she had neighbors who were very protective of their peace. It was probably one of them standing at her door.
She reached for the controls, turned off the player, then headed to the foyer. She’d forgotten to turn on the hall lights, and cursed as she bumped into the hall table. The pain, crazily enough, actually brought some comfort. She was alive, at least. Not like her son.
When she opened the door, she expected to see a familiar face. Maybe Ray or Ellen. But not his face. She blinked, wobbling. No, not just his, but theirs.
Lacey didn’t feel the floor coming up to meet her, but on her slide down she smiled, knowing that she hadn’t lost Calvin after all. Because he was standing there in the doorway, along with Sean, both of them looking very concerned. With that wonderful thought, she closed her eyes and disappeared into a welcome oblivion.
Sean bent over her, the second time in several hours. Then he remembered the open door, stood to close it. At least he knew she was all right; the smell of alcohol on her breath had clued him in. As he bent again to pick her up, he remembered other occasions when he’d had to pick up a body sprawled on the floor, passed out from a nightly binge of beer and whisky. But his father had been much heavier, his body an excruciating burden to a young boy. Mrs. Burnham hardly weighed anything as he lifted her into his arms. Her half-opened mouth made her look like a young girl just sleeping, dreaming peacefully. She had changed from her funeral dress and now wore a large, button-down shirt and faded jeans. Her feet were bare.
In the dark hallway, he traced a familiar path to the stairs. Exactly ten steps up. Just like at his old house. Except here, paintings travelled up the stairwell. His mother had never really decorated like Mrs. Burnham, choosing to leave the wall bare. At the top of the stairs, Sean paused, his eyes adjusting to another level of darkness. To the left was Calvin’s old room and a couple of guest rooms, if he remembered correctly. And to the right should be the main bathroom as well as the one room Calvin’s mother had deemed off-limits. Only once had he and Cal trespassed into no-man’s land, on a rare evening when Mrs. Burnham had gone out to the movies with friends. A bunch of loud women who had cackled through the house as they prepared to leave, talking about the actor’s measurement, and whether his “thing” was more than any of them could handle. Sean remembered that he had felt his face flushing and had turned away before Cal could see.
He and Cal had listened to them through Cal’s bedroom door. Cal shook his head and snickered: “Man, I can’t believe them old broads actually talk like that. And my mama with ’em. Damn, you’d think they know they were too rancid for that. Geez. That’s just sick.” Cal laughed. And Sean joined him more out of solidarity than shared sentiment. At the time, he knew it was naïve to think older people didn’t get it on…that was, if the man could still get it up. He knew from some of his parents’ arguments that his father had had a problem in the sack. Which occasionally added to a combustible fuel of alcohol and violence.
As he carried Mrs. Burnham to her bedroom door, now half ajar, he remembered on that night it had been completely shut as they snuck down the hall. Cal had opened it, waving Sean in with a grin, then switched on the dresser lamp. He beelined to the closet, pulled back the sliding door, brought down a gray tin box. At the time, Cal wondered why most parents always thought their kids didn’t know where to find things, as though a locked box on the top shelf of a closet was invisible to curious eyes. Boxes could be picked so easily it wasn’t even worth the challenge. Cal had taken out the gun, passed it over to Sean. It’d been a .357 magnum, sleek and gray. He’d held it in his hand, weighing it, feeling its silent power. For a second, he’d thought to aim it, pull the trigger, but then thought that’d be stupid since a bullet could be in it and it might accidentally go off. But Cal hadn’t been as cautious, taking it back and aiming it directly at Sean.
Sean had blanched. “Cut it out, man!” He couldn’t help the tremor in his voice as he stared at the barrel.
“Man, you should see your face,” Cal laughed, then finally lowered his hand. “Ah, c’mon, you know I wouldn’t aim a loaded gun at you. My mama don’t believe in loading up. Which is crazy, because I don’t see a burglar waiting for her to go get her bullets.” Cal had placed the gun back into its box, walked to the closet. While Cal set the box back on the shelf, Sean, still recovering from the terror Cal had juiced from him, looked around, his curiosity beginning to subsume his fear. He’d thought how feminine her room was. And that it really didn’t suit her. He had glanced at the bed; a thought flitted and he pushed it away. Couldn’t go there.
Now the room was in half shadow, but Sean immediately noticed the changes. The bed was smaller, made for one person. The bed a decade ago would have slept two. There had been a vanity then, now replaced with a small bureau. The undrawn curtains and comforter seemed darker in the light of a moon standing guard at her windows. He remembered white lace curtains from before. She seemed to have changed her taste from the dainty feminine décor.
He laid her down gently, and she let out a half sob before shifting into a fetal position. The room felt cool, and it would probably only get colder as the night deepened; he didn’t want her waking in the early hours, shivering.
He shifted her body so that he could pull back her comforter, moved her beneath it, then pulled the comforter up to her neck. He noticed a strand of hair trapped between her right eyelids and gingerly pulled it out, then pushed the hair off her forehead.
Depending on how much she had drunk, and what she had drunk, she might be out for hours. Past the dawn.
He should leave, come back tomorrow, since he really didn’t have permission to be here. He had tried calling her from the hotel but had found the number changed. He’d hoped that just by showing up, she would welcome him in.
Not having the privilege of any of the bedrooms, he decided she wouldn’t mind if he settled on the sofa. He left the room, closed the door behind him, and quietly walked down the stairs. In the living room, he noticed that the sofa was different from the one he and Cal had vegged out on. That sofa had been barely large enough for a teenager to lie around on. This one would suit him and his extra height. He noticed the empty bottle, the CDs lying on the floor. He picked up the discs, placed them in a pile on the living room table. Then he turned out the lights, kicked off his shoes, and settled on the sofa.
He lay there for hours, desperately fighting his memories. Finally, he felt the first pull of sleep as it began to claim him. He let it lead him into a dreamless slumber.
His last thought was that at least she wouldn’t have to be alone.
Chapter 5
Lacey felt something dry rubbing against her teeth. Caught between sleep and consciousness, she didn’t know if she was dreaming. She struggled to the surface, finally opening her eyes to find the edge of her pillowcase in her mouth soaked with drool. She spat out the offending cloth, rolled her head on her pillow. The simple action sent a blaze of pain through her head. Sunlight drifted around the seams of her damask curtains, illuminating parts of her room, leaving others in shadow. She shifted her body, closed her eyes at another wave of pain, opened them again. Realized she was in her bed, covered with her comforter. Yet she didn’t remember climbing the stairs, let alone sliding into bed. As a matter of fact, she barely remembered anything from the point when she had sat down last night with the bottle of wine, intent on dulling her senses. Obviously, she had succeeded.
Seconds passed before she realized she smelled food cooking. Eggs…bacon…and the deep aroma of coffee brewing. She smiled her surprise. Calvin must be making breakfast. An unexpected treat, since he rarely…
Then she remembered. The sudden comprehension hit her with fear. Calvin was no longer here. And though she’d nearly had to push Estelle and her mother out the door yesterday, they would never violate her privacy. Besides, neither of them had a key.
Lacey sat up quickly, too quickly, nearly knocking herself out with another spasm of pain. She shut her eyes for a few seconds to steady her swirling head. When she opened them again, she had only one thought.
She freed herself from the comforter that she’d placed back on her bed a few nights ago after having stored