"I don't mind doing it," Bobby said, dropping several bay leaves into the pot of simmering sauce before turning to look over.
"I'll do it," Eva said, unable to keep the sharpness out of her tone.
"Is everything okay?" Bobby asked cautiously, determined if possible to clear the air.
"Everything's fine." Eva examined a tomato, saying, "Do you remember when tomatoes actually tasted like something? Now they're like red Styrofoam."
Bobby laughed, and Eva looked at her, aware again of how rarely Bobby laughed. "You're happy here, aren't you?" Eva asked, studying the contours of the younger woman's pretty features. She had no desire to hurt her; the last thing on earth she wanted was to destroy anyone's happiness, especially not this poor haunted woman's. How was she going to handle this?
It felt like a trick question, Bobby thought. If she admitted to being happy, maybe Eva would pull the rug out from under her and say, "Too bad, because you've got to go." Why wouldn't Eva say what was bothering her? If she'd only talk to me, Bobby thought, we could fix things. "I like it here," she admitted cautiously, fearful of losing the first security she'd known in too many years.
"Yes," Eva said distractedly, still holding the tomato. "I can tell."
Bobby waited to hear what else she'd say, but Eva didn't say anything more. She put the tomato down on the cutting board and reached for one of the knives in the rack.
Maybe it was okay, Bobby thought, letting her breath out slowly. Things would keep on the way they were going. She and Pen wouldn't have to pack up and go away. This was one of Eva's moods. That's all. Just a mood.
Thirty-One "You can read until seven-thirty, Pen, and then it's lights out. Okay?"
"Can I read upstairs in the living room with Granny and Auntie Eva?"
"I think that'Il be okay." Bobby smiled and bent to lift Pen into her arms, hugging her close.
Penny wound her arms and legs tightly around her mother.
Bobby held her a moment longer then put her down, saying, "Don't make a pest of yourself. Sit quietly and read your book, then come on down and get straight to bed. I'm just going to eat with Dennis and I won't be out late."
"I wish I was comin' too. I like Dennis."
"I know you do. Next time. Okay?"
"Yeah, okay."
Upstairs in the kitchen, Eva told Bobby, "Don't worry. I'll get her into bed."
"She's all set to go. She's had her bath and brushed her teeth."
"It's all right," Eva said more firmly, determined to behave well because suddenly she wasn't so sure she wanted Bobby to go away. Her vacillating confounded her. All she knew was that Alma's opinion of her, finally, mattered more than anything else and she wasn't going to say or do anything that might affect that.
"Okay," Bobby said, aware that Eva had undergone a change of mood. She was looking her straight in the eye for the first time in days and that cranky edge had gone from her voice. "Thank you."
Penny came running up and went to greet Dennis, who was waiting with Alma in the living room. After giving him a hug and a kiss, she positioned herself on the end of the sofa nearest Alma, who was in her usual spot to one side of the fireplace. Bobby crossed the room and bent down to whisper, "Mind your manners, Pen. And don't overstay your welcome. Give me a kiss," she murmured, "and I'll see you in the morning."
Dennis was waiting. Bobby went to get her coat, feeling all at once dizzy with dread. She wished she weren't going. For no particular reason, she thought she should have been throwing things into boxes and getting herself and Pen out of there. She didn't know why. Half of her was convinced she'd found them a good home; the other half wanted to get going there and then. In part it had something to do with Eva's changes of mood. But it was more than that; it was as if an alarm bell had started ringing and she was the only one who could hear it.
Pushing aside the sudden, awful sense of apprehension, she forced herself to give Dennis a smile as she buttoned her coat, and she exclaimed involuntarily as they stepped outside. "It's really cold." She took in the street, looking, as always, for the Firebird. No sign of it.
"Winter is upon us," Dennis observed, holding the passenger door open for her. As he climbed in behind the wheel, he said, "I thought we'd do Italian tonight. How's that for you?"
"That's fine," she said mechanically, trying and failing to pinpoint some specific reason for her uneasiness. "There's a place in Westport I thought you'd like," he said, getting his seat belt fastened. "Okay," she said, settling in for the ride. She'd get over this feeling. It was nothing. She smiled again at Dennis.
At seven-forty the telephone rang. Hoping it was Charlie, Eva crossed the kitchen to pick up the receiver. Not Charlie, but a woman asking for Bobby.
"I'm sorry. She's out for the evening. Would you like to leave a message?"
"This is her friend, Lor, from Jamestown."
"Yes. Would you like to leave your number?"
"Has she heard yet?" The woman's voice was high and excited.
"Heard what?"
"Oh, damn! I was afraid of that."
"Of what?" Eva asked impatiently.
"I didn't know a thing about it until I read it in the paper not an hour ago. It was such a shock! I'm still shaking." "Know what?" Eva's knees had gone wobbly. "Her Aunt Helen," Lor said. "She was shot." "My God!" "According to the paper, she was killed a couple of days ago. The paper
says they're looking for Joe, they want him for questioning. I can't hardly believe it. Me and the kids just got back from spending a few days with my folks in Buffalo, otherwise I'd've called her right away. See, I forgot to cancel the papers. So they were all over the porch, and the story about her aunt was right on the front page. It says they're holding the body pending notification of the next of kin, and that's Bobby. I called up the police and told them it's her, gave them your number. They said they'd be getting in touch."
"I'll tell her," Eva said, horrified.
"Tell her I'm real sorry. Okay? I guess she'll have to come back, take care of things. Will you tell her I said she and Pen can stay here? Lord, it's a terrible shock. I just can't believe it. I mean, I always knew Joe was bad, but I never thought he'd go killing people."
Eva was all at once very cold. "I'll have her phone you as soon as she gets in," she said, finding her throat had constricted.
"Okay. And will you tell her I said to let me know if there's anything I can do?"
"I will tell her. Thank you for calling." Eva hung up and stood staring at the wall. After a few moments she returned to the living room.
"What's wrong?" Alma asked.
"We'll discuss it later," Eva said, glancing over at Penny.
Understanding, Alma nodded, trying to imagine what she'd heard that had drained all the color from Eva's face.
Eva sat down in the wing chair by the fireplace, studying Penny. The child was seated cross-legged on the sofa with the book in her lap and she gazed down at the page, mouth slightly open. She was so engrossed that Eva hated to disturb her. But it was already twenty to eight and it felt especially important to keep to the child's regular schedule. She was also anxious to get Pen out of the way in order to tell Alma about the telephone call.
"Time for bed, Pen," Eva said, and watched her drag her eyes upward to look over.
"Five more minutes, okay?" Penny said, her eyes only briefly meeting Eva's before sliding back to the enticing block of print.
"Now, Pen," Eva said gently, keeping a lid on her fear for the child's sake. "It's already ten minutes past your bedtime."
"Okay." Penny sighed, reluctantly closed the book, then got up to approach Alma. "Time to say good night, Granny." She waited for Alma to lean forward so she could kiss her cheek.
Alma cupped Penny's chin for a moment, loving the sight of the child's face. "Sweet dreams," she said, and let Penny go.
As Eva took her hand and they went across the hall into the kitchen, Penny asked, "Are you mad at me?"
"Not at all. Do I seem mad?" Eva was somehow never prepared f
or Penny's awareness.
"A little, kind of."
"I promise you I'm not mad. In you go now." Eva folded back the blankets and Penny climbed onto the bed, sitting on her knees for a moment to put her book on the bedside table. Then she held out her arms expectantly.
As Eva kissed her good night, she all at once understood that Bobby and Penny had to stay here in this house. The two of them belonged with Alma. Easing Penny down, she moved to go. She had no idea how they were going to work things out, but she knew they would. They had to, for Alma's sake, and for Penny's.
"Don't forget to leave the bathroom light on for me," Penny reminded her.
Eva detoured to turn on the light, then went back upstairs. "Her aunt is dead," she told Alma. "The police want to question Bobby's husband. They're looking for him. He seems to have disappeared. I think he's on his way here."
"Who called, and what exactly were you told?"
Eva's mind was racing. Bobby's aunt had been killed. Her husband might very well show up here. Was history actually going to repeat itself? The thought terrified her. But surely there really wasn't anything to worry about. Was there?
"It was Bobby's friend Lor. She said it happened several days ago, but she was away until this evening. It was all over the local papers. The woman was shot. This Lor called the local police and gave them our number. She said they want to talk to Bobby. Maybe we should move the two of them into a motel for a few days, just in case."
"Before we start making decisions for Bobby and Pen, I think we should consider all the contingencies …" Alma began as the telephone rang. "Might as well answer that," she told her niece. "It's probably Charlie. If it is, I'm afraid you'll have to forego the pleasure of his company for this evening."
"I'd hardly be likely to go out at a time like this," Eva snapped, crossing to the telephone.
"Eva!"
"Sorry," she apologized to her aunt.
Alma sniffed.
It wasn't Charlie. It was a man identifying himself as sergeant Tim Connelly of the Jamestown police department, asking to speak to Barbara Salton.
"She's not available at the moment," Eva told him, her heart racing. "If you'll give me a number, I'll have her call you as soon as she gets in. I expect her back in about two hours."
The sergeant gave her the number and, in a wildly uncontrolled script, Eva jotted it down.
"That," she told her aunt, "was the Jamestown police." She was so rattled she had to sit down.
Coolly, Alma said, "Bobby will obviously have to go home for a few days.
I think it would be best for all concerned if Penny stayed here."
Eva nodded woodenly, her heart still drumming.
"Once Bobby's had a chance to talk to the police, we'll have a better idea how to proceed." Again Eva nodded. "I wouldn't mind some coffee," Alma said. Grateful for something to do, Eva said, "I'll make some," and hurried to
the kitchen.
"Did you ever go with anyone besides Joe?" Dennis asked, serving himself from the plate of antipasto on the table between them. "Try some of this," he urged. "It's good stuff."
"Not really," Bobby answered, taking a roasted red pepper. "There were guys we hung around with in high school." She smiled. "You know how it is. Me and my best friend, Lor, and a couple of other girls went around together. And there were the guys who went around together. We'd wind up in the same places, kidding around. But I didn't date anyone, really. What about you?" She hardly knew anything about him, now that she stopped to think of it. So much of her time with him had been spent in fearful anticipation of the things he might say or do that she'd never thought to ask him about his life. Now that she was beginning to feel comfortable with him, she found that she was curious.
"There was someone," he said quietly, speaking with unexpected sobriety, even pain, so that Bobby watched him closely, wondering if every single person alive had some kind of suffering to tell about. "We went together all through college. I always assumed we'd get married, but right after graduation Leslie decided it would be better if we put some distance between us for a while. She said she needed to find out who she was without me; she needed to find out if she was somebody different when I was-n't around." He looked at Bobby for a few seconds, the old injury plain to see in his eyes. "I said I understood, but I didn't. It seemed to me she was breaking us up for no good reason. But I had to go along. I mean, making a fuss wouldn'tve done any good, so I figured I might as well be a good sport about it. Except that it killed me." He shook his head and gave Bobby a wry smile, as if still confused by this past experience. "On one level I did understand. I knew she wanted to find out if she behaved one way with me and another way with other people. But on another level I knew she was breaking us up forever, no matter what she said, and I could-n't get her to see that."
"So what happened?" Bobby asked.
He shrugged. "We never got back together. I knew we never would. Things were never the same between us. I still loved her and she still loved me but we couldn't get back to where we'd been. I couldn't seem to go from being completely involved to being just good friends. To this day I don't know if she felt any different to herself. She didn't seem any different to me. Anyway, at first we hung out together pretty regularly. And then it got to be we'd see each other maybe once a week, then once every other week. Eventually we lost touch. The whole thing kind of dwindled away. I got worn out pretending, and in the end it was a relief not to see her anymore. Since then I've dated a few people, but not seriously."
"Did you get scared?"
His eyes widened and he said, "Maybe I did. I'd never thought of it in quite those terms, but maybe I did."
"Like me with Joe," she said, tasting a marinated artichoke. They were having a serious conversation, and she wasn't struggling to come up with things she thought he wanted to hear. She was simply telling the truth, and it felt right and good.
He nodded and carefully cut a slice of salami into four triangles. "We're all afraid of something," he said. "I hate the idea of getting dumped again. And you're scared of getting bashed around. It's a hell of a life, isn't it?"
"It's like we've all got secret thoughts nobody else can ever know."
"In a way that's true," he agreed. "But you get to a point where you can be fairly sure of the way another person's mind works. I mean, you know where they draw the lines, the things they would or wouldn't do. I'm getting a pretty good fix on you." He smiled again and she could see fondness in his eyes. She wondered what he saw in her eyes, if he could tell she was beginning to feel at ease with him.
"I'm a person who actually likes being understood," he said. "That's one of the reasons I was so thrown with Leslie. She never once said she was having an identity problem. If she had, I'd've tried to help her work it out."
"An identity problem," she repeated, testing the phrase in her mind, thinking it sounded right. "Maybe that's what I've got."
"I don't think so," Dennis disagreed. "I get the impression you know pretty well who you are. It's just that you can't figure out why such crummy things have happened to you."
"That's a fact," she said. "Sometimes I can't help wondering if the crummy stuff will ever end, or if I'm going to spend the rest of my life feeling safe for a little while, then getting scared all over again."
"It won't be that way," he assured her.
"You don't know that," she chided him gently. "It's hard to get past being scared, Dennis. It's kind of like smelling smoke when nobody else does," she tried to explain, wanting him to understand. "I can almost taste a fire that's burning somewhere, while everybody else goes on about their business, not smelling it and thinking maybe I'm crazy for saying I do."
"It must be awful," he sympathized. "I'd be a liar if I sat here and told you I understood, because I probably never could. I've never been through any of the things you have. But I can certainly see how a situation like that would turn you gun-shy. It sounds as if you're preconditioned, more than anything else. And that can be chang
ed. You've started a new life and it'll take a while for you to get used to it, but you will because it's what you want."
"It's definitely what I want," she said with a smile, gratified by the progress they seemed to be making. They really were becoming friends.
"Then that's the way it'll be. There's no law that says people aren't allowed to get scared now and then. Everybody does. Maybe not for the same reasons, but scared is scared. Right?"
"I guess so," she agreed, comforted by his logic.
They'd arrived at an impasse. Alma flatly dismissed the possibility that Bobby's estranged husband was coming after her.
"I've never known you to go leaping to conclusions," she told her niece.
"It's simply logical," Eva defended herself. "Based on everything Bobby's told us about this man, it makes sense that he'd come looking for her."
"Even if he did, we're a telephone call away from the police. One call and the authorities will come and remove the man. You're allowing your imagination to run wild."
"You're right," Eva admitted. "I am. But not without justification. The man's a murderer."
"That's supposition."
Eva laughed darkly. "You sound like a lawyer."
"You sound hysterical."
"I'm hardly that. I'm simply, very sensibly, worried."
"It solves nothing. Once Bobby gets back, she'll find out precisely what the situation is, then we'll proceed accordingly."
Eva couldn't argue with that. She got up, intending to take the empty coffee cups to the kitchen, when the doorbell rang. Automatically she glanced at her watch as she started for the door. Eight thirty-five.
"Who could that be?" Alma wondered aloud.
"No idea," Eva said distractedly, on her way out of the room.
She looked out through the peephole to see a delivery man, holding a large floral arrangement. Automatically she assumed that Charlie had sent her flowers and smiled as she opened the door.
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