“Hey, baby, guess who’s here?”
He was drunk. He’d probably been drinking all day again.
“Meyer’s here, and Dick. Remember Dick, baby? Dick Patmore. He wants to see you. Hell, I wanna see you, baby. I miss you. I ain’t seen you in weeks. Why don’t you come over?”
“I don’t have a sitter, Johnny.”
“Can’t you get one? I’ll give you the money. You know I’m good for the money, baby.”
“It’s late and I’ve got this custody thing coming up—I have to see my lawyer tomorrow.”
She listened to his heavy, ragged breathing.
“Johnny? I’m going to go now . . .”
“There was a time you would’ve got a sitter. A time you’d have come down here like a shot.”
“Look, this isn’t a good time.”
“What’s changed, baby? I haven’t changed. I still love you, baby. Ruthie. I love you, Ruthie.”
Then his voice changed.
“Is it that guy? Gallagher? Is he there?”
“No, of course not. That’s . . .”
“Are you with him now? You’re always with him, these days.”
“Johnny, there’s no one here. It’s late and I have to go. Call me tomorrow.”
She hung up and turned the TV on again. Poured herself a drink.
“I checked on the kids at midnight. Frankie was half-asleep but he needed to use the bathroom. I tried to wake Cindy but she just rolled over, so I let her sleep.”
“Yeah, I put the catch back on their door afterward. I always do.”
“No, I don’t remember doing it, but I always do.”
“We put it up a year ago. Frankie got up one morning and ate everything in the refrigerator. He was sick for hours. After that, I got Frank to put a lock on the door.”
“Then I took Minnie for a walk. I saw Tony Bonelli—I waved to him. He had his dog with him too. I was gone twenty minutes, and then I sat on the stoop for a while. It was nice out. A little cooler. I could hear people in the distance. And music. I thought maybe it was the World’s Fair.”
“I think I bolted the front door when I went back inside.”
“I think so.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Look, I don’t remember, okay? I don’t remember! If I’d known I’d need to remember . . . did you bolt your door last night, huh? Do you remember doing it?”
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just upset.”
“No, I’m okay. I can keep going.”
“I gave Minnie some water, then I went into my bedroom and lay down. Just for a minute, but I must have fallen asleep. Something woke me up. I don’t think I was out long.”
“Uh . . . two-thirty . . . two forty-five.”
“No, I don’t know. Maybe a nightmare. I thought I heard one of the kids crying, but when I listened—nothing.”
“I went to the bathroom. Oh, and then the phone rang again. It was Frank.”
“He wanted to talk about Linda, my sitter. The one who says I owe her money.”
“I just wanted to get him off the phone. Told him to drop dead. Hung up on him.”
“Yeah, I was mad. He called me sometimes in the middle of the night, hoping to wake me up. He wanted to make me mad, and it worked.”
“I took the dog out again. Around the block. Then I sat outside for ten minutes or so.”
“No, I didn’t check on the kids. I checked on them at midnight. They were fine then. They were . . . Christ.”
“No, I’m okay.”
“I said I’m okay.”
“I took a bath. I was still hot and I took a cool bath. Then I went back to bed.”
“Around three forty-five I guess. Maybe four.”
She woke when the alarm went off at eight, sticky with sweat. The memory of a dream: a crying child, a dark sky, a white face.
She struggled to sit up, ran her hands through her hair, yawned. Another hot day. She heard Gina coughing upstairs, and then Bill Lombardo yelling at his wife through the wall. A door slammed.
She put coffee on the stove and headed to the bathroom where she stripped and washed. Pulled on her robe and back into the kitchen where she poured a cup of coffee and lit her first cigarette of the day. She was supposed to be seeing her lawyer later, but for now, she put on pale Capri pants, a pink shirt. Barefoot, she took her cup into the bathroom. Started the routine that would bring Ruth to life in the mirror.
“I came out of the bathroom and I took the dog for a walk.”
“Eight forty-five. Maybe a little later—I couldn’t find my shoes.”
“Fifteen minutes. Probably less.”
“Um . . . a couple of people. No one I knew.”
“We got back and I fed Minnie. Refilled her water bowl. Drank another cup of coffee.”
“Yeah, about ten after nine. No later.”
“Nothing unusual. I could smell something burning. Toast, I think. And I could hear Gina’s radio. Oh, and I heard a phone ringing somewhere. Distant.”
“No, nothing else. Except . . . well, the silence. The apartment was quiet.”
“Yeah, I remember noticing the quiet. Wondering if they were still asleep. And I . . . then I opened the door.”