You could be like the child, she thought, and glide soundlessly over the floors and stairs like a small pale ghost.
Ariel’s door was closed, and no light was visible beneath it. That didn’t mean the child was asleep. She could be reading under the covers with a flashlight, the way all children did at one time or another. Or she could be sitting up in the dark.
The brass doorknob was cool to the touch. Roberta’s hand fastened upon it. After a moment she released the knob without turning it.
She walked almost the entire length of the hallway to her bedroom. Then something made her turn, and she covered half the distance again and took hold of another brass doorknob, this one on the closed door to Caleb’s room. She shut her eyes in the darkened hallway and concentrated on the silence. No boards creaked now, no windowpanes rattled, no eerie flute music wailed through the walls.
A fantasy, an irresistibly tempting one, flooded over her. It was a dream, it was all a dream, the whole past two weeks had never happened, and if she turned the doorknob and entered the little room Caleb would be sleeping in his crib, and if she picked him up he would squirm and giggle and coo, and—
She knew better. But all the same she turned the knob and pushed the door inward. Her hand found the switch on the wall and flicked on the overhead fixture.
She blinked at the glare. For a moment her fantasy was reinforced by what she saw. Caleb’s room was as it had been. Nothing had been changed or removed. The fish mobile still swayed over his crib. The same stuffed animals kept their stations on top of the bathinet.
But the crib was empty.
You fool, she thought. Why do you punish yourself?
She sighed, turned, slapped the switch and extinguished the overhead light. She stepped out into the hallway and drew the door shut.
Should she go downstairs? Check the windows and doors? Check the pilot lights?
She went straight to bed, and sleep was not long in coming. In the morning, when she went downstairs, there was a slight but undeniable smell of gas in the dank kitchen, and one of the pilots was out.
By mid-morning she was in a good mood.
This surprised her. She’d had a bad night and awakened from it expecting to drag herself through the day a minute at a time. Instead the morning flew by. She did the breakfast dishes, straightened the downstairs, made the beds, and observed her own spirits rising as she went along.
Around eleven she bathed and got dressed. Sitting in front of her mirror, she realized for the first time that what she felt was excitement, anticipation.
She hadn’t felt this way in a long time.
The doorbell sounded at ten minutes after twelve. She hadn’t heard him drive up. She felt a little anxiety on her way to the door, but by the time she opened it she was calm and collected.
He looked wonderful, she thought. Was his suit the same one he’d worn to the funeral? It might have been, but there was certainly nothing funereal about his appearance. His shirt was cream-colored broadcloth with a rounded collar, his tie a bold affair of cream and burgundy stripes.
Their eyes met and the silence stretched until he broke it. “Bobbie,” he began.
“Come inside,” she said. And, leading him into the living room, she said, “My happy home. A prime example of the gracious mode of living characteristic of antebellum Charleston. All the charm and refinement of the Old South is reflected in these warm and decorously appointed rooms.”
He chuckled, took the chair she indicated. “It is a beautiful house,” he said.
“Make me an offer and it’s yours.”
“You’re not happy here? I’m sorry, that was a stupid question. Of course you’re not happy, not after what’s happened. But you’re not really thinking of selling because of—”
“Because Caleb died? No, we’re not thinking of selling. At least we haven’t talked about it. David doesn’t even know I hate it here.”
“Because of what happened?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” She shrugged, reached for a cigarette. He offered a light and she leaned forward to accept it. Blowing out smoke she said, “I’m not sure what it is. This place is a mausoleum. You remember those comic books? This place is like living in the pages of Tales From The Crypt. Do you believe in ghosts, Jeff?”
“I never gave them much thought.”
“Neither did I. I never had to before I set up housekeeping in beautiful downtown Charleston.”
“Is this a haunted house? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be flip—”
“I don’t know, but something’s driving me slightly batty. Would you consider me a flighty woman?”
“Not you, Bobbie.”
“Because I always thought of myself as Stella Stable. A sort of second cousin to the Rock of Gibraltar. Now I hear things in the middle of the night, and I’ve got a personal grudge fight going with a gas stove, and I’m constantly being spooked by my own kid.”
“Are you talking about Caleb?”
She shook her head. “Ariel. Granted, she’s an intrinsically spooky kid, but I think I’ve been overreacting. I hope I’ve been overreacting.”
“You lost a son, Bobbie. It’s only natural for you to be affected by it.”
She looked at him.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No. You’re the only person who ever calls me Bobbie, did you know that?”
“If you’d rather I didn’t—”
“I didn’t say that.” She held his eyes for a moment, then lowered her own and took a quick puff on her cigarette. “I’ve been going nuts,” she said. “But I said that before, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“I think it started before Caleb died. I don’t know when it started. Maybe it was moving here that did it. This house. Maybe it’s not the house. Maybe — hell, Jeff, I don’t know what it is.”
“You’re just upset—”
“I’m more myself today than I’ve been in a long time. At least I can talk for a change. I can’t remember the last time I was able to talk to my husband, and I haven’t got anybody else in my life. I don’t even know the neighbors. They all stay in their own houses playing solitaire and passing the time of day with their own ghosts, I suppose. So I’m afraid you’re getting more than you bargained for.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Just what did you bargain for, come to think of it? A quick jump in the feathers for old time’s sake?”
He colored.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m a bitch.”
“It’s part of your charm.”
“Is that what it is? Gintzler would tell me it’s part of the wall I build to keep other people out. Thirty bucks an hour and that was the best he could manage. Seriously, why did you come?”
“To talk about Caleb. I never even managed to see him and all of a sudden he was dead.”
“All of a sudden,” she said, and the next thing she knew she was sobbing fitfully and he was on the couch beside her, holding her, stroking her hair.
“Go ahead,” he urged her. “Go ahead and let go.”
But she couldn’t. She drew away, pulled herself together, crushed out her cigarette and lit a fresh one. He returned to his chair and she smoked for a moment or two in silence.
“Coffee,” she said. “I didn’t even offer you a cup of coffee. The ultimate hostess.”
“That’s all right.”
“Would you like a cup?”
“I’ve had half a dozen cups already this morning.”
“Or a drink. Would you like a drink?”