At first, Holly didn’t even notice the woman with the covered dish. The chaos associated with the arrival of her oldest sister’s family for Thanksgiving dinner was demanding all of her attention. The woman with the dark hair and the perfect skin and the casserole waited patiently through a procession of hugs and kisses, waited until no one remained on the porch but the two of them.
“Holly?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Remember your friend from church? From the basilica?”
Holly hesitated.Could she mean…?
“He said to mention the organ.”
She could.“Uh, yes. I remember.”
“He’s around the corner. Right this minute. He’d like to see you again.”
She stammered, “I have guests.”
“He knows. He wants to see you while they’re here. In your house. He thinks it will be fun. Especially fun.”
Holly took the woman’s elbow and guided her a little farther from the door.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Holly emphasized “you.”
“I want to watch. That’s what I want.”
“Watch?”
“At Notre Dame I was the woman in the purple suit. Remember me?”
Holly remembered. “My family… what-“
“Move them into the living room for a picture. Everybody. He and I will come in the back, go down into the basement. We’ll know when, because you’ll turn off the kitchen lights.”
“And then… what?”
“Before dinner you excuse yourself, say you’re going to take a bath. He’ll be waiting downstairs. Me too.”
At that moment Holly felt an explosion of anticipation. She felt it as she might feel the wind, or an ocean wave. It washed over her, covered her completely, engulfed her.
“Take this,” the woman said, handing over the casserole.
“What is it?”
“Some music. Some directions. Put it on, and turn it on as soon as you get to the basement. I should go. Someone may be watching us.”
Holly could barely breathe through the moist heat of expectation. She watched the woman go down the sidewalk and chanced a glance at the Cherokee with Colorado plates on the next block.
She went back inside. Fear?
Hardly.
Anticipation.
She peeked inside the casserole and saw the Walkman.
Her pulse shot way north of normal.
Once again she was off on an adventure. She was about to dash across the Brad Pitt line, again.
The family picture was a fiasco. Holly turned off the kitchen lights and herded everyone into the living room. Getting the ten children in place was like trying to get a bunch of houseflies to soar in formation.
Photos taken, Holly pulled the turkey from the oven, asked her oldest sister to remove the stuffing, and excused herself for a quick bath.
Instead of going into the bathroom, though, she scurried down the stairs, stopping halfway down to pull the headphones on and to hit the button on the Walkman marked “play.”
Her voice, not his. The music in the background? Chant. Gregorian chant.
Nice.
“Bottom step? See the duct tape? Wrap a long strip around your head, covering your mouth. Good. Now do another. We’re in the laundry room. Before you join us, take another strip of tape and bind your wrists. It’s not easy to do, but I’ve done it. You can do it, too.” Pause. “It’s what he wants. What do you want?”
A few moments of silence, then:
“Are you ready, Holly? When you’re ready, open the door to the laundry room. And come on in.”