“Hello. I’m Patty Bruce, the night nurse that Mr. Quinn hired to take care of his wife.”
“Sorry about the ruckus. I hope we didn’t wake her up.” He shook her hand. “I’m Jesse Joe Kellen. I’m a friend of the family.”
“Is that Mrs. Quinn’s daughter?”
“Yeah, that’s Wavy. She’s a little upset.”
“It’s not unusual. Having a parent badly injured can be very troubling for children. They’re not used to seeing their parents helpless.”
He nodded and absently brought a hand to his hair to smooth down a rooster tail that stuck up on his crown.
“I’m real sorry for barging in here. Is there anything you need? I’ll be back in the morning to get Wavy, so I can bring you whatever groceries you need. And Wavy did the laundry, so there’s clean towels.”
“Do you know when Mr. Quinn is coming?”
“Well, he—he don’t actually live here. He lives down the hill. You know where you pass that other road, where there’s a couple trailers?”
“Am I to understand that Wavy will be here alone tonight?”
“Not if you’re here,” he said.
“I don’t say this to be rude, but my duties don’t include childcare.”
Mr. Kellen laughed. “Wavy don’t need a babysitter. She’ll get herself to bed, get her own breakfast. It’d be best if you didn’t bother her.”
“Bother her?”
“Just pretend she’s not here. If you hear her get up in the middle of the night, don’t come checking on her. She likes to be left alone.”
Patty was so confused, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She pushed her glasses up on her head and rubbed her eyes, feeling a headache coming on. While she was doing that, Mr. Kellen walked out the kitchen door. She thought of going after him, but it seemed pointless.
After she checked on Mrs. Quinn at midnight, Patty went into the living room and lay down on what looked like a new sofa. She must have dozed, because she woke to the sound of someone in the kitchen. Looking into Mrs. Quinn’s room, Patty found her still asleep, or as close to sleep as the pain medication brought her.
For a moment, a light flashed in the kitchen, the fridge being opened and closed, but otherwise it was all darkness. Then a cupboard opened and a dish clinked softly on the countertop. Was the girl eating? At that hour? In the dark? Or was she sleepwalking?
Standing on the other side of the swing door, Patty was about to say the girl’s name, when she remembered Mr. Kellen’s cryptic warning: if you hear her get up in the middle of the night, don’t come checking on her. Wasn’t there a fairy tale with a warning like that? Beauty and the Beast? Blackbeard? After a few minutes the girl went back up the stairs and solved Patty’s dilemma.
In the morning, as Casey was arriving, the girl came downstairs already dressed. Casey said, “So, this must be Wavy. Did you two meet last night?”
“After a fashion we did,” Patty said.
From outside came the sound of a car horn. Again, Wavy slipped around the table, maneuvering her escape, and Casey and Patty followed her to the kitchen door. An old truck sat in the drive. Mr. Kellen rolled down the window and called, “I’m sorry! The bike’s gonna take a while, okay?”
Wavy stomped down the stairs and got into the truck.
“Odd little girl,” Casey said.
“You have no idea.” Patty told her everything, even though it put her an hour over her shift.
She needed to compare notes with someone, and talking with Casey every day at least convinced her that she wasn’t the only one who thought the family was strange.
According to Casey, there wasn’t much to know about the day shift. Mrs. Quinn slept most of the first two weeks, and never said anything, except to complain about the pain she was in. And to ask where her husband and her children were.
“What am I supposed to tell her? I haven’t seen her husband since he hired me, I’ve never seen her son, and her daughter comes home late every night with some big biker.”
“And she doesn’t spend the whole night here, either,” Patty offered.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m sure she sneaks out at night.”
“What is she? Thirteen? And she sneaks out at night?” Casey said.
“A few times she hasn’t come home at all.”
“Have you told anyone?”
“Well, I told Mrs. Quinn. She said, ‘She’s probably with Kellen.’ I suppose that’s good enough for her.”
“Good grief. Have you thought about talking to Marjory?”
Marjory was their supervisor, and the suggestion irked Patty. Casey was eager for Patty to go to Marjory with it, but Casey wouldn’t. That way if the Quinns said, “How dare you accuse our dear family friend,” Patty would be the one who had made the accusation. If Patty didn’t report it, and something improper was going on, Casey could always say, “Why didn’t you tell someone?”
“So, what else have you noticed?” Casey said.