THE END TABLE wouldn’t do. Like almost every other surface in Beatrice Harriman’s household, it was cluttered with knickknacks and mementos. Photographs. Doilies. Sea shells. Ceramic frogs. Nature abhors a vacuum; so does Frank’s mother. I couldn’t find a place with enough free space to hold the fine bone china cup and saucer in my left hand.
Frank was sitting next to me on his mother’s white, very soft sofa, listening to her animated telling of news of his old Bakersfield friends. He was drinking his coffee. Bea Harriman was drinking hers. I was watching mine grow cold.
Unable to use my right hand, I couldn’t lift the cup off the saucer. I thought about trying to set the saucer on my lap, but thanks to the softness of the sofa, my lap was at about a forty-five-degree angle. I couldn’t even stand up.
I could have interrupted Bea Harriman to ask for help, I suppose. That would have been the smart thing to do. But I had the distinct feeling that Bea Harriman didn’t like me much. Frank had warned me that his mother had been disappointed when he broke up with Cecilia, a girlfriend from Bakersfield; he said it would take her some time to get used to the idea of someone new.
Someone new? Frank had broken up with Cecilia five years ago. I couldn’t credit all of Bea Harriman’s coolness toward me to something that had happened that long ago.
All the same, there was no use in complaining over every little thing, I told myself. It was Thanksgiving, and the list of things to be thankful for was a long one. I concentrated on that list as I looked over the photographs.
I decided that I was being too sensitive about Frank’s mom, probably in part because I was still worn out from Tuesday’s rescue at sea. It had been a long night.
The Coast Guard had been very efficient. Within moments, they had boarded the Pandora, taken Gannet and Stevens into custody, and treated Jack’s wound. Although we had a brief moment to reassure one another when Frank first came on board, things got hectic after that.
Jack shrugged off any attempt I made to express gratitude, saying that he knew he had scared me but that it wouldn’t do to have Gannet think he wasn’t serious. He asked me what had become of the envelope from Paul, and went to look for it soon after his wound was bandaged.
The Coast Guard went to work on getting the Pandora and the powerboat back to the marina, and soon took all of us aboard the cutter. I thought Frank and I would have a chance to talk then, but as soon as we sat down, Jack walked over and quietly handed Frank the envelope from Paul. It was still sealed. Frank opened it carefully and found not only a bloodstained knife, but a signed statement which described Gannet’s role in detail. As Jack and I read over Frank’s shoulders, it was clear that Gannet had initiated the entire plan to murder Mrs. Fremont.
As we read the confession, I glanced at Jack now and then, anxious about his reaction. There was nothing personally addressed to Jack beyond the words on the outside of the envelope; the confession itself was both brutally explicit and absolutely unsentimental. No remorse, no excuses. Simply a means to protect Paul from a double-cross by Gannet.
As we finished reading, Jack walked away from us, to stand leaning against a rail. Frank watched him for a moment, then went over to him. For the remainder of our time on the cutter, they spoke to one another in low voices. Without hearing what they were saying, I could still tell that Jack seemed more at ease as a result of the conversation. All Frank would say about it later was, “Jack just needs some time.”
Slow remedy, time.
When we finally got home that evening, we were both talked out. We had been met at the dock by members of the press (which included Mark Baker) and the police (which included Pete and Lieutenant Carlson); answering their questions had drained the last of our energy.
From listening to Frank, Pete, and Carlson, I learned that the police had already discovered the real function of the cable-TV van not long after Jack and I had left to go sailing. Frank had thought over the list of things I had said Gannet knew about us. While he was sure Gannet must have also had a connection to someone from the department or the D.A.’s office, Frank decided that even a friend in Robbery-Homicide couldn’t have told Gannet so much.
Pete, who can make a badger look like a creature that gives up too easily, talked the department expert on bugging devices into dropping everything he was working on, and checking out Frank’s house. The man suspected the cable-TV van the minute he laid eyes on it. Its occupant wasn’t able to drive off before Pete showed him his detective’s shield and asked to see cable company identification in exchange. No I.D. Lots of listening devices.
Most of the other members of the department weren’t too happy with Mr. Gannet at that point, including Carlson and Bredloe. Frank realized that our plans to go sailing had probably been reported to Gannet. When we were late getting back, Bredloe didn’t hesitate to ask the Coast Guard if they would initiate a search for us. The cutter had just cleared the breakwater when they saw the flare.
It was almost six in the morning before we got to sleep on Wednesday, which ended up being something of a lost day. Bright and early – very early – Thanksgiving morning, we got ready for the three-hour drive to Bakersfield.
Frank had helped me into the Volvo and put our overnight bag in the trunk. When he packed the overnight bag, I almost backed out of the whole deal.
“We’re staying overnight?”
He looked at me and said, “Sure, why not?”
“I didn’t know you wanted to stay there overnight.”
“Look, you’re going to have a hard time coping with the car ride out there and the day’s activities. If we try to drive back tonight, you’ll be tired and sore as hell.”
It made sense, of course.
“We’re staying at Cassie’s?” I said hopefully.
He shook his head. “All they could offer us is a couch. We’ll stay at my mom’s.”
“She’s expecting this?”
“Yes, I told her we would be staying overnight.”
“What about Cody?”
“Jack is going to feed him.”
I couldn’t think up any other objections right at that moment. I was trying to let the whole idea sink in. Somewhere on the 405 Freeway, it sank all right.
“What if I have a nightmare?”
“I’ll be there.”
“What? Your mom is going to put us up in the same room?”
“I don’t see why not. I’ve told her we’re living together.”
“I’ll bet that went over big.”
“Irene, we’re both in our late thirties. We’re not a couple of college kids trying to sneak into each other’s dorm rooms. If she hassles us, we’ll get a hotel room.”
I sighed. “I don’t know, Frank. Age might not have anything to do with it. I don’t want your mom to think I’m corrupting you.”
That brought out a big enough laugh to make us ride along those little lane-dividing bumps for a minute.
I was enjoying the photos, and had stopped thinking about the coffee. There was the usual plethora of grandchildren’s images one might find in any proud grandmother’s home. There were a few of Frank and Cassie. And on the closest end of the mantel, there was a wedding photo of Frank’s parents.
She was beautiful. She was fine looking now, but what a knockout she was at – how old? She looked to be in her twenties. And next to her was the spitting image of Frank Harriman. Or rather, the man Frank was the spitting image of. I studied it a little more. No, there were subtle differences. His father was a little broader in build. His eyebrows were different, and maybe, slightly, his chin. Hair color a little lighter than Frank’s? Hard to tell from a black-and-white portrait.
“Irene! Oh Jesus, I’m sorry.” Frank was looking at me, awash with guilt and taking the cup and saucer from me.
His mother drew in a sharp breath. “No need to use the Lord’s name in vain, Franklin.”
Franklin? Franklin ignored her and started to hand the cup back to me. “No, it’s cold. I’ll get you a fresh cup.” He got up and strode off into the kitchen, leaving me with his mother before I could protest.
“I’m sorry, Irene. It was thoughtless of me.”
I mouthed a gracious response while wondering if I was being overly sensitive again, this time about something I thought I heard in her tone. Lack of sincerity? Couldn’t be. Could it?
Frank returned with the coffee, bringing a cup without the saucer.
They soon went back to Bakersfield prattle and I went back to studying photos while enjoying the coffee. I found my eyes drawn again and again to a handsome photo of Frank and his dad. Both men were in uniform, the father’s arm around the son, his pride in Frank fairly bursting from the photo.
“About twelve years ago?” Frank was saying to me.
“Pardon?”
“We met here about twelve years ago?”
“Yes. About then. Just after college.”
“How could you ever leave Bakersfield?” his mother asked me.
“Las Piernas is my hometown, and I guess I’ve grown attached to it.”
“Frank used to feel that way about Bakersfield.”
“Something smells great,” he said, changing the subject. “When are Mike and Cassie due to arrive?”
“Are you hungry? I’ll fix you something.”
He was watching me polish off the last of my coffee, and took the cup from me so that my hand would be free. He made room for it on an end table by shoving half a dozen gewgaws aside with a nonchalance that said he’d had practice at it.
“No, Mom. I’m not hungry. I just wondered when they would be here.”
“Oh, about noon. Listen, would you be a dear and pick up a few things at the store for me?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“I made a list.” She went into the kitchen, and we held hands again. We were getting to be like a couple of teenagers, sneaking affection when Mom wasn’t looking. She was in there for a while, and I realized she was on the phone with someone.
“Are you okay?” Frank asked.
“You already asked me that.”
“Are you still okay?”
“Fine.”
“Sorry to be so boring with all the talk of people you don’t know. I’ll be sure to bring up other topics of conversation when we get back from the store.”
“I’m enjoying the photographs, actually.”
He looked over at them. It was apparent that he had seen them so many times that they were now just part of the furnishings. He smiled.
“That’s one of my favorites.” He pointed to the one of him and his dad.
“Mine too. You look a lot like your dad.”
“I wish you could have met him.”
His mom came back in with the list, and we forgot to let go of our hands.
“Ready to go?” he said to me.
His mother protested with surprising vehemence. “Oh, Frank, don’t be ridiculous! Don’t drag poor Irene all over town with you.”
He must have felt me clench his hand.
“Why not? If Bakersfield is such a great place, I ought to show her around.”
“She’s lived here before, you said. And it can’t be easy for her to get around in all of those contraptions. No, leave her here and let us get acquainted. Go on, shoo. I need you to get back here before Cassie comes over.”
He looked at the list. “You sure you need all of this stuff? With what you’ve got in the kitchen now-”
“Never you mind, Franklin. Now scoot.”
He eyed her suspiciously. I knew that look. He thought she was up to something. He gives me that same look when I’m up to something. But she didn’t waver in returning a look of her own that said there would be no further discussion on the issue.
He looked at me and shrugged. “Will you be all right?”
“Of course she’ll be all right!”
Frank kept looking at me.
“I’ll be okay,” I said.
And so it was that I was left planted in a couch while Frank went off to run errands. As soon as he was gone, Mrs. Harriman excused herself, got up, and busied herself in the kitchen for a few minutes.
She came back out and seemed nervous. She kept looking at the clock. I decided to try to get a conversation going.
“How long have you lived here?” I asked.
“What? Oh, let’s see. It will be forty-two years in December.”
“It’s a lovely home. You have quite a collection of-” What to mention first? “ – of frogs.”
She laughed, and started telling me about some of them, where they came from, who had given them to her. We were both smiling when the doorbell rang. She suddenly looked very flustered, then went to answer the door.
“Why, Evelyn! What a surprise!”
“It is?” I heard a woman’s voice say. There was a murmur, then after a moment the voice said, “Oh. Oh. Yes.” Then the voice was loud, almost as if the speaker wanted to reach the audience in the back of a theater. “Yes, I was just in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop by.”
More murmuring, and then Frank’s mom escorted a truly exotic creature into the living room. She was heavyset and had blue hair. Her eye makeup was applied in such a way as to make her look constantly startled. Her cheeks were rouged in two bright spots. She appeared to be in her sixties. Her earrings were dangling papier-mâché bananas. She came in smiling nervously, clutching her bag as if I might rob her. But she took in my injuries and exclaimed, “Oh, you poor dear!” and shot Frank’s mom a dirty look.
“This is Mrs. Parker,” Bea Harriman said. “She’s a good friend. She just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
“You don’t say,” I replied warily. Something was up, all right, but Mrs. Parker looked like a poor choice for a conspirator. She seemed totally at sea. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker. I’m Irene Kelly. I’m a friend of Frank’s.”
“You are? Oh, you might know my daughter then. Cecilia?”
My turn to shoot the dirty look, but Mrs. Harriman wisely avoided my eyes. Mrs. Parker was really lost now, so I said, “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. Frank and Cecilia were so much in love. I tell you, he was crazy about that girl. Just doted on her. I’m sure Frank has talked about her to you. He was out and out silly over her.”
I smiled, admittedly one of the phoniest smiles of my life, and said, “As a matter of fact, he has told me about Cecilia.”
“Really?” Mrs. Parker was delighted.
“Yes. He told me that they were together for a few years, that he followed her to Las Piernas, that she went back to Bakersfield, that he didn’t follow. That he has no intention of following.” This last I gave special emphasis as I looked over at Frank’s mother.
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Mrs. Harriman meowed.
Mrs. Parker looked extremely ill at ease. “Uh, are you from Las Piernas?”
“Yes,” I said. I was trying to cool down. Mrs. Parker was clearly a pawn. I didn’t like the game much.
“Oh, so is your family from Las Piernas?”
“I was born and raised there.”
“Then why not have Thanksgiving dinner there, with your family?” Mrs. Parker asked innocently.
“Yes, why not?” Bea Harriman chimed in.
“I was invited here,” I said.
“Won’t your family miss you?” Mrs. Parker asked.
“My sister and her husband have plans of their own,” I said. It might or might not be a lie. Barbara had never even asked me about Thanksgiving.
“What about your parents?”
“My parents are no longer living.” I realized that I had said this same phrase to so many people over the last seven years that the sting had gone out of saying it. I usually said it as easily as “Please pass the peas and carrots.” Somehow, this time, the sting was back. Maybe it was the holiday, maybe it was the strain I was under. Maybe it was because I felt like a goddamned orphan, even though that really wasn’t the case. I took a deep breath.
Mrs. Parker was rather stricken, and even Frank’s mom suddenly looked as if she realized she had overstepped a boundary.
It was at that moment that Frank returned. He walked in with a couple of grocery sacks and took everything – well, almost everything – in within ten seconds. He cursed with fluency and imagination and slammed the sacks of groceries down on the dining room table. I hoped he had bought eggs.
“Franklin!” his mother snapped.
He looked at Mrs. Parker. “Hello, Evelyn. Forgive my language. Would you please excuse us?”
“Hello, Frank,” she said. “I was just leaving. I’ll say hello to Cecilia for you.”
“Thank you,” he said, but now he was glaring at his mother.
“I’ll see you out,” Mrs. Harriman said meekly.
As they left, he hurried over to me and sat down beside me. “Irene, I am so sorry. I didn’t even get everything on her damned list because I had this bad feeling about leaving you here by yourself. But I never thought she’d stoop – I’m just so sorry. I never should have brought you here.”
He scooped me up off the couch, and while I was glad to be out of the hole it put me in, I was startled.
“What are you doing?” It was going to be my question, but his mother asked it first.
“We are leaving,” he said, his voice cold. As angry as I had seen Frank, this was a kind of rage that was scarier than any of the other forms I had seen his temper take.
“Frank, please.” She was starting to cry.
“Crying won’t work, Mom. You’ve gone too far this time. Don’t ever even hint to me that I should come back here again. It’s not home anymore.”
As rotten as she had treated me, I felt sorry for her. She had tried something really dumb and it had backfired on her. By the time Frank reached the front porch, I asked him to set me down.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, as if my voice had startled him into realizing that he was carrying me.
“No, and she didn’t either. Not really, Frank.” There was a big old-fashioned swing on the porch. I motioned toward it. “Let’s sit out here on the swing for a minute before we climb back into the car. I need to talk to you.”
“I’m not staying.”
“Just sit here with me for a minute.”
He gave in, some of the fight seeming to leave him now that we were outside. I let him get the swing in motion and we listened to its rhythmic creaking for a few minutes before I said anything more.
“I’m not crazy about your mom’s methods, but I honestly think she just feels like she needs you. I think she’s afraid she’s lost you. She’s lost her husband, and she doesn’t want to lose her son.”
He sighed, but didn’t say anything.
“Your mom and I aren’t off to a great start, but I’m not ready to give up. I don’t want to become known as the reason you won’t see her anymore. Besides, none of this is fair to Cassie. She’s had to be the one your mom turns to all the time. You’re down in Las Piernas.”
“I just can’t stand the idea of what she did today. It’s embarrassing.”
“Tell you what. You can have Kenny and Barbara, I’ll take your mom.”
He laughed. “No deal.”
“See? Besides, you can’t have Barbara. Kenny you can have at wholesale prices. But even though Barbara drives me nuts, she loves me, I love her. Go figure.”
Another sigh.
“Go in and talk to her. I’ll wait out here. If you decide we’re leaving, I’ll go with you and never bring it up again. If you want to stay, I’ll survive. I think I’ve got my deer-foot knife here somewhere.”
“Will you be okay out here?”
Good, he was going to do it. “My grandmother had a swing like this. I’m fine. Besides, Cassie will be here before too long, and those kids are dying to see the lady with all the casts on her.”
He kissed me and went in.
THEY TALKED FOR a long time. Every now and then I would hear them shouting at each other. Frank is seldom a shouter; you have to really push his buttons to get a shout out of him. His mom must have been hitting them like a kid in an elevator. But I just sat in the swing and admired the garden, thinking that it was probably all for the best.
Cassie and Mike pulled up in front of the house before Frank came back out. The two boys got out of the backseat before their parents had a chance to open their own doors. “There she is!” one shouted, pointing at me. Brian, the four-year-old. Michael, at six, was slightly more restrained, but not by much. Both with light brown hair and freckles.
“Wait here, boys. Remember what I said.” Mike O’Brien was a tall blonde with a dark tan. He gave me a wave and a grin.
“Be gentle, like when we pet Mutt,” Michael Junior recited, as the four of them made their way over to me. Michael and Brian were each holding their hands behind their backs, as if for self-control.
Mike and Cassie probably hadn’t expected to have the comparison to the dog be made public, but I laughed and they joined in on it, leaving the kids confounded. Cassie introduced me to her family.
“You’re in Grandma’s swing,” Brian said by way of observation.
“Yes, I am. Would you boys like to sit on it with me?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, but the casts were too intriguing. They hopped up next to me.
“Careful,” Mike said.
“Where’s Uncle Frank?” Michael asked.
“He’s in having a nice long talk with your grandmother. That’s why I asked you to sit with me on the swing.”
“Where are your fingers?” Brian asked me, studying the sling.
“You can see most of them, can’t you?”
“Yeah. And I can see your toes.” This amused the two of them to no end.
“Where’s your cat?” Michael asked, looking around.
“He’s at home. Our friend is taking care of him.”
“Where do you live?” Brian asked.
“She lives in a place called Sin,” Michael said.
“Michael!” Mike said.
“That’s what Grandma said. She said Uncle Frank and his friend Irene are living in Sin.”
“Grandma must have got it wrong, Michael,” I said easily. “We live in Las Piernas.”
“Oh. Where the beach is.”
“Right.”
Brian said, “When do we get turkey?”
“Soon,” Cassie answered, but looked nervously toward the door.
Sitting was too much for the boys and soon they were running around the front yard, playing tag, laughing and squealing whenever one tagged the other.
Cassie and Mike sat on the swing with me. Like Cassie, Mike was easy to talk to. He was telling me about his work with the Highway Patrol, when the door opened and Frank and his mom appeared, arm in arm. Before any adult could get a word in, the boys were rushing toward them, shouting, “Uncle Frank! Uncle Frank!”
“Hello, you little devils,” he said and scooped them up, giving me a wink.
“You winked at her!” they both shouted.
“Yes. You caught me.”
“Wrestle us!” Brian cried.
“Give Uncle Frank a break, boys,” Mike said, but it was too late.
Frank was out on the lawn, the boys rolling and crawling all over him, amid more giggles and squeals. Mike grinned. “Well, Irene, I wish my kids would warm up to him a little.” He stepped off the porch and joined the melee.
“Why don’t you join us on the swing, Mom?” Cassie said.
Mrs. Harriman hesitated, avoiding eye contact with me. “I’ve got a dinner to get ready, Cassie.” And she turned and went inside.
“We’ll help!” Cassie shouted, undaunted. “Come on, Irene,” she said.
Frank’s mom looked between us as we arrived in her kitchen. “What can I do to help, Mrs. Harriman?”
“Please call me Bea.” She paused then added, “I guess you’ve already been a great help to me.”
I didn’t hear any sarcasm in that, so I tried a smile. “I’m not very useful in this condition, but I’m improving in using my left hand. I’d feel better if there was something I could do.”
“Why not let her stir the gravy, Mom?”
“Good idea, Cassie.”
And so it was that the three of us got a chance to know one another better. Cassie was a masterful ambassador between us. Somehow she managed to get Bea and me to relax, to help with dinner, and get the boys cleaned up again when it was time to eat. I figured that as a working mother, she had learned to juggle this many activities long ago.
Frank sat next to me and helped to load up my plate with turkey and all the trimmings. When it came time to give thanks, there was plenty to give.
Brian was surprised to watch Frank cut up my food for me. “Look, Dad! Like you did for me when I was little.”
This was topped a little later by Michael, who in all seriousness asked me, “Irene, what is it you want?”
We all looked at him.
“I’m fine, Michael. I’ve got all I want.” I meant it.
“But Grandma said you were a wantin’ woman.”
Bea was mortified, but Frank started to howl with laughter and was soon joined by everyone but Michael and Brian, who exchanged that look that says adults are nuts.
“Did Grandma get it wrong again?” he asked when he could be heard.
“Not that time, Michael,” Frank answered.
No one would let me help with the cleanup, so I sat outside watching the boys play. Brian had a toy clown that they were punching and flinging around, but the clown had the signs of being well-loved otherwise. Frank came out before long and sat next to me. Brian and Michael wore down and sat next to us. Brian wanted to sit on my lap, and Frank figured out a way for him to do it. “You have to sit very quietly,” Frank said. “Irene has been hurt.”
“How?” Brian asked, poking a hole in the clown’s neck with his finger.
“We’re not supposed to ask that, dummy,” Michael chided.
“I’m not a dummy. Irene, can you take your casts off?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“When you do, can I wear them?”
“They have to saw them off,” Michael said with relish.
Brian’s eyes grew wide. “How do you know?”
“A kid at school broke his arm and he had a cast and we all signed it and they cut it off with a saw.”
“Can we sign your cast, Irene?”
“Sure,” I said.
Frank laughed. “Boys, I wonder why we haven’t thought of it up to now? That’s a great idea. But I have dibs on the ankle cast. You guys can take the arm.”
“I’m not sure I appreciate being divided up by you, Mr. Harriman.”
But the boys were racing inside to ask Grandmother for marking pens. We went inside to a desk, so that my shoulder wouldn’t bear the weight of my arm. The boys went to work eagerly and that is how the cast on my right arm was decorated with stick figures, unidentified swirls, airplanes dropping bombs, and the scrawled names of the artists.
They ran out of available arm cast and were eyeing the leg cast covetously when Cassie and Mike told them it was time to go home. They protested loudly to no avail, and I got a gentle kiss from each of them before they left. “Good-bye, Aunt Irene,” Brian had said, and no one corrected him.
AFTER THEY WERE GONE, the house seemed a little empty. Or a little larger. Frank came over to me and asked me to sit on the swing with him for a while. He held me against him and rocked the swing back and forth.
“We have a decision to make,” he said.
Uh-oh, I thought.
“We either stay here in separate bedrooms or go to a hotel.”
I smiled. “Oh, is that all? Let’s stay here.”
He gave me a wry look. “I’m that easy to give up?”
“Not at all. I’ll miss you terribly. But think of what it will be like when we get back home.”
“You have a point. Aren’t you worried about nightmares?”
“Lately I’ve been able to wake up from them a little more quietly.”
“I’ve noticed. But I don’t like the idea of not being there for you. I’ll be in the room across from yours. Call me if you need me for anything – Mom or no Mom, okay?”
“Okay. Are you still going to undress me?”
“You really know how to torture a guy, you know that?”
BUT WHEN IT CAME time to get ready for bed, Bea shooed him out of my room and helped me instead. Even though she was another woman, it was embarrassing to me to have her do it. Frank knew all my tender spots and was able to avoid causing any additional discomfort when he helped. Bea tried, and I bore with it, but by the time I got into the bed I was sore in a couple of places; my blasted shoulder was already throbbing from when the boys had gotten overly enthusiastic about their artwork.
She tucked me in and sat on the edge of the bed. “I owe you an apology,” she said after a while.
“I’d prefer we just forget about it and go on from here, if that’s all right with you.”
She nodded. “Frank’s a man now. I guess I have to learn to let him make his own mistakes.”
I laughed and she quickly said, “Oh dear, I didn’t mean that to sound quite like that.”
“It’s okay. Good night.”
“Good night, Irene.” She smiled, adding, “It’s like the song.”
She left humming it.
I heard her open Frank’s door and say good night to him as well. “And you stay on your side of the hallway, you young goat, or I’ll tan your hide.”
I lay in the darkness, feeling restless without Frank beside me. Finally I fell asleep.
I SUPPOSE IT WAS crazy to imagine that the pain and tension of the day, the new surroundings, and whatever else was playing at my mind would not lead to nightmares. What happened between the images of Devon and Raney stabbing me over and over with deer-foot knives and when I was fully awake is lost to me. All I know is that the light was on and I was sitting up in bed, sweating. Frank sat facing me, looking at me in a worried way. I was breathing hard and still feeling scared. I became aware that Bea was in the doorway, looking nearly as worried as Frank.
“I’ll take care of her,” she was saying.
“No. Go back to bed.” No ifs, ands, or buts would have worked against that tone. She must have realized that, since she left.
“Good morning, Irene. It’s about three o’clock. You’re at my mom’s house.” He saw me getting things in focus and gently lowered me back on to the pillows. Somehow, lying down again made me feel closer to the dream and I felt the terror of it again.
“Shhh,” he was saying, and softly stroking my forehead and hair. The dream and the fear retreated. He leaned over and trailed kisses from my forehead to my lips, where he lingered a while. What dream?
He smiled a self-satisfied smile when he looked back into my eyes. He looked me over. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to leave.”
“What about your mother?”
“I haven’t signed your cast yet,” he said, ignoring me while he went over to the desk and brought back the marker. He pulled off the few covers that were still on me and turned his back to me, blocking my view of what he had started to do with the marker.
“What about your mother?” I repeated.
“Don’t you like her?”
“Yes, I do, now that we’re getting to know one another. What are you doing?”
Even without seeing his face, I knew he was grinning. “I think she likes you, too. In fact, I know she does.”
“Are you glad we stayed?”
“Very glad. Are you?”
“Yes. What are you doing?”
“You’ll see.”
“Nothing too lewd, I hope. I don’t want your mother to hate me again.”
“I don’t think she ever did. I certainly hope you won’t think of this as lewd. Well, not too lewd,” he laughed.
I groaned.
He was concentrating now. I could hear the squeaking of the marker.
“Almost finished,” he said, obviously quite pleased with himself.
Bea chose this time to re-enter. Oh God, I thought. What is Frank drawing down there?
She was saying, “Listen, Frank, if you two were at least engaged-”
She broke off, staring at my right foot. Frank turned around and took my hand.
“Am I engaged, Irene?” he asked, grinning. He moved to one side.
There they were, in large black letters, each carefully colored in. Three words that would look up at me every day the cast was on:
Marry me, Irene.