material brushing against the wall. Very close.
Then there was a tiny sound I couldn’t interpret. I felt a frown pull my brows together.
Had it been something metal?
And another creak of the stairs.
Surely—the creak had been from a lower step?
I shook my head, puzzled.
The next sound was from even farther, off the steps entirely, all the way into the kitchen….
Getting away, the son of a bitch was getting away!
I flew down the stairs, ignoring something white as I pelted down, rage lifting me out of myself so that I barely felt my feet touch the floor. But I heard the slam of the back door as I came through the kitchen doorway, and though I was only seconds behind him, it was enough for the intruder to conceal himself in the woods in back of the Drinkwaters’ house.
I stood in the door for a minute or more, panting. For the first time, I understood the phrase “spoiling for a fight.” Then common sense prevailed and I retreated, locking the kitchen door behind me.
I suffered an immediate reaction to the adrenaline my body had pumped into my blood to prepare me for action; at every step, I felt my flesh sag on my bones. With a terrible reluctance, I went to see what had been left on the stairs. A spotless white handkerchief was tented over something about halfway up. I reached out slowly and pulled off the handkerchief.
Shining in the sun pouring through the stained-glass window at the landing was a set of cheap metal toy handcuffs. By them was a plastic gun.
I sank onto the stairs and buried my head in my hands.
THREE DAYS AGO , my past life had been a secret, or so I’d thought.
Now Claude Friedrich knew about my misfortunes. I’d told Marshall. Who else knew?
The life I had so carefully constructed was falling apart. I tried to find something to hold on to.
And I recognized, once again, the bleak truth: There was nothing but myself.
I searched the house. I talked to myself the whole time, telling myself that after it was searched and safe, I would finish cleaning it, and I did. It was a tremendous relief to leave the house and return to my own. I called Helen Drinkwater at work and told her that on my drive to work, I’d seen a suspicious man at the edge of the yard.
“I think you shouldn’t leave it unlocked even for the fifteen minutes before I come,” I said. “So either I have to get there while you’re there, or you need to give me a key.” I could feel the woman’s suspicions coming over the phone line, along with a tapping sound. Helen Drinkwater was tapping her teeth with a pencil. Mrs. Drinkwater doesn’t actually like to see me; she just likes to enjoy the results of my having been there. Before this morning, that had suited me just fine.
“I guess,” she said finally, “you better come earlier, Lily. You can just wait in the kitchen until we leave.”
“I’ll do that,” I said, and hung up.
The vicious game played with me today would not be repeated. I lay down on my bed and thought about the incident. It could be that the intruder had not known I could hear the little sound of the boards creaking; perhaps he’d just anticipated that I’d start down the stairs at some later time and find the cuffs and gun. Of course the intruder hadn’t planned on any kind of confrontation; that was plain from the way he’d rabbited out the back door. But somehow, it made a difference whether or not the intruder had intended me to be aware of his presence before he left the house.
I would have to think about it. Maybe ask Marshall.
And that brought me upright on the bed instantly. I slapped myself on the cheek.
Marshall was on the edges of my life; he had probably left it completely after our conversation the night before. I won’t start to think of him as part of my life, I promised myself. He’ll go back to Thea. Or he’s completely gone off me, since I told him about the scars. Or his common sense will tell him he doesn’t need someone like me.
After that, I swore off
Then there was a tiny sound I couldn’t interpret. I felt a frown pull my brows together.
Had it been something metal?
And another creak of the stairs.
Surely—the creak had been from a lower step?
I shook my head, puzzled.
The next sound was from even farther, off the steps entirely, all the way into the kitchen….
Getting away, the son of a bitch was getting away!
I flew down the stairs, ignoring something white as I pelted down, rage lifting me out of myself so that I barely felt my feet touch the floor. But I heard the slam of the back door as I came through the kitchen doorway, and though I was only seconds behind him, it was enough for the intruder to conceal himself in the woods in back of the Drinkwaters’ house.
I stood in the door for a minute or more, panting. For the first time, I understood the phrase “spoiling for a fight.” Then common sense prevailed and I retreated, locking the kitchen door behind me.
I suffered an immediate reaction to the adrenaline my body had pumped into my blood to prepare me for action; at every step, I felt my flesh sag on my bones. With a terrible reluctance, I went to see what had been left on the stairs. A spotless white handkerchief was tented over something about halfway up. I reached out slowly and pulled off the handkerchief.
Shining in the sun pouring through the stained-glass window at the landing was a set of cheap metal toy handcuffs. By them was a plastic gun.
I sank onto the stairs and buried my head in my hands.
THREE DAYS AGO , my past life had been a secret, or so I’d thought.
Now Claude Friedrich knew about my misfortunes. I’d told Marshall. Who else knew?
The life I had so carefully constructed was falling apart. I tried to find something to hold on to.
And I recognized, once again, the bleak truth: There was nothing but myself.
I searched the house. I talked to myself the whole time, telling myself that after it was searched and safe, I would finish cleaning it, and I did. It was a tremendous relief to leave the house and return to my own. I called Helen Drinkwater at work and told her that on my drive to work, I’d seen a suspicious man at the edge of the yard.
“I think you shouldn’t leave it unlocked even for the fifteen minutes before I come,” I said. “So either I have to get there while you’re there, or you need to give me a key.” I could feel the woman’s suspicions coming over the phone line, along with a tapping sound. Helen Drinkwater was tapping her teeth with a pencil. Mrs. Drinkwater doesn’t actually like to see me; she just likes to enjoy the results of my having been there. Before this morning, that had suited me just fine.
“I guess,” she said finally, “you better come earlier, Lily. You can just wait in the kitchen until we leave.”
“I’ll do that,” I said, and hung up.
The vicious game played with me today would not be repeated. I lay down on my bed and thought about the incident. It could be that the intruder had not known I could hear the little sound of the boards creaking; perhaps he’d just anticipated that I’d start down the stairs at some later time and find the cuffs and gun. Of course the intruder hadn’t planned on any kind of confrontation; that was plain from the way he’d rabbited out the back door. But somehow, it made a difference whether or not the intruder had intended me to be aware of his presence before he left the house.
I would have to think about it. Maybe ask Marshall.
And that brought me upright on the bed instantly. I slapped myself on the cheek.
Marshall was on the edges of my life; he had probably left it completely after our conversation the night before. I won’t start to think of him as part of my life, I promised myself. He’ll go back to Thea. Or he’s completely gone off me, since I told him about the scars. Or his common sense will tell him he doesn’t need someone like me.
After that, I swore off
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