Gaynors since they moved in. Although, a year back or so, they weren’t around much anyway.”
“Where were they?”
“Boston. Bill, he works for some insurance company based there, and he had to be away for several months, so Rosemary went and lived with him. Did the last few months of her pregnancy there; first time I saw them after they came back, she had the baby.”
The oven beeped again. He took out the mugs, handed one to me. I blew on it before taking a sip. It was good hot chocolate.
“I don’t have any marshmallows,” he said apologetically. “Used to buy them once in a while, would forget I had them; I’d open up the bag and they were hard as golf balls.”
We ended up straying off topic, at least from the topic I’d come to discuss. Terrence used to own horses, and he wanted to tell me all about it. I didn’t pay much attention, but he was a nice man, and the time passed pleasantly.
I thanked him for the hot chocolate and the conversation, and as I was heading back to the Taurus he said, “Davidson.”
“Sorry?”
“Davidson Place. It just came back to me. That’s where Sarita works.”
I headed back in the direction of my parents’ house, not sure I really knew anything more than when I’d set off from there. At least, not anything useful. But the following morning I’d do the same again. Ask questions.
I’d go to Davidson Place. I would look for Sarita.
I didn’t drive straight home. Made a couple of turns along the way that took me into a neighborhood I’d visited earlier in the day.
I pulled the car over to the curb and killed the engine. Left the key in the ignition. Sat behind the wheel, watching a house. There were no lights on.
Probably everyone had gone to bed.
Carl, as well as his mother, Samantha.
I stared at the house for about a minute, feeling hungry all over, before I turned the key and continued on my way.
THE SECOND DAY
THIRTY-FOUR
THE naked woman was sitting on the edge of the bed, weeping.
The man who remained under the covers on the other side of the bed stirred, rolled over. He reached out and touched the tips of his fingers to the woman’s back.
“Hey, babe,” he said.
She continued to cry. Her face was in her hands, her elbows on her knees.
The man threw off the covers and huddled behind her on the mattress, on his knees, pressed his naked body up against hers and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“How can it be okay?” she asked. “How can it ever be okay?”