There was a pause as he digested this. His gaze as it met hers had grown hard.
“Your call.” He stood up and turned to leave. Reaching the door, he glanced at her over his shoulder. “Remember, though, only one freebie per customer.”
Then he left. The door closed behind him with an audible click.
Chapter
9
GRACE FELT LIKE A PACKHORSE as she shouldered through the back door into the soft creams and yellows of her kitchen. In one hand she juggled three plastic bags filled with groceries and her purse. In the other was her briefcase and, gripped by two fingers, the hanger hooks of the dry cleaning that was sheathed in slippery plastic bags and draped over her shoulder. The clothes kept slipping down her arm, impeding her progress as she leaned more and more to the left to keep them from sliding to the ground.
“Hi, Aunt Grace!” A piping voice greeted her as she dropped grocery bags, purse, and briefcase on the white-painted oval table at which she and Jessica ate most of their meals. Straightening up with relief, she hung the cleaning on the antique iron coatrack that stood against the wall just inside the door.
“Hi, Courtney.” Rolling her shoulders to ease the cramping caused by carrying all that weight in such an awkward position, Grace greeted her niece with a smile as she darted past, a pony-tailed four-year-old in a pink sweat suit. Then she glanced the length of the long, narrow, charmingly old-fashioned kitchen to discover her sister perched on one of the center island bar stools talking to Pat Marcel, the woman who came in once a week to clean. “Hi, Jax. Hi, Pat.”
“ ‘Bout time you got home,” Jackie said with a smile, breaking off her conversation with Pat, who usually left at four and was thus owed two extra hours’ pay. Today Grace had asked Pat to stay until she got home so that Jessica would not be alone in the house. By the time they’d left the hospital that morning, Jess had already been much better, revived by the correct dosage of insulin. But she had stayed home from school under strict orders to sleep.
“Hi, Aunt Grace!” Paul, her six-year-old nephew—tall, thin, sandy-haired, and freckle-faced—skidded past, sliding like an ice skater in his stocking feet on the hardwood floor. He had a hole in the knee of his jeans and a big grin showing off a space where one of his front teeth had been just a few days before.
“Hi, Paul. He lost a tooth,” Grace said unnecessarily to her sister. Having retrieved the groceries and her purse, she heaved them onto the island counter, which like all the others in the kitchen was of white ceramic tile. For a moment she abandoned the groceries to Pat’s capable hands while she extracted her checkbook and a pen from her purse.
“This morning. It fell out just as we were getting ready to leave the house. You’ve never heard such a commotion in your life. It bled,” Jackie said significantly, reaching into a sack for a white bakery box that revealed half a dozen blueberry muffins through a clear cellophane window. She put the box on the counter, opened it, and helped herself to a muffin. “He’s all excited now, though, because the tooth fairy’s coming tonight. I hear you had some excitement of your own last night, by the way. Jessica’s diabetes act up again?”
Busy writing out Pat’s check, Grace nodded. The full story of what had happened was not for Pat’s ears. Grace wasn’t even sure she would tell her sister. Her first impulse was to keep the embarrassing, terrifying truth strictly between herself and Jessica.
“How is Jess, by the way?” Grace asked Pat as she folded the check and handed it to her. Having just put away the milk and butter, Pat stood in front of the built-in refrigerator, which had been fitted with wood panels to match the cherry cabinets that lined the walls. One of the kitchen’s four vintage brass-and-glass lanterns, fitted retroactively for electricity, hung over her head, bathing her in a pool of light.
“She’s been real quiet all day, but I think she’s doing okay. A friend’s upstairs with her now. She brought Jessica’s homework over, so I thought it would be all right if she went up.” In her mid-fifties, with short dark hair gone to gray, Pat had deep wrinkles between her brows and around her mouth that made her look perpetually worried. When she had first come to work for them, Grace had braced herself every time she had talked to Pat, waiting for the bad news that seemed imminent. It had never come, and Grace had finally realized that the worried frown was the woman’s habitual expression.
“That’s fine.” Just in case the worried look today was for real, Grace set Pat’s mind at ease about letting Jessica’s friend go upstairs on a day when Jess had missed school. “Thanks for staying. I appreciate it.”
“You get any candy at the grocery, Aunt Grace?” Courtney appeared at her elbow, the wide blue eyes that were a family trait looking appealingly up at her. Courtney’s hair was blond. Like her brother, aunt, and cousin, she was tall and thin. “Mommy always gets candy when she goes to the grocery. That’s why she’s so fat.”
“No, honey, I didn’t,” Grace said, placing a consoling hand on Courtney’s head, while Jackie swallowed a bite of muffin, grimaced, and said, “Hush your mouth, little girl, before your mommy throws you in the trash can, puts on the lid, and calls the garbage men!”
“No, Mommy!” Courtney ran off with a giggle and a shriek.
“I guess I’ll be going, then.” Pat retrieved her jacket from the coatrack and pulled it on. “You need me before next week, you call me, Grace.”
“I will. ‘Bye, Pat. Thanks again.”
“ ’Bye,” Jackie echoed.
Pat waved and went out the door. It closed behind her, but not all the way. Grace frowned at it for a moment, gave up wishing that it would function as it was supposed to, and went to pull it tightly shut. It was an old door, and it had to be slammed in just the right way to get the lock to catch. After last night, she meant to be extra careful about that.
During the course of the day, it had occurred to her that perhaps the intruder had gained entry through the less-than-perfectly latched back door.
“I am fat, aren’t I?” Jackie sighed as Grace retraced her steps and began putting the remaining groceries away. On the verge of telling her sister about most of the events of the previous night—she would keep the marijuana story to herself, she decided—Grace was sidetracked by the plaintive question.
“You’re beautiful.” In truth, Jackie was slightly overweight. She was tall, though, and carried it well, well enough so that she could truthfully be described as voluptuous rather than fat. Her light brown hair had been streaked with blond and fell in soft waves to her shoulders. Her face was lovely, with rosy round cheeks, big blue eyes, and a sweet expression. She had been spared the long, bump-in-the-middle family nose. Hers was short and pert above a well-shaped, usually smiling mouth. At twenty-eight, Jackie was the younger sister by eight years. Grace had always felt fiercely protective of her.
“Stan says I’m beginning to look like a sumo wrestler. He says if I keep eating maybe we should just move to Japan and I can have a career and he won’t have to work.”
Stan was Jackie’s husband.
“Stan’s an asshole.” Grace’s whole body prickled with anger at the slight to her sister. She had filled the bread box with a fresh loaf, and now she shut its lid with a snap.
“He’s just trying to motivate me to lose weight.” Jackie’s tone was plaintive.
“He’s just trying to make you feel bad so he can feel better. Has he found a job yet?” Stan had been laid off from the Honda plant eight months before. His unemployment benefits had run out a few weeks previously, and it was only then that it seemed to occur to him that he had better start looking for another job. In the meantime, Jackie had been working at a local day-care center to keep food on the table. It didn’t pay much, but she could take Courtney with her and Paul could come after school. Even when Stan was not working, he refused to watch the kids. He was always “too busy.”
Which, come to think of it, was probably just as well, Grace thought. Her brother-in-law had little patience with his lively offspring.
“He’s still looking.”
Grace started to say more, then swallowed the words. Jackie didn’t want to hear about her loser of a husband. Grace had said it all before, to no avail.
“You staying for supper? We’re having chicken, rice, and salad,” Grace said instead. Jackie and her brood ate with them two or three times a week, usually when Stan had plans—such as bowling or poker—with his buddies.
Jackie shook her head. “We just stopped in to say hi.”
“Mommy! Mommy! Save me!” Courtney came shrieking into the kitchen, diving toward her mother and trying to hide behind her body and the bar stool.
“I’m a garbage man! I’m a garbage man! I’m a garbage man!” Arms flailing wildly, bent almost double, Paul lurched after her.
“Paul Andrew, stop teasing your sister! Courtney, you know he’s not a garbage man.”
“Yes, he is! Mommy, you said you were going to call the garbage man on me for saying you were fat, and that’s him!”
“I’m a garbage man! I’m a garbage man! I’m a . . .”
“All right, stop it!” Jackie yelled. “If you two don’t go somewhere and play quietly for five minutes, I’ll . . .”
She didn’t have to finish the threat. Having driven their mother to what was obviously the edge of losing her temper, the children scuttled off.
“Sorry I yelled,” Jackie said, looking sheepishly at Grace when they were gone.
“I don’t blame you,” Grace said with perfect truth. She loved her niece and nephew, but at times they could be—and this was an understatement—a little loud.
“You never yell at Jessica, do you?” Jackie’s voice was rueful. “You’re so good at everything, Grace. You’re a judge, for goodness sake, and a great mother, and you’re thin and . . .”
“What’s wrong, Jax?” Grace’s voice was quiet. She had known her sister a long time—all Jackie’s life, in fact—and she could tell when she was upset. Jackie’s eyes flickered away tellingly at the question, but she shook her head.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Sometimes it’s just hard to have a perfect sister.”
“Oh, can it. Now what’s wrong?” Grace paused in the act of filling a pot with water for the rice and stared hard at her sister. “Are you short of money? Do you need a loan?”
For a moment, Jackie didn’t reply. She was seated on the opposite side of the center island from where Grace stood at the sink, her upper arms resting on the tile surface in front of her, the half eaten muffin—untouched since Courtney had called her fat—beside her left elbow. Her eyes were troubled as they met Grace’s.
“I hate to ask.”
“Sweetie, you’re my sister. If you need money, ask. How much?”
Jackie named a sum, her voice low and shamed. “It’s for the electric bill. If we don’t pay it by tomorrow, they’ll shut us off. And I don’t get paid until Friday.”
“It’s not a problem.” The checkbook and pen were still on the counter. Grace turned off the tap, dried her hands on a paper towel and wrote out a check, which she slid across the tile.
“Thanks, Grade.” Looking subdued, Jackie picked up the check. Still, she tried for a light tone as she pocketed it. “If I ever get richer than you, which isn’t going to happen, you can come to me any time for a loan.”
Grace laughed, keeping it light, too, but aching inside for her sister. “I’ll keep that in mind.” “Mommy! Mommy!”
“Run, Courtney! Jessica’s the garbage man! She’s going to get you!”
“Oh, for . . . Mom!”
Courtney appeared first, shrieking as she darted toward her mother. Paul was right behind her, grinning from ear to ear as his socks skidded over the floor. Jessica and her friend were last, both wearing identical disgusted expressions. Grace was relieved to see that her daughter looked completely recovered. Her color was normal, and her skin and lips no longer appeared over-dry.
“Jessie’s after me, Mommy!”
“I told you, she’s the garbage man now! She’s gonna get you!”
“They were playing with my computer, Mom.” Jessica and her friend, both tall and lanky in faded jeans and cropped sweaters, crossed to the refrigerator. Jess glanced at her aunt over her shoulder. “Hi, Aunt Jackie.”
“Hi, Jess. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Okay, kids, that’s it. We’re going home.” Jackie stood up. Jessica opened the refrigerator door. Both she and her friend regarded the interior intently.
“No! No! Come on, Mom, we were just playing!”
“Mommy, no!”
“I’m fixing supper right now,” Grace said to Jessica, hoping to forestall snacking. To Jessica’s friend she added, “Hello, Allison. Jess, aren’t you going to introduce your friend to your aunt and cousins?”
“Oh, yeah. Aunt Jackie, Allison. The brats are Paul and Courtney.”
As an introduction, it left a lot to be desired, but Grace had learned long ago not to sweat the small stuff.
“We are not brats!” This was Paul.
“Oh, yeah?” Jessica extracted something from the refrigerator and closed the door. Automatically, Grace checked out the item in her daughter’s hand: a can of Diet Pepsi. Fine.
“Yeah!” Courtney said.
“Monsters, then.”
“Jessica!” Grace reproved, as the little ones responded with loud protests. Removing the saucepan from the sink where it had been waiting, filled, while she wrote out Jackie’s check, she set it on the stove and turned the burner on high. The great thing about chicken and rice was, it was quick. It was important that Jessica eat on time.
“Nice to meet you, Allison,” Jackie said pleasantly as she herded her still-bellowing tribe toward the door. “Thanks, Big Sister. Love ya. You too, Jess.”
“ ’Bye, Jax. Love you, too. ’Bye, Courtney. ’Bye, Paul.”
“ ’Bye, Aunt Jackie. ’Bye, brats.” This was Jessica, of course.
Jackie waved one last time, and the door shut behind her. Grace put two chicken breasts on the broiling pan, slid the pan in the oven, and shut the oven door. Then she added rice to the boiling water.
“Boy, are they loud.” Jessica’s comment was heartfelt. She sat on the bar stool vacated by Jackie, swigging Diet Pepsi from the can. “I don’t see how Aunt Jackie stands it.”
“You were loud, too, once upon a time, my child. And use a glass.”
“Was not.” Jessica ignored the glass that Grace slid across the counter to her, swigging from the can once more.
“Trust me, dear, you were. And use a glass.”
Jessica grudgingly splashed soda pop in the glass and drank. Allison perched on the bar stool beside Jessica, munching on an apple. Her hair was black and wavy, with neon-green stripes woven amongst the shoulder-length strands. She was a pretty girl, with olive skin and dark eyes, but her makeup was, in Grace’s opinion at least, not far short of hideous. Sky-blue shadow so thick it looked clownish covered her lids clear to her eyebrows, and her lashes had been transformed by mascara into lethal-looking spikes. Black lipstick adorned her mouth. Next to her, barefaced Jessica with the single hot-pink streak in her hair appeared positively wholesome.
Allison was one of Jessica’s new friends. Grace had met her perhaps three times previously and didn’t feel that she knew her well at all. Had she been one of the kids in those two cars last night?
“It was nice of you to bring Jessica’s homework to her, Allison,” Grace said pleasantly, removing a bowl from an upper cabinet and then turning to the refrigerator for the salad fixings.
Allison shrugged. “I was coming over anyway.”
“You’re a freshman too, aren’t you? Do you and Jess have many classes together?”
Allison shrugged again.
“English,” Jessica said, looking hard at her mother. “Algebra. Choir.”
A horn honked in the driveway.
“That’ll be for me,” Allison said, popping off the bar stool with a bright-eyed look of expectation and heading for the door. The apple core was aba
ndoned on the counter. “See you at school tomorrow, Jessica. ’Bye, Mrs. Hart.”
Grace followed her to the door, ostensibly to close it properly but more important to observe the car, and driver, that picked Allison up. Probably it would be one of her parents. She always liked to meet Jessica’s friends’ parents. Once you were acquainted with the parents, she thought, it was much easier to understand the child.
The driver was not a parent. An ancient-looking black Jeep with a teenage boy at the wheel reversed down the driveway into the street, then peeled rubber as it shot away.
Grace closed the door properly, then came back to the cooking island and her daughter. Jess had taken over making the salad. Her slender hands efficiently tore iceberg and romaine lettuce and spinach leaves into bite-sized pieces.
She watched her daughter reflectively, only to find herself the recipient of a daunting frown when Jessica glanced up.
“God, Mom,” Jessica said. “Did you have to give Allison the third degree?”
For a moment, caught by surprise, Grace was left with nothing to say. Then her jaw tightened, and she fixed her daughter with a stern look.
“Jessica,” she said, “we need to talk.”
Chapter
10
LATE THAT NIGHT, after Jessica was asleep, Grace crept into her daughter’s room, moving quietly so as not to awaken her. The bedroom light was off, but the hall fixture was on, just as it had been the night before. The vee of light cut directly to Jessica’s bed. Grace followed it and stood for a moment looking down at her daughter. Jess slept with her arms clutching her pillow and her body curved into a tight S shape beneath the bedcoverings. Her hair was swept back into a single braid and tied with a blue ribbon, leaving the gentle curve of her cheek and the clean line of her jaw and throat exposed. Her nightgown, of ankle-length white nylon with tiny blue polka dots and ruffles on the bodice and sleeves, was her favorite. In it she looked like a little girl again, sweetly vulnerable. Except for the soft hiss of her breathing and the continuous whir of Godzilla on his exercise wheel, the room, like the rest of the house, was silent.
The Midnight Hour Page 6
