The shadow of the closing door prompted me to flick on the hallway light, and Pierce squinted at it. I hated the green color my mom had painted the hallway and living room. Pictures covered the passage to the kitchen: pictures of me and Robbie, slices of our lives.
I glanced back at Pierce, who was still staring at the light but clearly making an effort to not say anything. I hid a smile and wondered how much longer his efforts to not look unimpressed would win out over his curiosity.
"You have so many rugs," he finally said, following suit as I stomped my feet.
"Thanks," I said, and I shuffled out of my coat His eyes finally hit the walls, and he reached out "And photographs. In color."
"You've seen pictures?" I asked, surprised, and he nodded.
"I've had my picture taken," he said proudly, then reached out. "This is you? It's beautiful," he said in awe. "The expression the artist captured is breathtaking. None of God's landscapes has ever looked so beautiful."
I gazed at the picture he was touching in reverence and then away with mixed feelings. It was a close up of my face among the fall leaves, my eyes as green and vivid as all creation, my hair bringing out all the shades of autumn clustered about. I had just come back from a stint at the hospital and you could see that I was ill by my pale complexion and thin face. But my smile made it truly beautiful, my smile I had given to my dad as the shutter snapped, thanking him for the joy we had found in the simple pleasure of the day.
"My dad took it," I said, looking away. "Come in the kitchen," I said, wiping my eye when I noticed it was damp. I was supposed to die before him, not the other way around.
"I don't know how long my mom will be out," I said loudly, hearing his steps behind mine. "But if we can get what we need and leave, it will be all the better. Forgiveness being easier to get than permission…"
Pierce entered slowly, hesitating by the laminated table and taking in the ticking clock, the cold stove, and the double-pan sink as I dropped my coat and bag onto my chair. "You and your mother are alone?" he asked.
Surprised at the amount of wonder in his voice, I hesitated. "Yes. Robbie is visiting from the West Coast, but he goes back next week."
His deep blue eyes came back from the ceiling. "California?"
"Oregon."
Pierce looked again at the cold stove, undoubtedly guessing its use from the pot of solstice cranberry tea on it, now scrummed over and cold. "Your mother is very brave for raising you alone."
If he only knew how often it was the other way around. "She should, shouldn't she," I said, going to the coffeemaker and peeking into the filter to find unused grounds. "You want some coffee?"
Taking off his coat, Pierce draped it carefully over a chair. He checked his nonexistent tie, then moved his arms experimentally as if taking in how warm it was. "I'm of a mind, yes, but does our limited time allow for it?"
I flipped a switch and the coffeemaker started. I kind of liked his extra words. It made him sound classy. "Yup. You want to help me with the attic?"
Without waiting for an answer, I went down the other hallway to the rest of the house, Pierce right behind me. "That's the bathroom there," I said as we passed it. "My room is at the end of the hallway, and my mom's is across from it. Robbie has the front room, though it's more of a storage room, now."
"And the servants are in the attic?" he asked as I halted under the pull-down stairs.
"Servants?" I asked, gaping at him. "We don't have any servants."
Pierce looked as surprised as I felt. "But the rugs, the photos, the warmth of your home and its furnishings…"
His words trailed off as his hands spread wide in question, and I flushed when I got it. "Pierce," I said, embarrassed. "I'm totally middle class. The closest I've ever come to having a servant is winning a bet and having Robbie clean my room for a month."
The man's jaw dropped. "This is middle class?"
I nodded, stretching up for the pull cord and putting my weight on it. "Most of the city is." The trapdoor barely moved and my arms gave out. It snapped shut with a bang, and I dropped back down on my heels, disgusted.
Pierce smoothly took the cord and stepped under the door. He wasn't much taller, but he had more muscle. "I can do it," I said, but my arms were trembling, and I backed up while he swung the ladder down like it was nothing. But then again, it was.
Pierce looked up into the inky blackness spilling cool air down onto us, jumping when I flicked on the light.
"Sorry," I said, taking advantage of his surprise by pushing past him and up onto the ladder. "I'll be right back," I said, enjoying the cooler air up here smelling of wood and dusty boxes. The shush of a passing car from outside sounded odd and close. Arms wrapped around me, I looked over the past boxed up and piled haphazardly about, like memories in a person's brain. It was only a matter of knowing where a thought was and dusting it off.
My eyes lit upon the stack of carefully labeled tomato boxes that had my stuffed animals. A faint smile came over my face, and I stepped over the Halloween decorations to touch a dusty lid. I must have had about two hundred of them, all collected during my stints in and out of the hospital. I had counted them my friends, many taking on the names and personalities of my real friends that never made it out of the hospital that one last time. I knew my mom wanted them gone, but I couldn't throw them away, and as soon as I got my own place, I'd take them with me.
I lifted the first one and set it aside to find the box hiding under them. It was my dad's, tucked away lest my mom throw it out in a fit of melancholy. Some of his best stuff. I dug my fingernails into the little flaps to get a grip, grunting when it proved heavier than I thought. God, what had I put in here, anyway?
"Allow me," came Pierce's voice from my elbow, and I spun.
"Holy crap!" I exclaimed, then covered my mouth, feeling myself go red. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were up here."
Pierce's shock at my language melted into almost laughter. "My apologies," he said, and I shifted to let him to lift the box with enviable ease. "I like attics. They're as peaceful as God's church. Alone and apart, but a body can hear everything. The past stacked up like forgotten memories, but with a small effort, brought down and enjoyed again."
I listened to the cold night and smiled. "I know exactly what you mean."
Watching my footing, I followed him to the stairway. He took the box from me and gestured I should go before him, and, flattered at the chivalry, I did. My shoulders eased as the warmth of the house slipped over me, and I stood aside when Pierce lightly descended. He handed me the box to fold the ladder back up, but he hesitated at the bare bulb, still glowing in the attic. Without glancing at me for permission, he carefully pushed the light switch down.
Of course the light went out. A delighted smile came over him, and much to his credit, he didn't play with the switch but shoved the collapsible ladder closed and back into the ceiling. I watched his eyes travel over the lines of it as he did, as if memorizing how it worked.
"Thank you," I said as I went before him, back into the kitchen with the box.
The coffeemaker was gurgling its last, and Pierce looked at it, undoubtedly figuring out what it was from the rich scent that had filled the kitchen. "If that doesn't cap the climax," he said, almost missing the table as he set the box down. "It made itself."
"I'll get you some," I said as I hustled to the cupboard. It smelled great as I poured out two cups and I handed him one, our fingers touching. He smiled, and something tight-ened in my chest. God, I am not falling for him. He's dead. But he did have a nice, mischievous smile.