Clearer in the Night (11 page)

He was surprised that I knew. He was used to being able to get away with whatever he needed to say. Those handsome eyes would back up one hell of a poker face. “I’m not sure. I have some ideas. Theories. But nothing’s tested, nothing’s sure.” That was truer. Gray, but closer.

“So what do we do? Do I just keep on keeping on, and hope that I don’t go crazy?”

“I’m not sure what other choices we have.”

“I want to know what you know.”

He didn’t like that answer, but he nodded anyway. “Not here, not now. Your mother wouldn’t understand, if I have to calm you down again.”

My cheeks were on fire. “Probably true.”

“I need to do some more research. As much as it looks like I was sitting out here, watching you, I was just passing by.”

“You were in the area, and you wanted to see if I was okay?”

He nodded, but when I reached out this time, I had no read at all on whatever was going on inside his head. It was awkward, like spilling your darkest secret to your worst frenemy in that one moment of silence at a party. He had the slightest smile on his lips now, like he knew that I didn’t know what was going on inside his mind. Which didn’t make me feel more comfortable. But then he reached out and took my hand, stroking his thumb over my knuckles, and my knees were weak. He leaned in for a soft, sweet kiss that melted me inside out. “I’ll be in touch, as soon as I can. But I need to go and put some things together. Can you wait? Just a bit longer?”

I put the rush of heat between my legs out of my mind as best as I could. “If I have to.”

He grinned again. I almost expected him to fade away like the Cheshire Cat, leaving just a smile behind, but no, he turned and left the normal way, past the corner of the house and out towards the street.

As I turned back into the house, I took a small comfort in the fact that he was walking like a cowboy. At least I wasn’t the only frustrated one.

Mom wasn’t at the kitchen table, in the living room, or at the dining room table. I stared at her bedroom door for a minute before knocking softly. When I was a kid, that door had been like the portcullis of a castle. You didn’t even try to go through. If you had a nightmare or something, tough shit, you could talk about it in the morning. That was Mom’s private space, and it was never to be breached. I didn’t think I’d been in that room in years. Ages. When my knuckles tapped on the door, I wondered if I might burst into flame, or fly back across the room to slam into a wall, or just vanish, disappeared into a special hell that was reserved for girls who didn’t let their mothers rest.

None of the above. No bolt of lightning from on high, and no hole opening up in the floor. And no answer. I glanced down the hall; the door to the bathroom was open. There really wasn’t anywhere else she would be. Unless she was upstairs in the spare room. Sophie’s room.

No. She wouldn’t go up there. She’d kept the room like a mausoleum, but she’d never gone in there. Not when I was around, anyway. It seemed like a whole lot of things had been going on when I wasn’t around.

Still. I put my hand on the doorknob to Mom’s bedroom, fought down the panic attack that gripped my heart and made my hand shake, then twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

The room stank. It was dark, and smelled not like actual filth, but like unwashed bodies and used up air. There was no light, even though it was a bright, sunny day outside. I couldn’t guess the last time a window had been opened, and there were lumpy piles everywhere. Clothes, I guessed. God knew when they’d last been washed. I knew college kids who lived cleaner than this. Our house had never been spotless, and we’d had a service that came in and did the kitchen and the bathrooms and the floor once a week, but this was like the prequel to an episode of
Hoarders
or something. Nasty, dirty, gross.

In the middle of the bed, I could make out a lump with blonde hair. “Mom,” I said, quietly. “Are you okay?”

In a surprisingly clear voice, she said, “I’m fine. Go away. Everything’s fine.”

She didn’t want me in her sanctuary. No, of course she didn’t. She never had, really. I closed the door neatly behind me. I stood still for a bit, my hands clenching and unclenching. And then I turned to the kitchen. It would be a start.

An hour later, the kitchen was cleaner than it had been in…well, long enough. I’d run the dishwasher, cleaned the counters and the floors, and sprinkled coffee grounds around the baseboards where it looked like ants were coming in. A quick internet search had suggested that this might discourage them by messing up their scent trails or something, at least until I could get some of those little poison traps from the store. But every layer of grime I managed to lift revealed another one below it.

I should have been here. I should have known that something was going on. I should have known that she didn’t have anyone left but me, and that I had a responsibility. But I hadn’t. I had been selfish, and run when I’d gotten the chance. I was too much of a coward to face my past, and I’d completely abandoned the one person who understood how much it hurt. But now was my chance to fix things.

But, first things first—clean underwear. I’d been planning on getting her to give me a ride over to my apartment so I could get my things and my car, but if she was going to crash in her room all day—no signs of life had occurred at all—then I was going to borrow hers, and she’d just have to survive. I’d leave a note this time, though.

When I reached into her purse for the keys, I came up with two prescription bottles. One for Ambien, one for oxycodone. I stared at those for a little while, then pushed them back into her purse. I really did not want to consider her mixing those kinds of heavy duty meds with whiskey. That was more than a messy house and a bout of depression. That was hard core. That was more than I could handle. So, best to pretend it wasn’t happening, until there was proof. There’d be an explanation. There always was.

I took the keys and headed for the door. Just as I went to open it, there was a sharp rap on the outside, which made me jump, and then the door swung open, which made me let out a little shriek as I dodged. Not my best moment ever. I flipped the keys in my hand, the metal part poking out from between two fingers of my fist, and raised my hand, ready to confront…a little old lady. She was small and skinny in that bundle-of-sticks way that some old women get, her chalk-white hair up in a braid that was wound all the way around her head. She wore a floral housedress and carried a casserole pan. It took me a moment to grab her name out of the recesses of my mind. “Mrs. Dennis,” I said. “You startled me.”

She looked me up and down, and her friendly smile reset into a thin, narrow line slashed across her face. “Caitlyn. I’m surprised to find you here. Your mother is always talking about how busy you are.”

Ah. I’d been hoping that the glare had been a result of my lousy church attendance record. “I had no idea things were like this,” I said, trying to cut to the chase. “I’m here now.”

I’d hoped for one of those sweet old lady smiles, but her eyes just got colder, and one eyebrow climbed towards her hairline. She let out a sniff as she closed the front door behind herself. “I heard that your mother was poorly today,” she said. “I brought shepherd’s pie.”

“You heard—how?”

She gave me another long side-eye as she carried a large paper bag into the kitchen. “Your mother called out of work. Your mother’s secretary is Gail Clary’s granddaughter’s girlfriend, so she called Gail, and Gail let me know. It was my turn.” I drifted in her wake as she bustled about my newly cleaned kitchen. She didn’t seem to notice the scrubbing, the fridge that wasn’t full of mold or rotting food, the shining sink, any of it. “Someone had to take care of her after all.”

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” I asked. It was better than hitting her over the head with a stock pot.

“No, dear, I won’t keep you. I’ll just say hello to your mother, if I may.”

“Could I stop you if I wanted to?”

She grinned, then, but there was something…more to it. Something dark and interested. “Unlikely.” She slipped past me, and opened the door to Mom’s room without even knocking. She didn’t glance at me as she shut the door behind her, but I felt like she did.

I wondered if I’d be able to listen in from where I was. I almost tried. But no. No. If I could do that…I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know.

I made myself a cup of coffee, and sat at the table, tracing patterns in the wood grain. It was probably ten minutes before Mrs. Dennis emerged. Her face was set with worry, and she came and sat down across from me.

“I will take that coffee, if you’re still offering,” she said.

“Cream and sugar?”

“No thank you. Bad for my diabetes.”

I poured a cup and placed it in front of her, then sat down again.

“Your mother…” she started, and then trailed off. I waited. “When will we see you in church again?” she asked. “I know Elijah asks after you every time I see him.”

Good thing my coffee was getting a bit chilly, it gave me somewhere to put all the excess heat I was suddenly generating.

“He commented to me the other day about how lovely you are. I told him that you’re a very busy girl, but that maybe the two of you could go out for a meal sometime, as you have quite a lot in common, and I’m sure you’d get on famously.” She leaned over and gave me a conspiratorial little wink that seemed entirely out of character. “Forgive an old lady her matchmaking. I just want to see my grandson settled and happy while I’ve still got my senses about me.”

“How’s Mom?” I asked, way too loud. “She wouldn’t speak to me at all, when I tried.”

She shrugged. “She’s at a low ebb. She’ll come up from here. Most likely. Try to keep her away from all her little bottles and beverages, and she’ll do better for longer.” She watched me for a moment. “But you know that already, don’t you?”

“I’m realizing.” I blinked, fast and hard, so she wouldn’t see how wet my eyes suddenly were. “I would have been here. If I’d known.”

“You would have known,” she said, “if you’d ever been here. Or bothered to ask.” She threw back the hot coffee like a trucker, and then patted my hand with her papery fingers. “Take care, dear. If there’s anything we can do to help, please—just say it. We love your mother to bits, and don’t want to see any harm come to her. Now, forgive me, I’ll see myself out.”

I let her go, just staring at the walls for a while. I’d been hustled, I knew that much, but into what?

Mom didn’t leave her room until well past noon. I’d found an old pair of track pants and thrown my clothes into the wash. It didn’t feel right leaving. What if something happened? What if she needed me? I could wait.

And then, about one-thirty, she came out of her room, all smiles and refreshed, like she’d just woken from the most peaceful sleep of her life. She came straight to me and enveloped me in a hug. “Hey, beautiful girl,” she said. “Sorry about this morning. You caught me off guard. Scared me.”