He seemed to have bonded with her quickly, and I was—mostly—grateful. He would miss her. But he would have Nonie and my father, as well as me, if everything went the way I hoped it would.
“I think I’m going to stay in his room tonight, Shelley. I’ve missed him, and he doesn’t sleep very well in bed with me. You can even go home for the night if you want to. Why don’t you do that? Come back in the morning.”
She looked reluctant, but finally nodded. “I’ll stay here. I like to be here when he wakes up. He’s the most cheerful boy I’ve ever seen in the morning!” She picked him up as he started to break for the stairs, and he giggled.
When they were gone, I waited in my room until I saw Terrance bring Press’s Eldorado from the garage.
I packed a few of Michael’s things in the single suitcase I would take to my father’s house. Two changes of clothes, a few diapers, pins, and plastic pants, his winter jacket (he was wearing a sweater outside), shoes and socks. His favorite toy—a stuffed Winnie the Pooh bear—I left in his crib, and told myself I would remember it when we were ready to leave. There was already a change of clothes for me in the case, along with a framed picture of Eva, and the hundred dollars I kept in my jewelry box for an emergency. This certainly qualified as an emergency.
I thought of going over to Rachel’s, if not to say good-bye then to at least see her and the baby again before I left. But I knew myself too well, even then. I was used to telling Rachel everything, and while I wanted to believe that she wouldn’t betray me to Press, I couldn’t take the chance.
Dinner and the hour in the library with Press after dinner was a puppet show of politeness. He was uncharacteristically affectionate with Michael, which I found a little alarming. And although we were alone, he didn’t mention J.C. again. I wondered if she would dare to return for the memorial. She had known Helen and Zion, though I didn’t think terribly well. When Marlene had cleaned her room, she’d found her bottle of Caron Poivre sitting on the dresser and brought it to me. It was an odd thing for her to have left behind. I told Marlene that she could keep it if she wanted, that J.C. probably had more than one bottle. It was a mean and small thing for me to do, but I felt no regret.
Press spoke to Michael, who was on his lap. “Do you think we should tell Mommy what her costume is, or should we let it be a surprise?”
I tried hard to sound curious. “What is it?”
He grinned. “Why, it’s Brunhild, of course! Don’t you remember? Helen thought you’d make a wonderful Brunhild.”
“Ah.” I nodded. The idea of putting on a costume for all of Press’s friends repelled me. Though I took comfort in the fact that I would be gone that night and wouldn’t actually have to.
“But can you sing, my dear?” His eyes gleamed with amusement.
Yes, I remembered. For my own preservation, I smiled. “I don’t have to wear horns, do I?”
He played at looking hurt. “Not if you don’t want to, I suppose. Maybe just golden wings on the sides of your helmet.”
Picking up Michael (I really didn’t want to go near Press, but I had no choice), I said “Time for bed, sleepy boy.”
Michael snuggled onto my shoulder, not at all reluctant to leave Press.
“I’ll probably come in to see you tonight. I think you should sleep in your own bed.” It was obviously an order. Not a suggestion.
“Oh, Press. Shelley had Michael out for so long today. Didn’t you notice how warm he is? I want to sleep in his room tonight in case he feels bad. It wouldn’t be right to disturb him if he’s sick.”
Press made a kind of grudging, grunting noise. My heart was pounding as I left the room, and I held Michael closer as though I could muffle the sound.
Press’s bedroom windows overlooked the short driveway leading to the carriage house, so I paused outside his door before gathering Michael to make sure I heard him snoring. There was no question that he was inside his room and asleep. Michael barely woke when I picked him up out of his crib, and we managed to get down the kitchen stairs without making any noise at all. The doors onto the patio from the dining room opened easily, and the click of their latch was lost in the constant chirp of a lone, late-season cricket in the nearby bushes. It seemed that Bliss House was going to let us go.
Walking across the patio in the moonlight with Michael draped in his favorite blanket and drowsing against my shoulder, I was both anxious and fairly confident that we would get away. At the last moment before leaving my room, I had put Olivia’s jeweled peacock knife in the pocket of my coat. I felt as though she were blessing our escape.