The Thirteen (21 page)

“A peeping cat? Really?”

“Yeah. Last night, actually. I was already asleep when I heard Gusto going nuts at the front door. Barking as if Manson—or Chapman, if you prefer a local reference—was coming up the walk with a hatchet.”

As if he knew he was being talked about, Gusto appeared at the kitchen door with Old Tex behind him, both dogs panting happily, water dripping from their snouts. Paula let them out.

“So what was he barking at?”

“I’m getting to that. First I yell at Gusto to shut up, shut up—it was 3 a.m., and I didn’t want to make enemies of my new neighbours—but he doesn’t stop, and that’s not like him. By the time I get to the door, he’s bouncing around like he wants out, like he’s got the trots or something. I look out the window and there’s a cat out there, sitting midway up the walk, flicking its tail—”

Paula’s mind skittered to the cat she’d caught on the deck after she’d been to Sanderson’s the first time. The blood.
Horrible
. She shivered.

“What did you do?”

“I laughed. ‘Settle down, dog,’ you know. Like this is the first cat he’s seen? Still, there really are a lot of cats in this ’hood.”

Paula nodded.

“So I’m trying to calm Gusto down. I give him a rub, and when I look out again, there are three cats sitting there. So I open the front door and scan the yard, and that’s when I see a fourth cat, in the shadow under the tree. And they’re just staring at me. All I’ve got on is my underwear. Remember how hot it was last night?”

“Must have been quite a pair of underwear,” she said. “What did you do?”

He sipped his beer. “I said, ‘Shoo!’ ”

“Did they?”

“Not at first,” he said. His smile disappeared. “They just kept staring at me. Then the one under the tree turned and walked out of the yard. When she got to the sidewalk, the others turned to follow. I’ve never known cats to group together like that. Have you?”

“Never. Hey, how do you know they were females?”

He shrugged. “They sure were checking me out in my underwear.”

Paula laughed hard enough to get beer up her nose. It hurt, which seemed somehow funnier. Sanderson laughed too.

Rowan was lying on the sofa in Mr. Keyes’s living room, absorbed in a rerun of
Friends
. She was happy. Her mom came in and sat on the couch.

“Hey, Ro, you okay in here on your own?”

Rowan sat up. “What are you guys doing outside?”

Paula put her hand on her daughter’s forehead. It was not warm. “Just gabbing. Do you want to come out too?”

Rowan shook her head and gestured at the TV. “It’s the one with the monkey.”

Paula laughed. Everything sounded funny to her right now.

“I don’t want to go to Marla’s with you.” Rowan said.

Behind them in the kitchen there was a brief clanging, and then the oven door opened and closed.

“Rowan, she’s expecting us both.”

“But I don’t feel good,” Rowan protested, not sounding sick in any way. Paula gave her a look. “I really don’t. Maybe I have to go to the bathroom.”

Paula felt gently under her daughter’s jaw for lumps. Then she felt her forehead again.

“Feel it with your lips,” Rowan said.

Smiling, Paula leaned over her daughter and pressed her lips against her forehead. “Hmmm,” she said. “Do you have a headache? Should I take you back to Grandma’s?”

Rowan shook her head. “No, but I better not go to Marla’s. They might catch something. Can’t I stay here with Mr. Keyes?”

“You like him?”

“Uh-huh. Don’t you?”

Paula gave her a hug. “Okay, you can stay—he already offered.”

Rowan threw her arms up over her head and fell back against the sofa. “Yay.” She yawned. “I think I’m really tired,” she mumbled.

Friends
went to commercial. The spot was for Joanna Shaw’s new program. Paula watched for a minute, and as she did, Rowan’s eyes closed, her face quickly slackening. Paula waited a bit, but Rowan had really fallen asleep. Just like that. Paula got up carefully and left on tiptoe.

–

Sanderson had tried not to eavesdrop but he had heard enough. He’s heard that Rowan liked him, and it sounded as if her mother did too. As he cut up pieces of pepperoni for the pizza, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

He rolled out the dough. Pepperoni and sausage, with some veggies thrown on to make Mom happy. Just in case Paula left Rowan with him, there was a horror movie he’d picked up that morning at the grocery store. And he always had Gusto and Old Tex as backup. They loved him. He was a dog person.

By the time Paula came into the kitchen, the pizza was rolled out, sauced up and covered with fixings. Sanderson slid it into the oven and set the timer.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. She fell asleep.” Paula shook her head in amazement. “That never happens. I’ve worked a lot of weird hours, and she’d always wait up or wake up when I got home. I hope she’s not coming down with something.”

“Nights and evenings, huh? Hard.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m in demand.”

“Now that doesn’t surprise me.”

She looked at the floor and laughed softly, a lovely sound. Sanderson had the strongest impulse to reach out and palm the top of her head, to bury his fingers in her hair and pull her to him. She looked up and saw his expression. Her cheeks went red, her mouth opened a little in surprise.

The house was silent, the air suddenly too warm. From the oven.

“How long for the pizza?” she said. Once the words were out of her mouth, she couldn’t remember what she’d asked.
Is it raining? Have you ever been to Greece?

“Long time,” he said, in the same tone. “Twenty minutes, give or take. I’m not exactly Chef Boyardee.”

“Ha. I think he makes pasta.”

“See?”

“Rowan’s excited about having pizza. The food’s been pretty basic the past few days,” Paula said.

“She’s a great kid. You did a good job, Paula. It couldn’t have been easy.”

She shrugged modestly. “She is a great kid. A good sport too. But … she really doesn’t want to come with me tonight. I guess an evening with a bunch a women talking doesn’t appeal to her the way television does.”

“I meant it when I said she can stay here with me and the dogs. If you’re okay with that.”

“I wasn’t fishing.”

“I know. But this would give us a chance to hang out. Would she be comfortable with that?”

“Well, she likes your house. She said so.”

“She’s welcome to stay. Just leave me Marla’s number in case she starts breaking stuff or stealing my beer.”

Paula suddenly became aware of her hands and arms; they seemed to be dangling, impossibly weak, from her shoulders. And she couldn’t find a safe place for her eyes, so she stared at the stove.

Then there he was, his hands on her arms, his face close to hers. As his lips touched hers, her spine became butter. She felt it melt until she was pressed against him, her breasts wanting to defect from her body, become part of his. This struck her as funny, and she smiled under his kiss.

He pulled back and looked at her. “Is this okay?” he asked.

She nodded, put her arms around his neck and pressed into him for a heartbeat or three. Then she let go and stepped back.

He reached out to take her hand. “Lemme give you the rest of the ten-cent tour.”

“Okay.”

“You’ve seen the kitchen,” he said, and led her up the stairs.

He pointed out the mouldings around the ceilings, the old-style pedestal sink in the bathroom, the impossibly deep-set windows at the end of the hall and in the spare bedrooms. One of those bedrooms would be his home office, he explained; inside she saw a desk and chair, the desk covered in papers and files.

“You’re a busy man,” she said.

“I am. Business is good. I’ve got lots of jobs to get back to next week.” His voice held a trace of pride. He turned to indicate the room across from the office.

“And this is the master bedroom. There’s a little ensuite in the back. Being a bachelor and all, it’s very messy, so you can’t see it.”

Paula laughed and pressed by him. “Now I have to see it.” She went through the bedroom, which was tidy for a man living alone, and peeked into the bathroom. He was right, it was messy. He followed her in.

“Ew. Wet towel on the floor—”

“A quick shower before I came to get you. Didn’t want to offend my guests.”

“The soap dish is full of water. The soap’ll bleed away if you’re not careful, you know.”

“Yeah, the place needs a woman’s touch.”

“A cleaning woman’s touch,” Paula said, smiling and wrinkling her nose. She stepped back into the bedroom and looked around. “It’s not bad, though. The house is great, Sandy.”

He smiled back and reached out, touched her hair. “Thanks for coming for dinner. Can we call this a date?”

She raised her eyebrows, trying to keep it light. “With my kid in tow?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Okay.”

And he kissed her again. It was long and lingering and full of promise. She kissed him back, the same way. It might have gone on forever if Rowan hadn’t called out.

“Mom? Mr. Keyes?”

One of the dogs barked.

“Coming, honey!” she called back. They grinned stupidly at each other.

In the last few minutes before the pizza was ready, they played a game Sanderson knew called Spelling Major. You picked a word and changed one letter to make another word, for as long as you could go. When they ran out of real options, they made them up.

The pizza turned out great, for all of Sanderson’s modesty about his cooking. Paula had a single piece and then noticed the time. “God, I still have to change.” She saw Rowan roll her eyes at Sanderson, and that tickled her.
This is what life could be like
.

“Pizza is the most important meal of the day,” Sanderson said sagely.

“A day without pizza is like a day without sunshine,” Rowan added, her mouth full of it.

Paula laughed. “I had a piece. Anyway, I’m sure there will be lots of food at the party.” She turned to Sanderson. “I don’t think I’ll stay too late. Maybe I’ll even make it back before the end of the movie.”

“Sounds great. Don’t worry about us. We have stalwart dogs to protect us.”

“Good to know. Ro, walk me to the door, hon.”

Tex padded after them.

As she was slipping on her shoes, Paula said, “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

“Mom,” said Rowan, “stop worrying.”

Paula pulled a piece of paper out of her jeans pocket and pressed it into her daughter’s hand. “This is Marla’s phone number and the address. If you need me you can call or come and get me, whatever you want. You’re really sure?”

Rowan appeared to consider this deeply for a moment, her eyes on the floor. Then she looked at her mother. “We like him. All of us.”

“Yes,” Paula said, “we do.”

“It feels … safe here,” Rowan said, indicating the house with a wave of her hand.

Paula embraced her daughter as if embracing the world. As she let her go, Rowan mock-protesting the tightness of the squeeze, something dark crossed her memory for a moment

whoosh

then was gone.

“I won’t stay late, okay?” She kissed her daughter on the forehead and went off to change for the party.

EIGHTEEN

P
AULA LET THE HOT WATER
flow over her. It hit her face and rolled down her cheeks, off her chin onto her chest, warming her breasts. She knew she had to hurry, that she’d stayed too long at Sanderson’s, but a barely remembered sensuousness had overtaken her and she didn’t feel inclined to shake it off. After she turned the water off, she dried herself carefully with the fluffiest of her mother’s towels. She strolled to the bedroom instead of walked, she dipped instead of bent, she sighed rather than breathed.

She thought,
Could I love him?
It was an idea that seemed impossible, since she had really just met him. They’d had only a few days … and, she thought,
a time, a place
. The place being Haven Woods and the time being summer

(the crack of ball on bat)

As Paula dressed, body and soul floated together in some dreamy state, and she couldn’t help it. It was as if she had to let go of one thing to get the other. She rolled pantyhose up her legs and pulled on her skirt. She sat in her bra on the edge of her mother’s bed amid the same smells—soap and clean and bleach and

(worse)

grass being cut and copper and asphalt

crack … hiss … the whoosh of something shiny through the air

I have a secret

bad nasty hard scary beautiful secret

She was just sixteen that year.

Her mother had said that morning, “Your dad wants to watch them fix the Rileys’ roof. We’ll be there all day.”

They might not have gone back except that everyone’s parents were at the Rileys.’ If the boys had kept playing ball, if they’d all gone to the pool, if the girls hadn’t gotten bored at the ball field … That thought still had the power to alarm her. In the years since David had died she’d gone over scenario after scenario: what if she’d not been there?

(what if what if)

The girls had followed the boys to where they were playing on the ball diamond, and they had left when the boys seemed more interested in the game than in them. She wondered sometimes if everything would have been different if they’d stayed put. If the girls had sat on the bleachers and waited for them, they might all have gone for ice cream afterwards or wandered over to the store for slushies. If they had just watched instead of getting bored and leaving, it might all have turned out another way.

(if if if a butterfly beats its wings in California there’s a hurricane in—)

It was funny but the names were burned into her memory, even after all these years: Terry, Danny and Pete, Jake, Lonnie Keyes. She and Marla, with Patty, Jake’s sister. Lisa Evans had been at the park too, but she had left later. Paula’s mind had been occupied with feeling scared and maybe mad at David, at least a little bit from the night before.

The night before, they’d gone down to the river, just the two of them, and Paula had tried to talk to him about her
secret
, but he had Roman Hands and Russian Fingers, as they used to say. Her mouth had gotten dry and she had forgotten everything in the rush of feeling. They were only human, after all.

C’mon Pauls, just this once
.

Of course it hadn’t been just this once, but she knew, even if he didn’t, that it wasn’t like he could get her pregnant again. So she hadn’t told him. And the next day she’d been hanging out at the ball park and maybe she was a little quiet and maybe Marla had at least noticed, because one of them said,
let’s go try on tops
and they left.

The girls had gone the long way back to Paula’s, walking up Proctor to Princess Treats Ice Cream and buying Tiger Tigers, talking about school and boys and Pete and David and Danny, the three cutest boys.

That morning, when Paula was leaving the house, Audra had told her,
We’re going to the Rileys. Your dad wants to watch them fix the roof. We’ll be there all day. Take your key
.

They went from the ice-cream store to Paula’s and they raided her closet, trying on all her clothes and finally trading tops with each other. Paula put on shorts—funny how she could remember them so well. They were blue calico short-shorts. Her prettiest pair, the cotton soft and the cut hugging her curves in a perfect and promising way

(and she knew in the back of her mind that her days with those shorts were numbered)

She knew in the back of her mind that her days were numbered, period, an unacknowledged thought, but there nonetheless all the time. She had slipped the shorts on over still-slim hips with a kind of knowing. But everything changed in that instant. She felt the swell of change pressing against the waistband, the panic that came with it, and suddenly she wanted to go back to the ball park where the boys were and pretend she was just an ordinary sixteen-year-old girl—not pregnant, not scared.

Let’s go to my house and get some money
Marla had said when they left the house. Paula took the key from around her neck and locked the door, and the three of them headed down the street, so pretty and young. She couldn’t remember why Marla had wanted money. They were only halfway to the Rileys’ when the boys caught up with them. Everything got louder, the roughhousing and their sheer physical presence changing the dynamic.

What did they talk about? Everybody was reading Stephen King that summer; Paula couldn’t remember which book.
Oh, I’m not going to. That’s too scary
Marla had said. They wondered whether anybody was going to the beach on the weekend and said how they couldn’t wait until Pete or David got his licence so they could drive around Haven Woods.

Lazy things, little nothings. They had been so bored and content. A perfect summer day.

But that wasn’t exactly true. She and her mom had been fighting for most of that year, at first just once in awhile, taking care afterwards to be extra civil with each other, and then later not bothering to be civil, and not bothering to fight in private either. There were slammed doors, broken plates, and tears from both of them. She blamed her mom, since her mom was fighting with her dad too, not the way she and Paula fought, but using great long silences of disapproval. Her dad would disappear into the spare room for whole evenings, drinking, while her mother slammed pots and cupboards in the kitchen. Briefly, she remembered, in the weeks before that horrible day, they had all seemed to wear out and a state of uneasy unnatural truce had ruled.

(your dad wants to watch them fix the roof)

When they got to the Rileys, they wandered into the backyard among the adults, who were standing in loose clutches around the patio, wove around the mothers and the dads, the boys slouching and punching each other, the girls watching the boys from under eyelashes and bangs. In her mind that afternoon in the yard existed as a complete scene: Pete standing there, his hand still in his glove, his glove tucked under his left arm, leaning a little, his freckled cheeks plumped in a grin. Danny slouching, not laughing but serious, as he always was. Jake had just grabbed Lonnie by the head and had him bent over

noogie

and they were laughing. Sandy’s jeans dusty on the bum from the sandbags, most of their gloves scattered on the grass … David—

David standing beside his dad alongside Paula’s dad, Walter, all three of them looking up, of course. At the roof.

(
your dad wants to watch them fix the roof)

Audra was on the patio with Izzy, smoking as if she were in the movies, her torso tilted back, her hips thrust forward, her arms crossed to prop up the hand that held the cigarette.

All those impressions that had lasted so long—for years—were of just a second in time. The girls

wanna go back to the

on the grass with Audra and Chick. Above it all, three strangers, men, stood on the roof, a machine whirring, gnawing into something above.

Marla had turned to her mother
can I have five dollars?
—and about halfway through she turned back and looked over her shoulder, tossing them a smile
—We’re going to—

Paula still didn’t know what she had been about to say.
Stay for dinner? Go to the movies?
Because her dad had called out, the words lost but the timbre one of alarm. All of it adding up to the same thing
—No!

In that moment, twelve sets of eyes turned first to the three of them standing there: Mr. Riley, David and Paula’s dad. Mr. Riley, his mouth wide open, a twist in his lips, was screaming by the time they all looked over.

From the roof, in a split second—so fast Jake still had Lonnie in an embrace, so fast Audra was watching without expression, so fast Izzy had just turned her head—something came gliding down, a flash of red that matched the trim on the house and went very nicely with the ochre stone patio. It came down in a perfect inverted arc, almost invisible, so thin and fine was the aluminum sheet they were cutting on the roof. It came sliding, gliding down in the direction of the three men.

Towards David.

David!
Izzy had screamed, knocking over the little patio table and the drink that had been on it.
No! Not David! David—

But it was David. The perfect arc had been aiming for him the entire time. It came down from the roof in a graceful swoop and cut his head right off.

Paula stuck her fists into her eyes and rubbed hard. Her nose was red and hot from crying, but her tears felt like a betrayal, crying over a boy who had been dead more than twelve years. What had been the last thing he’d said to her.
Aw, c’mon, Pauls?
Had that been it? Or could she say that his last words to her had been spoken with his hand, when he’d touched the small of her back just before they got to the Rileys’? Not territorial, not possessive, just as usual.

Then he’d run on ahead. His hand had slid off her back, leaving his fingers behind to move more slowly, like water swooning off the beach after the wave has already receded.
That
was the last thing he’d said.

Sanderson had touched her in exactly that spot, the place where if she tried she could still conjure up the feeling of David’s hands, his slow release of her. Sanderson’s hands had been there not an hour before, holding her tightly to him. A man, not a boy.

The same place.

(I love you David and I love our daughter)

Paula wiped the tears from her eyes and her cheeks. She stood up and pulled on her blouse, then went into the bathroom and did her makeup. Carefully.

Somewhere between brushing her hair and finding a pair of her mother’s shoes that fit, she stumbled forward into the rest of her life. She realized that she finally wanted to move on from that terrible day when everything had stalled inside her. She wanted to make a real life for herself and for Rowan. She wanted to make it right. She would start by telling all of them tonight about Rowan.

David’s child.

For a moment she wondered why Izzy had never guessed. Who else could have gotten Paula pregnant? But maybe she’d been so shocked by her loss she’d never even thought. Had never sat there counting on her fingers. Had never seen, even when she met Rowan at the hospital, that the girl had her son’s eyes. How could anyone be so blind?

Izzy brushed her hair back from her forehead until it was so slick and flat she looked bald. Her hair, left undyed, would be white. That would never happen though. She was simply too vain. She put the comb down. In the mirror her expression was stern and there were circles under her eyes. Of course there were.

Fresh clothes were laid out on the bed. She dropped her robe and pulled on underpants. She kept her eyes down; she didn’t want to see any more. At that moment, if she had looked up she would have seen herself in the glass of the window. She didn’t need to look at herself to remember who she was and what she would see if she looked. Izzy put her hand on her belly and slowly dragged it up under her breast. Her left breast. Near her heart, of course.

Her finger went immediately to the scar, a puckered pink half-moon with a small twist in the corner where it had torn—He, or it, had torn it—twenty years earlier and healed off-kilter. If you tilted your head sideways it looked like a half-hearted grin. The scar was as pink as if it were new, but otherwise there was no indication that it had been recently reopened. Except for a lingering smell and a slight throb, which always happened on the
sabbat
. To them all.

Izzy slid a T-shirt, soft and white and expensive, over her bare breasts, and the scar disappeared. But like a tongue that teases a sore tooth, she couldn’t help but touch it again. It would never truly heal or go away—that was part of the deal. And she thought of it that way, as a wound.

She pulled her jeans on, every movement slow even though she needed to hurry. They would bring Paula and the girl to the Chapman place, and she had to be there waiting for them. After she had slipped on her flats, she glanced once at her reflection. She looked like a well-to-do woman, climbing the hill to middle age but still lovely, going out to play cards, to have coffee, to meet with her book club. If anyone saw her, that would be what they would think.

No one would. See her.

On her way down the hall she paused and opened the door to David’s room. She stuck her head in and breathed deeply, holding the air in her lungs so that whatever of him was left inside there, whatever air he might have breathed out that still remained, was now inside her. It helped, but not much. She closed the door and went downstairs into the kitchen.

The leather apron with the knives was on the counter where she’d left it. She put on an apron over her clean clothes and ran water into the sink. She cleaned the blood off the bigger knife, carefully, because the edge was still razor sharp. She dried it with a tea towel, the one that matched the washcloth. Ivy danced across the hem. The set was understated, elegant; that was how she liked things. Izzy ran the ball of her thumb over the edge of the blade, frowning. There was a small nick from where, she suspected, it had hit bone.

She got the stone out of the drawer by the sink and began to run the knife over it. She had to take the knives with her. Not for the girl. The thing in the house would take her for his master. The knives were for anyone who tried to stop it from happening.