“I haven’t finished counting my points.”
“That’s all right, Grandma. Why don’t you open your present?”
“I’m not scheduled for a walk in the gardens now,” she said, very precisely. “It’s not on my schedule. I don’t understand this change.” But her fingers worried the top off the box as he steered her into the elevator.
“Oh, they’re lovely! Roses. I never had much luck with roses in the garden. I always planted at least one rosebush wherever we were. Remember, honey? I had to try. My mother had the most beautiful rose garden.”
“I bet she did,” Trevor said without interest.
“You got to see it that once.” She was animated now, and some of the beauty she’d once claimed shone through. Trevor didn’t see it, but he did notice the pearl studs at her ears, the expensive shoes of soft cream-colored leather. And thought of the waste.
She continued to gently stroke the pink petals. Those who saw them pass saw a frail old woman’s pleasure in the flowers, and the handsome, well-dressed young man who wheeled her.
“How old were you, baby? Four, I think.” Beaming, she took one of the long-stemmed beauties out of the box to sniff. “You won’t remember, but I do. I can remember so clearly. Why can’t I remember yesterday?”
“Because yesterday’s not important.”
“I had my hair done.” She fluffed at it, turning her head from side to side to show off the auburn curls. “Do you like it, baby?”
“It looks fine.” He decided, on the spot, that even millions in diamonds wouldn’t induce him to touch that ancient hair. How old was the bag of bones anyway? He did the math, just to occupy his mind, and was surprised to realize she was younger than the bitch at the card table.
Seemed older, he decided. Seemed ancient because she was a lunatic.
“We went back, that one time we went back.” She nodded her head decisively. “Just for a few hours. I missed my mother so much it nearly broke my heart. But it was winter, and the roses weren’t blooming, so you didn’t get to see them again.”
She laid a rosebud against her cheek. “I always planted a garden, a flower garden wherever we went. I had to try. Oh, it’s bright!” Her voice quivered as he pushed the chair outside. “It’s awfully bright out here.”
“We’ll go into the shade in just a minute. Do you know who I am, Grandma?”
“I always knew who you were. It was hard, so hard for you to keep changing, but I always knew who you were, baby. We kept each other safe, didn’t we?” She reached back, patted her hand on his.
“Sure.” If she wanted to think he was his father, that was fine. Better, in fact. They had a link between them unlike any other. “We kept each other safe.”
“Sometimes I can barely remember. It goes in and out, like a dream. But I can always see you, Westley. No, Matthew. No, no, Steven.” She let out a relieved breath as she latched onto the name. “Steven now, for a long time now. That’s who you wanted to be, so that’s who you are. I’m so proud of my boy.”
“Do you remember the last time he found us? My father? Do you remember the last time you saw him?”
“I don’t want to talk about that. It hurts my head.” And her head swiveled from side to side as he wheeled her down the path, away from others. “Is it all right here? Are we safe here?”
“Perfectly safe. He’s gone. He’s dead, long dead.”
“They say,” she whispered, and it was clear she wasn’t convinced.
“He can’t hurt you now. But you remember that last time he came? He came at night, to the house in Ohio.”
“We’d think we were safe, but he’d come. I’d never let him hurt you. Doesn’t matter what he does to me, even when he hits me, but he won’t touch you. He won’t hurt my baby.”
“Yes. Yes.” Jesus, he thought, get over it. “But what about that last time, in Ohio? In Columbus.”
“Was that the last time? I can’t remember. Sometimes I think he came but it was a dream, just a bad dream. But we had to go anyway. Couldn’t take a chance. They said he was dead, but how could they know? He said he’d always find you. So we had to run. Is it time to run again?”
“No. But when we were in Columbus, he came. At night. Didn’t he?”
“Oh God, he was just there. There at the door. No time to run. You were scared, you held my hand so tight.” She reached back again, squeezed Trevor’s hand until the bones rubbed together. “I wouldn’t leave you with him, not even for a minute. He’d snatch you away if he could. But he didn’t want you, not yet. One day, he’d tell me. One day I’d look around and you’d be gone. I’d never find you. I couldn’t let him take you away, baby. I’d never, never let him hurt you.”
“He didn’t.” Trevor ground his teeth with impatience. “What happened the night he came to the house in Columbus?”
“I’d put you to bed. Frodo pajamas. My little Lord of the Rings. But I had to wake you up. I don’t know what he’d have done if I’d refused. I brought you downstairs, and he gave you a present. You liked it, you were just a little boy, but still, you were frightened of him. ‘Not to play with,’ he said, ‘but just to keep. One day it might be worth something.’ And he laughed and laughed.”
“What was it?” Excitement danced up Trevor’s spine. “What did he give me?”
“He sent you away. You were too young to interest him yet. ‘Go back to bed, and mind what I say. Keep it with you.’ I can still see him standing there, smiling that horrible smile. Maybe he had a gun. He might’ve. He might’ve.”
“Keep what?”
But she was beyond him, she was back fifty years into the fear. “Then it was just the two of us. Alone with him, and he put his hand on my throat.”
She reached up with her own as her breath stuttered. “Maybe this would be the time he’d kill me. One day he’d kill me, if I didn’t keep running. One day he’d take you away from me, if we didn’t hide. I should go to the police.”
She balled a fist, thumped it on the box. “But I’m too afraid. He’ll kill us, kill us both if I go to the police. What could they do, what? He’s too smart. He always said. So it’s better to hide.”
“Just tell me about that night. That one night.”
“That night. That night. I don’t forget. I can forget yesterday, but I never forget. I can hear him inside my head.”
She put her hands to her ears. “Judith. My name was Judith.”
Time was running out, he thought. They’d come looking for her soon, to give her medication. Worried that they’d come sooner if anyone saw her having her little fit, or heard her sniveling, he pushed the chair farther down the path, deeper into the shade.
He forced himself to touch her, to pat her thin shoulder. “Now, now. That doesn’t matter. Just that one night matters. You’ll feel better if you tell me about that one night. I’ll feel better, too,” he added, inspired. “You want me to feel better, don’t you?”
“I don’t want you to worry. Oh baby, I don’t want you to be afraid. I’ll always take care of you.”
“That’s right. Tell me about the night, the night in Ohio, when he came and brought me a present.”
“He looked at me with those horrible cold eyes. Go ahead and run, run all you want, I’ll just find you again. If the boy didn’t have the present with him when he found us again, he’d kill both of us. No one would ever find us. No one would ever know. If I wanted to stay alive, if I wanted the boy to stay alive, I’d do exactly what he said. So I did. I ran, but I did what he said in case he found us again. Did he come back? In my dreams he kept finding us.”
“What did he bring, damn it?” He gave the chair a vicious shake, then came around to shove his face close to hers. “Tell me what he brought.”
Her eyes went wide and glassy. “The bulldozer, the bright yellow bulldozer. Kept it in the box, years and years in the box like a secret. You never played with it. Then you put it on your shelf. Why did you want it on the shelf? To show him you’d done what he told you?”