Peg paused as she buttoned the pajama top. “No.”
“Don’t you think he’d like to know the latest? He’s really pumped that Susan’s considering advancing him enough to build a clinic.” Gina strolled to a love seat, dropped onto it.
Peg’s voice was even. “We don’t know the latest. We’ll have to see what Wade says. Besides, Susan knows a good investment when she sees one. The money will be a loan.”
Gina’s expression was sardonic. “A loan he sure couldn’t get from the bank these days. It’s a big gamble to come out of vet school and waltz right into a fancy clinic of his own. Susan used to be a sharp businesswoman, always driving a hard bargain. After all, she’s a Pritchard. She may start making decisions based on what would be best for Keith.”
“The loan to Dave would be a sound business decision.” But Peg’s voice was thin.
Peg snapped off the light, after a last check of the sleeping child. She stepped softly to the other twin bed, slipped beneath the covers. Moonlight gave the room a quality of shimmering water. Peg plumped the pillow behind her. I wasn’t certain but I thought she lay staring into the darkness, perhaps watching the shifting pattern of stark tree limbs against the far wall.
I sat at the end of the chaise longue. I was aware of the deepening chill of the room. Several quilts were stacked atop a wicker chest. I intended to snag one after Peg fell asleep.
She moved restlessly.
Perhaps she sensed my unseen but admittedly impatient presence. I would give her time to relax. I’d promised myself a satisfying sandwich. I decided to make sure everyone was settled for the night and I could have free use of the kitchen.
In Gina’s room, she once again stood by the wide-open window, blowing smoke into the night. Her scarlet robe would have been flattering to her gypsy dark coloring, but her sharp features were drawn in a tight frown.
Jake rested against a bolster and two large pillows. Her faded blond hair was pinned in protuberant tufts. A white mask of night cream covered her face but didn’t hide the droop of her mouth. She held an open book in her hands, but she stared blankly at the page.
Susan sat in her chair by the fake fire, the manila envelope in her lap. She lifted a cup of cocoa, absently sipped. Her patrician features were alight with happiness.
Since everyone was safely upstairs, I turned on every light in the kitchen. Have I mentioned the light in Heaven? You’ll be amazed, bright as gold, lustrous as pearls, clear as a limpid pool of aquamarine water. Electricity can’t compete, but the bright glow in the kitchen was cheerful. I’d grown up in a similar kitchen with a wrought-iron lamp fixture, white-painted wooden cabinets, an old gas range (any cook can tell you that cooking on gas is far superior), hardwood floor, painted wooden spice rack, pots and pans hanging from hooks on one wall, a long wooden table with a half dozen chairs, lace curtains on the window, and a back door with Victorian glass.
The calico cat rose from her cushion and ambled toward me, head lifted in hope.
I dropped down and petted her. “I don’t know where they keep your food but I’ll share some roast beef with you.”
A purr rumbled deep in her throat.
It was not only a homey kitchen, there was plenty of good food. I made a thick sandwich of roast beef on homemade wheat bread. I provided several curls of roast beef to the cat. “Here, Duchess, we’ll both have a feast.” I ended with a dish of chocolate ice cream, then washed up, returning everything to its place.
I was rewarded when I returned to the blue room. Peg’s breathing was even and deep. As I drifted into sleep, I carried with me the memory of Susan Flynn drinking cocoa and looking ahead to happy days with a little towheaded boy.
I love waking up, grasping after the last tendrils of a pleasant dream, welcoming the first silky awareness of a new day. I rolled over on my elbow. My quilt was bunched into a soft heap at the foot of the chaise longue. Sun spilled bright as pirate’s gold through the east windows. I shivered and pulled the quilt higher. The clock on the table between the twin beds read shortly after seven.
Bedsprings creaked. Chestnut brown hair tousled, yawning sleepily, Peg lifted her head from the pillow and looked toward the opposite twin bed.
Stealthily, I drew up the quilt and folded it.
Peg’s gaze shifted as I placed the quilt at the foot of the chaise longue. She gave the quilt a puzzled glance, shook her head, and turned back toward Keith.
The small form beneath the covers lay unmoving, head tucked beneath the pillow.
Easing to her feet, Peg slipped into pink house slippers. She stretched, brushed a hand through her curls, then tiptoed softly toward the door.
As it closed behind her, the covers moved. Cautiously, Keith emerged. He stared at the door, his thin face anxious, his body rigid.
Poor baby. He was scared to pieces.
I darted a look at the door. Peg surely wouldn’t be back immediately. Probably she’d gone to see about Keith’s breakfast.
With a defiant nod Heavenward, I swirled into being. I liked being here. I wanted to see myself in a mirror, hear my footsteps on the wooden floor. The image in the mirror was satisfactory, my green eyes bright and cheerful, my red curls tidy enough. This morning’s turtleneck was white, my wool slacks red, my boots white. I hurried to Keith.
He drew back as far as he could.
I gave him a sharp salute. “Good morning, Keith. I’m Jerrie.” I didn’t think St. Jerome Emiliani, the patron saint of orphans, would mind if I used a version of his name. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so we can play. Do you like to sing in the morning?” I didn’t wait for an answer but began to sing “Jingle Bells,” throwing in a few lyrics of my own devising: Keith is here, Keith is here, what fun we’ll have today…
The rigidity eased from his small frame. He began to smile.
“Let’s pick our favorite things to do. I like to giggle and I’ll bet you do, too. Have you ever seen a cross-eyed frog dancing on a stage?”
A tiny smile curved his lips.
“Or an octopus with the hiccups?”
He looked at me uncertainly. “Ogpus?”
“Oh”—I threw up my arms—“you haven’t seen anything funny until you’ve seen an octopus with the hiccups. Octopi—that’s more than one octopus—live in the ocean in caves. They have big sleek heads and lots and lots of arms. An octopus with the hiccups waves his arms every which way.” I flopped my arms. “If an octopus—not having the hiccups, of course—came to see you, do you know what he’d do?”
He watched me with huge eyes.
I sat down on the bed and wrapped my arms gently around him. “That octopus would give you one hug, two, three, and then he’d take his other arms—he has lots of them—and hug and hug and maybe even give a tiny tickle.”
In a minute he was giggling and twisting.
When we stopped to smile at each other, his eyes were shining.
“Now, let’s look in your suitcase and I’ll help you get dressed. I’ll bet Peg has gone to fix you some breakfast. We’ll go downstairs and surprise her.”
I found fresh underwear, a thin long-sleeved shirt dull from many washes, and a pair of jeans that were too short. When he was dressed, I took his hand. “Let’s pretend we are on a breakfast safari. A safari is when…”
I remembered to disappear as we opened the door and started down the dim hallway. I’d enjoyed being there. Invisibility has its advantages but it was nicer to actually be on the ground. When I’m not here, I feel insubstantial.
At the stairs, Keith shook off my hand and started down, one steep step at a time, chubby fingers sliding from baluster to baluster. I was poised to grab him should he misjudge.
A door clicked shut.
I whirled. The hallway behind me was unrevealing, every door closed.
Someone had looked out, seen Keith walk past.
There had been no greeting.