“We don’t think so, but you’re the only one who’ll be able to say for sure. The police are going to come back and interview you later. We did see that the drawer was yanked out in that table between the armchairs, and there wasn’t anything in it but we didn’t know if that meant something was missing or you just hadn’t filled it yet.”
“No, it was empty,” he said.
He walked into the room, his shoes scuffing across the brown paper, and sat on the edge of the bed and continued gazing around him. Barbara watched from the doorway. “Are you all right?” she asked him.
“Yes, fine.”
“Really the police made more mess than the burglar, I think. And the ambulance people.”
“Well, it was nice of you to clean up,” he said. His lips moved woodenly, as if they too were not quite his own.
“Louise was the one who rented the carpet shampooer; Louise and Dougall. You might want to offer to pay them back; you know they’re not rolling in money.”
“Yes, certainly,” Liam said.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Liam?”
“Of course.”
“I’d be happy to get you something before I go.”
She was going?
“A cup of coffee, or tea,” she said. “Or maybe a bowl of soup.”
“No, thanks,” he said. The thought of food made him want to gag.
“Okay, then. I’ll put your insurance card here on the bureau. Don’t forget to take your pills.”
“I’ll remember.”
She hesitated. Then she said, “Well, so, Kitty should be here around six. And meanwhile you have my number in case anything goes wrong.”
“Thank you, Barbara.”
She left.
He sat motionless until he heard the front door shut, and then he lifted his feet onto the bed and lay back. His pillowcase smelled of some unfamiliar detergent. And the pillow inside was unfamiliar as well-filled with feathers or goose down, something that sank in and stayed there.
He knew that he should be thankful to Barbara for even this much. It wasn’t as if she were responsible for him any longer.
But hadn’t she promised to check the lock on the patio door?
Outside his window he saw pine boughs, almost black even in daylight, and a sky as blue as bottle glass. No stars, of course. Nothing connected with that night.
He must get up. He had things to do. He would fix himself a nice lunch and force himself to eat it. He would find out which box his linens were in and set them out on the daybed for Kitty. Maybe finish his unpacking, too. Break down the last of the cartons for the recycling bin.
But he went on lying there, looking not at the window now but at the bedroom door, and summoning up the image of a hulking figure emerging from darkness. Or a small, slight, sneaky figure. Or maybe two figures; why only one?
Nothing came. His mind was a blank. He had heard that expression a thousand times, mind was a blank, but only now did he understand that a mind really could be as blank and white and textureless as a sheet of unused paper.
3
Kitty arrived with a duffel bag almost bigger than she was. She carried it slung over her shoulder, and the weight forced her to stand at a steep slant in the doorway-a tiny person in a halter top and minuscule denim shorts, with chopped-looking, sand-colored hair and a quick, alert little face. “Poppy!” she said. (She was the only daughter who called him that.) “You look like you’ve been run over!”
Even so, she shucked off her bag and heaved it into his arms. His knees buckled as he received it. “What’s in here, the kitchen sink?” he asked, but secretly, he was pleased. She must be planning to stay a while.
He stood still for a fleeting kiss on the cheek and then followed her into the living room, where she threw herself into an armchair. “I am so, so tired of old ladies,” she said. “There’s not a patient in that office who’s under ninety, I swear.”
“Oh, and, ah, is that how you dress for work?” he asked.
“Huh? No, I changed before I left. You would not believe my uniform. It’s polyester! And pink!”
He set her bag on the floor beside her. (In his current condition, he couldn’t imagine lugging it all the way to the den.) Then he lowered himself into the other armchair. “What do you think of my apartment?” he asked.
“Your old one had a fireplace.”
“I never used it, though.”
“And your old one didn’t have homicidal maniacs climbing through the window.”
“Door,” he said. He pressed his hands between his knees. “But one assumes that won’t be an everyday occurrence.”
Kitty didn’t look convinced. “Anyway,” she said. “Let’s see: what am I supposed to ask. Do you know what year this is? Can you tell me your last name?”
“Yes, yes…”
“And you don’t feel dizzy or sleepy?”
“Certainly not,” he said.
In fact, he had slept for most of the afternoon, waking only for check-up calls from Louise, Louise again, and his sister. He had been troubled by strange, vivid dreams and some sort of olfactory hallucination-a smell of vinegar-but he had answered each of the calls in his brightest voice. “Yes, fine, thanks! Thank you for calling!” Louise had seemed reassured, but his sister, who knew him better, was harder to deceive. “Are you positive you’re all right?” she had asked. “Do you think I ought to come over?”
“That would be a waste of your time. I’m fine. And Kitty’s due here shortly,” he’d said.
“Oh. Well, okay.”
She was glad to be let off the hook, he could tell. (He knew her pretty well, too.) They didn’t actually set eyes on each other more than once or twice a year.
Kitty was examining the lamp table next to her chair. She pulled out the drawer and peered inside. “What was in here?” she asked Liam. “Any valuables?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
“It’s usually got, you know, pens and pencils and memo pads, but I hadn’t unpacked them yet. In fact, as far as I can tell, I’m not missing a single thing. My wallet was still on the bureau, even-the first place you’d think a burglar would look. I guess he just didn’t have time.”
“Lucky,” Kitty said.
“Lucky, right. Except…”
Kitty was bending over now to rummage in the outside pocket of her duffel bag. She drew forth a flat, silvery computer of the type that Liam believed was called a “notebook,” a rather attractive pink iPod, and finally a cell phone no bigger than a fun-size candy bar. (So much equipment, these young people seemed to need!) She flipped the phone open and put it to her ear and said, “Hello?” And then, after a moment, “Well, sorry! I had it on Vibrate. Yes, of course I’m here. Where else would I be? Yes. He’s fine. You want to talk to him?”
Liam sat forward expectantly, but Kitty said, “Oh. Okay. Bye.” She snapped the phone shut and told Liam, “Mom.”
“She didn’t want to talk to me?”
“Nope. That woman is eternally checking up on me. She thinks I might be with Damian.”
“Ah.”
“This business about me staying with you? It’s just an excuse. Really she wants to make sure I’m properly chaperoned every everlasting minute, and now that she’s got a boyfriend she’s too busy to do it herself, so she ships me off to you.”
“Your mom has a boyfriend?” Liam asked.
“Or something like that.”
“I didn’t realize.”
But Kitty was punching phone keys. “Hey,” she said. “What’s up.”
Liam collected himself with some effort and rose to see about supper.
The smell of vinegar persisted. It seemed to emanate from his own skin. He asked Kitty over supper (canned asparagus soup and saltines), “Do I smell like vinegar to you?”
“Huh?”
“I keep thinking I smell like vinegar.”
She fixed him with a suspicious stare and said, “Do you know what year this is?”