When she entered the breakfast nook a half hour later, Joe was sitting at the table reading the Times, a large mug in his hand. He put down the mug and pulled out a chair for her.
“Hey.” He smiled. “I picked up doughnuts for Ken and his guys, like you asked, babe. They’re on the counter. I found the coffeemaker and the coffee. Plus two mugs, hot cups, plastic spoons, and paper plates. I think you’re set.”
“Congratulations. I’ll submit your name to the Nobel committee.”
He ignored her sarcasm and patted the chair. “Sit. I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. You’ll feel better, I promise. The coffee’s pretty good, I have to say.” He rose and took a step toward the kitchen.
“I’m glad you’re all sunshine and joy. I slept an hour. One hour. Coffee isn’t going to fix that.”
“I’m so sorry, babe.”
“I could pack all our stuff in the bags under my eyes. I look like crap, Joe. I feel like crap. There was almost no water coming out of the damn showerhead, and what did tinkle out was lukewarm.”
He took her hand. “Eve, honey—”
She yanked her hand away. “Don’t ‘Eve honey’ me. The shower in the guest bathroom sucks, Joe. I’m sure it was hot when you showered, so of course you don’t have a problem with it. The shower sucks. This house sucks.” She started to cry.
In a flash he was at her side, his muscled arms hugging her to his chest. “I feel terrible, Eve. I wish I could help.”
“Something’s in the wall, Joe. Something alive.”
Joe sighed. “Eve—”
She pulled away and glared at him, her blue eyes intense. She clenched her hands. “I heard it, Joe. Over and over and over, so many times I stopped counting. So don’t you dare tell me I’m imagining things. Because I. Will. Scream.”
Joe placed a hand on her shoulder. “I hear you, Eve. I’ll call an exterminator.”
“I don’t know if an exterminator can help.”
Joe frowned. “You want to ask Ken to open the wall, see what’s in there? Whatever it takes.”
She took his hand. “Promise you won’t think I’m crazy.”
“Okay,” he said, drawing out the word, his tone wary.
“The voices I’ve been hearing?” She tightened her grip on his hand. “Last night they whispered what sounded like ‘Leave.’ And I felt something breathing on my face, Joe.”
Joe covered his mouth with his free hand and forced a cough. Eve knew he was struggling not to laugh. She felt a twinge of anger but couldn’t blame him.
He dropped his hand to his side. “What are you saying, Eve? That there are ghosts in the house?”
“The people who owned it before us . . . The woman killed her husband, Joe. She killed herself. What if their troubled spirits are here? I know we’re not supposed to practice witchcraft, but that doesn’t mean spirits don’t exist. It’s possible, isn’t it?”
Joe drew her close. “You know what I think, honey? I think you and I had way too much wine the other night, and we were talking about the people who owned the house, being disrespectful. So that’s on your mind. Plus our parents scared us with all that talk about bad mazel.”
“I heard the voices, Joe. I felt them breathing on me.”
“Maybe you did, Eve,” he said, his voice soft as cotton. “And maybe you had a nightmare that seemed incredibly real. Isn’t that possible? Hasn’t that ever happened to you? It has to me.”
She’d had those kinds of dreams, more than once. “You’re right. I’m being silly.”
“You’re not silly. I’d be frightened, too.” He released her and cupped her face in his hands. “Look, if it happens tonight, wake me right away. I’ll stay up with you.”
The bands around her chest loosened. “I love you, Joe.”
“I love you, too, babe.”
“I’m sorry I was such a bitch.”
“You? Never.” He smiled. “Gotta go, babe.”
Fernando and William arrived on time. They thanked Eve for the coffee and doughnuts, which they hurried to finish when Ken showed up minutes later. Eve ate a glazed doughnut with her coffee and slipped a cruller into a plastic bag to take to work. She was walking to her Corolla when Ken called her name. She turned around.
“Show you something?” He looked stern.
“Is there a problem?”
“You tell me.”
She followed him down the hall into the bathroom. He pointed to the shower floor.
“I thought I made myself clear,” Ken said.
She stepped closer. The gray-brown mortar with its perfect slope showed markings and cracks in several areas.
“I have no idea how that happened,” Eve said. “We didn’t go near the shower, Ken.”
Ken harrumphed.
She peered closely at the markings. “Doesn’t that look like a bird’s feet? We left the windows open all night, because it was so warm. Maybe a bird flew in.”
“Through the screens?”
She sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Ken.”
“We lay tile on that surface, you’ll have cracks, that’s a guarantee. We’ll have to redo the mud. That’s half a day’s work, and it’s not coming out of my pocket.” Ken was scowling.
“Of course not.” Eve wondered how much a half day’s work would cost. Not that they had a choice. “So when will you be able to install the marble?”
“You’re looking at Tuesday at the earliest—unless you have more birds visiting.”
EVE SHOWED JOE the marks on the mortar.
“That is strange,” he said. “You’re right. The marks do look like they were made by a bird. Or maybe a chicken. Bock, bock, bock.” Joe flapped his arms. “Is that the noise you’ve been hearing?”
She stared at him, wounded. “I can’t believe you’re making fun of me. I haven’t slept in two days, Joe.”
His handsome face turned red. “I’m really sorry, Eve. I was trying to get you to see the humor in this.”
“The shower’s going to cost us hundreds more, Joe. Where’s the humor in that?”
Wednesday night Eve took a whole Ambien instead of a half and fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed she was at a grave site where she saw somber-faced people, most of whom she knew. Gina, the staff and teachers from her school. Her mother and father, Joe, Joe’s parents. Everyone was crying. She didn’t see herself, and it took a few seconds before she realized that it was her funeral. Her chest ballooned with sadness. She wanted to cry, too, but the voices were back, leave, leave, leave, leave, leave, and she couldn’t wake Joe, couldn’t move because something was pressing against her chest, breathing on her face, its odor foul and musty.
In the morning Joe said, “I watched you, babe. You were sound asleep. Feeling better?”
“A little,” she lied. She’d had another nightmare. That was the only rational explanation, so why worry Joe? There was nothing he could do.
She was sluggish at work, but the kids didn’t notice. An hour after she returned home her mother, Ruth, arrived with bags of fruits and vegetables. She had brought dinner—a large pan of eggplant parmesan—and homebaked chocolate cake, Joe’s favorite.
“You’re the best,” Eve said, and kissed her mother’s cheek.
Ruth smiled. “I try.” She noted the dark circles under Eve’s eyes. “You didn’t sound like yourself on the phone, honey. You’re not sleeping well, right?” She nodded. “It takes time to get used to a new house.”
“It’s not that.” Eve told her mother about the dream, but not about the voices. She braced for a comment about the house’s bad mazel, but Ruth said, “Your own funeral? Chas v’sholom”—God forbid—and shuddered. Eve’s grandmother, Rivka, would have spit on the floor.