Well, all the happy feelings had subsided. At least that was a sign that she wasn’t totally crazy. Yet.
They shooed the dogs out onto the porch before Arnie was due to come back, though the animal smell would probably give them away regardless. Daniel started a meat sauce for spaghetti, and she helped with the simple parts—opening cans, measuring spices. It was effortless and companionable working side by side, like they’d been doing this for years. Was that the feeling Daniel was talking about? The strange ease of their togetherness? Though she didn’t believe his theory, she had to admit to herself that she had no explanation of her own.
Daniel hummed as he worked, a familiar-sounding tune that she couldn’t place at first. She caught herself humming along a few minutes later. Without seeming to realize he was doing it, Daniel started to sing the words.
“ ‘Guilty feet have got no rhythm,’” he sang.
“Isn’t that song older than you are?” she asked after a moment.
He seemed surprised. “Oh, was I singing that out loud? Sorry, I tend to do that when I cook if I don’t keep a strict hold on myself.”
“How do you even know the words?”
“I’ll have you know that to this day, ‘Careless Whisper’ remains a very popular song on the karaoke circuit. I kill it on eighties night.”
“You’re into karaoke?”
“Hey, who says schoolteachers don’t know how to party?” He stepped away from the stove, sauce-covered spoon still in his right hand, and pulled her into a loose embrace with his left. He danced her once around a small circle, pressing his rough cheek against hers, while singing, “ ‘Pain is ah-all you’ll find…’” Then he turned back to the stove, dancing in place while he sang cheerfully about how he was never going to dance again.
Don’t be an idiot, her mind told her as the goofy smile stretched across her face again.
Shut up, her body responded.
Daniel didn’t have a voice that belonged on the air, but it was a pleasant, light tenor, and he made up for any deficiencies with his enthusiasm. By the time they heard the dogs greet Arnie at the door, they were in the middle of a passionate duet of “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” Alex quit singing immediately, her face flushing, but Daniel seemed oblivious both to her cowardice and to Arnie’s entrance.
“ ‘I really need you tonight!’” he belted out as Arnie came through the door, shaking his head. It made Alex wonder if Kevin was ever any fun or if it was just business all the time when he and Arnie were here alone.
Arnie didn’t comment, just shut the screen door behind him, letting the fresh warm air mix with the smells of garlic, onion, and tomato. Now that it was dark outside and light inside, she’d have to make sure he closed the exterior door before she or Daniel went into the part of the room that would be visible to anyone watching.
“Anything from the dogs?” she asked Arnie.
“Nope. You would have heard them if they’d found anything.”
She frowned. “The story didn’t run.”
Alex and Arnie exchanged a look. Arnie’s eyes cut to Daniel’s back, then returned to her. She knew what he was asking, and she shook her head no. No, she hadn’t talked to Daniel about Kevin and what his silence could mean. Arnie’s eyes did that subtle tightening thing that seemed to be his only physical tell for stress.
For Arnie’s sake, they’d have to get out as soon as possible. If anyone connected Daniel and Alex to this house, it would put Arnie in danger. She hoped he would understand about the truck.
Dinner was subdued. Even Daniel seemed to catch the mood. She decided she would tell him her fears about Kevin as soon as they were alone. It would be nice to allow him one more night of decent sleep, but they should probably leave before first light.
After they were finished—and not a noodle had survived; Arnie would miss this part of having houseguests, at least—she helped clear while Arnie went to turn on the news. The story lineup was repetitively familiar. She felt like she could recite along with the anchorwoman word for word. Arnie hadn’t already watched three rounds today; he settled into the couch.