Red Curtains

by Leanna Sain

  Ridiculous! How could a cat know?

  Even so, his golden gaze made me feel uncomfortable…guilty. I crossed the room and plopped down beside him, running my hand down his back several times, hoping that a rub-down would help me get back into his good graces. But even though he began purring, the accusation never left his eyes.

  “Listen, Tut, Lily is great; you’ll like her. Believe it or not, I think she’s helping me be the person I’m supposed to be…maybe the person I would’ve been if my parents had lived. I don’t know. I’m going to try to get her to come here to visit sometime, okay. You’ll need to be on your best behavior when that happens. I know, of course you will.”

  I pulled him into my lap and scratched under his neck, just the way he liked. “I guess you want to hear about Jonas.” Tut’s purring suddenly stopped and my fingers did likewise. I touched my nose to his and smiled. “Don’t be jealous. You’ll always be my first love. I promise.” He looked relieved at that and started purring again.

  This cat was unbelievable!

  My fingers moved from under his neck to the sides of his head and around behind his ears. He closed his eyes in ecstasy, purring like an Evinrude boat motor.

  “Jonas…well, Jonas is pretty amazing. Not only is he the best looking guy I’ve ever seen. Well, besides you, of course,” I added hurriedly, when he slit his eyes at me, almost glaring. “I’m able to talk to him, Tut. I know, I know. Me? Talk to a guy? Amazing, right? But he’s different. Or maybe it’s that I’m different. After my epiphany up in Lily’s tiny, little room…You know what an epiphany is, right? Well, I guess I am different. I refuse to read the same old boring chapters anymore. It’s time to move forward. And I’m hoping that Jonas will be part of that.”

  I paused a minute, scratching away at Tut’s head, barely aware of it, then I shrugged. “But even if he’s not—and I hope that’s not the case, mind you—but even so, I’ve got to move forward. I can’t keep putting all the blame on Aunt Patricia. I don’t know if I can ever forgive her for how she treated me, but I can stop re-reading those chapters and flip forward to a new part of the story.”

  I lay back on the bed, settling Tut on my chest, and continued scratching. He was in hog-heaven now, eyes closed in utter contentment, his emotional tank registering “full” from all the attention he was getting. I was back at the top of his favorite persons list, and I smiled. “Lily’s weird habit of quoting proverbs is enough to drive a person crazy, but she’s exactly what I needed to wake me up. And I’m excited to see what will happen next.

  “Everything’s going to be okay. I promise. I’ll tell you all about it later. I need to get ready for bed. I’ve got another big day tomorrow and I’d like to get enough sleep tonight. But you’ll see. It’s a win-win-win. I have the perfect model for my assignment so I’ll get a good grade; we’re going to stop the counterfeiters as well as keep the homeless guys safe; and at the same time, we’re going to help Jonas get his story. See what I mean about win-win-win? Oh, and you don’t have to worry about the ghosts.”

  Tut’s contented, golden eyes suddenly went perfectly round, his pupils dilating to the point where all I could see was black. It was uncanny the way he seemed to be able to understand me; unnerving too, in this case. I gave a nervous laugh, hoping to reassure him, as well as myself.

  It didn’t really work, so I leaned my head forward a little and touched my nose to his again, staring straight into his eyes. “Lily said most of them are nice and they like the glitter she sprinkles around.”

  I sat up and pressed my cheek to the top of his head, whispering, “I hope she’s right.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jonas

  After detouring by the fridge for a Pepsi, I somehow made it to the couch where I collapsed, sprawling in a sort of semi-reclined position, too tired to even drag my feet up high enough to prop them on my second-hand coffee table. Just as well. As rickety as it was, the darn thing would probably collapse if I tried it.

  I fumbled around with the bottle cap until I finally managed to unscrew it, then took several big gulps. Groaning, I flopped my head backwards and as my eyes closed, I considered whether or not to just remain where I was for the night and save myself the trouble getting up and folding the futon out into a bed later. Hmph…that wouldn’t work for several reasons. Besides the fact that the darn thing wasn’t all that comfortable even when it was in bed-form, it wasn’t long enough like this, it sagged in the wrong places, bulged in others, and its narrow depth made it a gamble as to whether I could make it through the night without face-planting on the floor. No, I’d just rest here for a few minutes.

  The wind was picking up. I could hear the hollow knocking of the scraggly palm tree fronds just outside. The air fluted around my apartment’s ill-fitting windows like someone blowing over a bottleneck. I held my own bottle up to my lips and blew across the top, echoing the sound whistling around the panes of glass. If I had the strength to open my eyes, I knew I’d see my curtains slightly swaying. This place definitely didn’t get high marks in energy efficiency. My usual response to the cold was to add more layers of clothing, but at the moment, my tired-meter placed any concern about the room’s temperature down in the “I don’t care” range. It just wasn’t a priority at the moment.

  Well…I’d wanted a lead for my story, but I’d gotten more than I’d bargained for…much more. The police commissioner involved in a counterfeiting ring? Possibly even murder? Before tonight, I would’ve called anyone crazy if they’d suggested such a thing, but now…? I didn’t know what to think. The conversation we’d overheard outside that small window in the alley was pretty damning, as far as evidence went, but I didn’t have the energy to figure it all out right now.

  My machine was blinking, so I punched the button, listened to the mechanical voice tell me I had one message and waited.

  “Hi. It’s Mom. I just wanted to warn you. Your brother ran into Jill today, and he…uh…he might’ve let it slip that you live in Savannah now. Don’t hate him. Bye.”

  Terrific.

  “Yeah, and don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t say which brother, Mother, dear,” I glared at the machine. “…but then, you didn’t have to. I already know. Thanks for being such an idiot, Phillip.”

  Of all my brothers, why’d it have to be him? Any of the others would’ve known better than to give out any details about me. How in the world did the man make it through medical school? Oh, I knew he was an excellent orthopedist, and a genius, to boot…IQ just under 160, but when it came to everyday living, I’d swear he needed someone to remind him to breathe in and out so he wouldn’t suffocate. The term, “common sense,” was definitely an oxymoron where Holmes son number two was concerned.

  But as for Jill knowing I was living in Savannah…I didn’t care.

  I glugged another swallow of Pepsi, and leaned my head back again, expecting the familiar flicker of pain that always came when I thought of Jill. I waited, and waited, and…

  It didn’t come.

  Really? I waited some more.

  Mmmmm. Nothing.

  Wow! What a freeing moment! It really didn’t bother me. Why was that?

  An image of a small, dark haired, turquoise-eyed girl came to mind. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t about her, that she wasn’t the reason, that it was just because I’d finally found a real story to sink my teeth into, but I soon gave up and let my mind go where it’d wanted to go ever since I got home.

  Cleo…Dear God! Every time she pressed against me while we were hiding behind those trashcans, tonight, it had been nearly impossible to think. The tickle of her breath each time she whispered in my ear, that gentle, floral scent that radiated from her skin, her hair…it nearly drove me mad. The urge to grab her, press her close, breathe her in, taste her…

  I groaned. Maybe it was a good thing it was so cold in here.

  I’d had to fight it the entire evening. Maybe that was part of the reason I was so darn tired now. It wasn’t j
ust physical exhaustion…it was mental and emotional, too. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to keep my defenses up. I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep them up. That was the problem.

  But why was it a problem? Was there some reason it had to be? Ethics? A good reporter wasn’t supposed to get involved with a source, right?

  Well…heck with the ethics—

  The phone rang. If that was Mom again, I’d—

  Tilting my head, I slit my eyes just enough to read the screen.

  Jill?!

  I jerked to attention, eyes wide and staring now…gaping at those four little letters, while my phone rang a second time.

  What did she want?

  Third ring…

  I reached over and turned the ringer off, then tipped the bottle up, swilling down the last gulp, my heart feeling lighter than it had in years. Heaving myself off the couch, I patted my pocket where I’d tucked the napkin with Cleo’s phone number on it, and smiled. It was time for bed. I was too tired to think anymore. I’d face it better tomorrow.

  ****

  After an amazingly restful night of sleep with some pretty intense dreams in which Cleo played a starring role, I was in my cubicle, before the building was officially opened. I’d already written my assigned article about the problem of poachers illegally digging up pitcher plants and Venus flytraps from the Savannah River basin wetlands.

  Yes, there was an actual “black market” for that sort of thing.

  Anyway, these swampy areas were on public lands managed by the Georgia Department of Natural Resources, Georgia Forestry Commission, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Services, and other conservation organizations. The Marshland’s Protection Committee was having a benefit barbecue to raise money to support efforts to nab these “criminals.” Their slogan for this dinner was…wait for it…“Eat some hog and save our bog.”

  Yes, really.

  It’s not that I’m against conservation and saving plants, and all that. I like flowers and trees as much or more than the next guy, but I say take it in moderation…don’t go overboard. Concentrate on catching some real criminals. And as for them having a barbecue as a fundraiser? Well, it seemed a little like the group was talking out of both sides of its mouth. I mean, nature was nature, right? Why should pigs die in order to save some plants?

  Whatever…

  See why I want my own feature column?

  My phone rang. Again? I glared at the name on the screen. I had nothing to say to Jill Parker. Everything had been said three years ago on the night before our wedding was to have taken place.

  It’d been raining. A real, round-up-the-animals-Noah-it’s-starting-to-flood, sort of rain. Jagged arcs of lightning volted between the black clouds. The car’s tires had slashed along the rainy highway, shooting twin rooster tails of water into the air behind us. We’d been on the way to our rehearsal dinner, chatting about this and that, when Jill had mentioned a house she’d gone by to see that afternoon…

  “As soon as I saw it, I knew it was perfect for us. Yes, it’s only five thousand square feet, but as a starter home—”

  He nearly choked. “Jill, I already told you, we’re not staying in Charleston. I’ve got to get away from this place. Start somewhere else.”

  “But I thought—”

  “And besides,” he interrupted. “We won’t be able to afford something that big. Not on my salary. I’ve told you that.”

  “What? What do you mean? You have plenty of money!”

  “Uh…no…I don’t. My parents have plenty of money.”

  “I thought you were joking about that,” she whispered.

  For a long moment, the only sounds were the persistent, annoying drum of rain on the roof, the metronomic smear of wipers on the windshield, the whoosh of cars flashing by in the other direction. Jill just sat there, wearing the strangest look, then all of her features sort of hardened. “So, you’re telling me that we won’t be getting money from your parents. We’ll be living on what you earn as a journalist?” She almost sneered the word.

  He went cold and still. “Yes,” he answered quietly. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  She drew a deep breath, then blew it out. “Take me home, Jonas. There’s not going to be a wedding.”

  My phone beeped, rousing me from my reverie. Without hesitation, I deleted the voice mail without listening to it. There was nothing she had to say that I wanted to hear.

  ****

  I spent the next hour surfing the Internet, searching for more information about the homeless, educating myself.

  The societal problem seemed to be snowballing. No matter what the city leaders did, no matter what programs were put in place, the supply of help couldn’t keep up with the demand. The homeless demographic used to be made up mostly of men, but there were growing numbers of women and children living in their cars—if they had one—sleeping in front of twenty-four hour a day shopping centers and restaurants so they could have access to a bathroom, napping in air conditioned libraries in the summer to escape the heat.

  I thought about the unbearable summers in Savannah and winced. The heat was bad enough, but the humidity and the gnats…ugh!

  I looked back at my notes. It was a vicious cycle; one that was being repeated at a sickening rate. The husband would take off—if there ever was a husband—leaving the woman with a passel of kids that she can’t afford childcare for. She juggled bills, deciding which ones she could pay and which ones she couldn’t, trying to make ends meet with a minimum wage job—that’s if she had a job—and the “past due” notices kept piling up. Sooner, rather than later, she got the dreaded eviction notice, which she had seven days to respond to, but she couldn’t get an appointment to seek help for thirty days, so another little family ended up on the street. No wonder the numbers were growing. They hardly stood a chance. The decks were stacked against them, defeated before the game had even started.

  Something had to change, but what?

  Chapter Twelve

  Lily

  I fumbled for the book of matches that was supposed to be right beside the candle. “Where are the darn things? Should be right here.”

  “Looking for something?” Rose’s voice came from the darkest corner of my room.

  “Gah!” I jumped. “Stop doing that! I think you’re trying to give me a heart attack! Give me the matches.”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Here…”

  Though it was too dark to see them, I felt the matchbook bounce against my chest. I clapped my hand over them before they fell to the floor.

  “Thanks for nothing,” I muttered, as I held the flame to the wick. I stared at the warm, dim glow that bathed my sister’s face. “Why are you here?”

  Surprise widened her eyes, dropped her mouth open. “Do I have to have a reason?”

  At my silence, she huffed, “If you must know, I was worried about you.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? You know…that girl, and well…” she spluttered. “…you’re not usually out so late. I know you’ve been with her all day, and—”

  “How do you know that? Have you been following me?”

  “No, but I have friends. They keep me informed.”

  “So, they follow me.”

  One brow arched. Her expression clearly said, what’s your point?

  “Why is it okay for you to have friends, but not me?”

  I’d surprised her again. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she finally snapped, “I don’t think I appreciate your attitude.” Her eyes shot angry sparks at me, and I glared right back.

  After a long fuming moment, she gave me a pretend smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Lily.” Her voice took on a wheedling tone. “You’re my little sister. I only want what’s best for you. You know that. All I’ve ever done was help you. Remember? We agreed: people can’t hurt you if you don’t let them close. That was our agreement, but you’re letting her close. Talking with this girl, spending time with her will only hurt you. Remember w
hat happened the last time.”

  “Cleo won’t hurt me. I told you. She needs me for this assignment. I’m helping her.”

  “Yes, and when the assignment’s over, she’ll drop you like a hot potato,” Rose insisted. “She’s using you, Lily. Don’t you see that?”

  “And I say, she’s not,” I argued, just as insistent.

  “Well,” she sniffed. “I can see that we’re getting nowhere.” She studied me through narrowed eyes. “You’ve changed, and I don’t mean just arguing with me, which—FYI—I don’t like. You’re different…you even talk differently. I don’t like it,” she repeated. “It bothers me that that girl can have such an impact on you after you’ve spent less than twenty-four hours with her.”

  I turned away from her and tugged off my hat, pulling a thick wool sweater from one of my boxes, replacing my overcoat with it. It was ratty, and oft-repaired, but warm.

  The argument with my sister had me feeling fidgety. Proud that I stood up for myself, for once, but on edge. I didn’t like Rose being mad at me. I should try to smooth her ruffled feathers.

  Turning toward her, I reached for her hand, glad that it felt solid. Sometimes it didn’t, and I hated that. It was like holding soft Jell-o. Sometimes even, smoke. “Rose, I really want you to meet Cleo. I know you’d like her if you just got to know her.”

  “Lily, I—”

  “But if you don’t want to,” I interrupted, talking over her. “I guess that’s okay, but I have a favor to ask.”

  “Fine. What is it?”

  “Will you see what you can discover about Cleo’s aunt? Find out why she hated the girl? You remember Patricia Davenport, right?”

  “The Brantley house across from the park?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. She died last summer, so it should be easy for you to nose around, see what you can come up with.” I gave her hand a squeeze. “Can you do that for me?”