What was this scarlet color? He stepped through the light of a streetlamp to where the stone wall of the jail ended, climbed an iron fence, crossed a parking lot, and entered a narrow alley between a wall of modern brick on his left and the gray stone of the jail on his right. Now this is Pennsylvania, he thought: cold hard rock all around you, crushing you as you pushed back. The smell of garbage choked him. Looking up, he could no longer see the scarlet haze.
He stepped on something furry and soft that did not move. He went a few more steps before stopping to extricate a cigarette from his coat pocket. In the match light he could make out nothing more than a bit of wall and the cobblestones under his feet. He shook the match out and from habit put it in his pocket and moved slowly. The left wall cut in front of him and pushed him to the right. The alley widened a bit and he walked more quickly, pinching his cigarette between his lips and inhaling deeply. His hand shook.
Before he’d gone another twenty feet the alley ended. He lit a match and, squinting through his cigarette smoke, saw a door with peeling black paint and white letters spelling out the word LAUNDRY without benefit of the A, U, or R. He tried the door handle out of curiosity and though the whole structure shook the latch remained firm. He crushed out his cigarette on the wall beside him, put the butt in his pocket, and shouldered the door open to find himself in a low corridor, grimy as the alley outside and damp. Bare weak light bulbs in small cages were hung along the walls: yellow light again. He followed a short set of stairs with an iron railing down into another damp hallway, then another flight down. He wanted to go up and soon found an unlit, iron staircase leading in that direction.
“Where are you, scarlet?” he murmured.
Three flights up the light improved and through glass panes in the doors on each landing he could see nurses and doctors pushing wheelchairs, reading charts, leaning on counters and talking in well-lit, clean hallways. His arms and legs began to shake, he felt moisture around the brim of his hat and soaking his collar.
The stairway ended. He sat on the top step. Pain seized his chest and slid down as if twisting his spine, scraping the lining of his lungs, and squeezing his stomach. He bent over. The pain subsided after a moment into intricate twisting filaments of heat: the worms, he called them, and they never lasted long but never ended before reaching a point at which he thought he must come apart, dissolve or explode. He wiped his mouth; he shook and felt the worms and murmured “My God.” This time he must really break, disintegrate, melt in a hot drip of pooling energy, each individual twisting worm pulling away from the others. He watched spinning strings of gold flee from him. An explosion welled in his belly and gathered force in his intestine, swelling and pushing, churning the strings and sparks of his being. He opened his mouth as if to cry out. His eyes lolled to the right and he thought he could no longer see anything but the streaming turning gold of his body drifting away.
He closed his eyes and opened them slowly, stood up, and adjusted his suit. The worms had passed again, unaccountably. Through the door the floor was frosty with fluorescent light; beyond the reception desk the scarlet leaked in soft folds from one of the rooms. McParland slid through the door and down the hallway, passing a nurse rolling an old woman on a bed. He looked in at the room leaking scarlet and saw an old man lying unconscious, oxygen-masked, endlessly tubed.
Chapter Seventeen
Lunch
Alice stepped back from the full-length mirror in her bedroom, thinking she looked like a tired person trying not to look tired. Refreshed housewife, she thought. What did it matter anyway; she wasn’t going to dress up just for a lunch. As long as she didn’t look like she’d been cleaning all morning she was fine. A lunch with someone from book club, that was all. Not only would Ed not ask about it, he wouldn’t want to know if she tried to tell him. When she’d gotten home from Viv’s that night he’d nodded at her and told her he’d taken the sitter home and the kids were upstairs sleeping already. She’d known his tone—that he’d taken care of everything—was one of his signals that something was bothering him but had ignored it. Let him say something if he had something to say. She’d gone into the kitchen and made herself a peanut butter sandwich and ate it with a glass of milk but paused putting the milk away and decided to make Ed one, too. She’d handed him the plate without saying anything and taken her seat on the sofa and he’d barely thanked her, flipping channels.
So the week had gone, the two of them quiet to each other, the kids making noise, and now Alice was sick of being aware of everything she said and did around him and knowing that he was feeling the same way around her. She was sick of trying to subtly win the “who was hurt more” game. As if the person who could stay hurt the longest had most right to it in the first place. But she couldn’t imagine what Ed was hurt about and therefore wouldn’t give in. In the middle of the week Sam had called to see if she would meet him for lunch and she’d agreed.
She stepped out of her house into the sunny, chilly afternoon and stopped at the door to her minivan, running her fingers through her hair. She felt as if some of the hundred umbilical tendrils between she and Ed had been severed; the world beneath her crimped under the feet of heavy people and wavered like wet cement in the last moments before it hardened into whatever new shape it would take. But she was allowed to have friends, wasn’t she? She never got to go into the city in the middle of the day. She had cancelled two cleaning appointments, true, but that was her business and she would make them up and do an extra good job besides. Having problems with Ed didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to have friends. Sam had called the day before yesterday, so that was almost a full week after book club. Clearly that meant he didn’t have a crush, or anything like that. He knew she was married.
Alice drove on the highway; around a wide turn Boston came fully into view, its squat brick buildings silent and judgmental like the Puritans they superseded, spiked in only a few places with modern skyscrapers. On the verge of having to pay almost twenty dollars for parking—what would Ed say about that if he knew?—she found a metered space. She checked her watch: twenty minutes to find the restaurant.
On the benches lining the common a few homeless people sat. Steam rose from an orange-striped construction vent in the street. At a vendor’s cart in the plaza in front of two entrances to the subway a heavy man with a parka open over his spotted apron clicked his metal tongs together.
Alice walked up Beacon Hill and stopped for a moment to consider the gold dome of the Statehouse. At the very top it looked like there was a tiny cupola, just big enough for someone to stand in. She hadn’t noticed that before. If she were governor, she’d stand in that cupola every day at sunset, no question about it. She crossed the street and entered the restaurant. Two televisions hung above the bar, soundless under the noise of conversation. She should leave, she thought. But no, she was only nervous because she was so unused to taking time to do something she wanted to do. The kids were in school, the houses would get cleaned, it was ok.
What if Sam didn’t recognize her, if there was a really awkward moment to start? She saw him at a table in the corner.
Sam was thinking over his talk with Mrs. Atlee the night before.
“When do you ever meet someone you really want to talk to?” he’d asked. “That’s why I called her. Just to have lunch.”
“Yes, I’m very happy you’ve found someone you want to talk to,” Mrs. Atlee had said, laughing. “And this woman is married?”
“Yeah, she’s got two kids. Mrs. Atlee, there is nothing—”
“You’d better get us a couple of ciggies,” she’d said. “We’re going to need to really think this one through.”
“Hi,” Alice said, nodding. “Sorry I’m late, I—it—”
Sam stood up. “I think I was early,” he said.
“This is a nice place,” Alice said, looking around.
“Yeah, “ Sam said.
Alice smiled. She ordered a diet soda from the waitress and looked over the menu. “I go
t a great parking space,” she said.
“Amazing,” Sam said. “It’s such a pain, parking in the city.”
“It is so nice to come into the city for lunch,” Alice said. “I really should do it more often. I mean, just in general.”
Sam nodded. “So, have you picked our next book?” he asked.
“No,” Alice said. “Not yet. I think the book club show—the TV one, I mean—the one where they recommend another book—I think that’s on next week.
“Right,” Sam said.
“I don’t watch that much TV,” Alice said. She thought of Ed in his chair, the kids on the floor, the video games, the rented movies. The TV was always on. She would make an effort to look at it less. Alice laughed. “Actually, when I think about it, we do watch a lot,” she said. “It’s just such a habit. The kids always have something they want to see and by the time Ed gets home—my husband—you probably guessed that, right—there’s always something he wants to see. I guess my problem is, I watch it with all of them. I don’t watch too many things on my own, though. But I do like the talk show with the book club ideas.”
“I like TV,” Sam said.
The waitress came and they ordered.
“How is your grandmother?” Alice asked.
“She’s ok,” Sam said. “Thanks. I mean, I think she’s ok.”
Alice sipped her soda. “Have you read her any of that book we read for last week?”
“No, I haven’t had a chance yet. She talks a lot these days and then gets too tired to listen for very long.”
“I remember you said you weren’t sure she’d like it.”
“True,” Sam said. He leaned back in his chair.
“I was just thinking about the TV thing,” Alice said. “I think I watch as much as I do because that’s how I get to spend time with my kids, you know? That’s how we spend time together.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “It’s so easy to get caught up in. What are their names?”
“Ed junior and Jenny,” Alice said. “Eddie’s 8 and Jenny’s 6.”
“It must be hard to find time to read, with two kids.”
“Yeah, Alice said.
Sam didn’t know whether to ask more about her kids.
“How’s being a lawyer this week?” Alice asked.
“Like your brain is not your own,” Sam said.
“I guess that’s true,” Alice said.
“What does your husband do?” Sam asked.
“Huh?” Alice had heard the question but didn’t want to talk about Ed at all.
“Ed, right?” Sam asked. “What does he do?”
Hearing Sam say her husband’s name was unpleasant. Of course she couldn’t help but drag all of her life with her into the city, no matter how clear the day and blue the sky; but for Sam to say the name, it was as if Ed had come into town by some quicker route and headed her off just as she was betraying him by even talking about family things with Sam.
“Yes, Ed,” she said. “He works for an insurance company. It’s a nice fit for him, he….” Why was she going on about Ed? “He works in an office and in the field, he likes that,” she finished.
“How long have you guys been married?” Sam asked.
“Almost eleven years,” Alice said. She couldn’t think of a smooth way to get back to talking about—about what? Something other than Ed.
The waitress put their plates down.
“Yeah,” Alice said, her fork poised over her salad. “Sometimes I worry that it’s not coming back,” she said. “My own brain. That it’s not—you don’t rent it out temporarily, you know? I see these other women at the store or wherever, at the houses I clean—I have a house-cleaning business—and they seem ok with it, you know? But maybe they’re not. Maybe most people aren’t.”
“I don’t know,” Sam said.
They ate for a while.
“So, what kind of lawyer are you?” she asked.
“Real estate law.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“Does it? I mean, thank you. I never meant to be a real estate lawyer. I just have loans and they pay me, so I—so I thought making money would be a good thing, and it is, but—I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
“Making money is a good thing,” Alice said.
Sam nodded. He looked at her and smiled. A long twist of hair had fallen over her forehead and she brushed it away, chewing, smiling.
“No, there’s nothing wrong with money,” Sam said. “It’s just strange the way the scale keeps going up. You think you make good money and then your friends make more, you know?”
“I bet you make more than I do,” Alice said, her eyes playful.
“You do the—you clean houses?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. It’s part-time. I started my own little business—well, my husband started the business part, but I do it now. And I do all the cleaning. I might get an actual employee one of these days.”
“Isn’t it hard to do all your own housework and then go clean someone else’s house?” Sam asked.
“Sure, but I’m ok with it. Actually, when I’m in someone else’s house, running the vacuum cleaner or whatever, it’s one of the times I can think. It’s not bad. How’s your burger?” she asked.
“Fine,” he said.
“So, tell me about your grandmother,” Alice said.
“Step-” Sam said. “Mrs. Atlee.”
“Yes, Mrs. Atlee.”
“Well, I’d never met her before last year. Or, I must’ve met her when my father married my step-mother, she must’ve been at the wedding, I guess. But I don’t remember meeting her there.”
“How old were you when they got married?”
“About eight. Maybe nine. My father left when I was, let’s see, six. So yeah, I was eight.”
“So you’re—are you close to your step-mother?” she asked. She thought of her kids and of her husband marrying someone else.
“Not really. She married my dad, right, so there it is. I guess he had his reasons. I mean, they were—before the divorce.”
“Ahh,” Alice said. “So not that close.”
“Not that close,” Sam said, smiling. He loosened his tie and unfastened the collar button of his shirt.
Ok, Alice thought. He’s very cute. The way his lips pressed together at the edges.
“So, Mrs. Atlee,” Alice said.
“Yeah. Mrs. Atlee. Umm, so, I never really knew her until last year,” he said. “She got very sick and moved in with my father and step-mother. I was over there for dinner one night when she still came downstairs for meals. I just liked talking to her, so I started coming by sometimes. And then it sort of became clear that they weren’t really—that she could use someone to spend more time with her. She knew how sick she was—I mean, she knows she’s dying, I think. Anyway, I go by there as much as I can to spend time with her.”
“And she really is—there’s nothing they can do?”
“No,” Sam said. “Apparently not. Apparently not.”
“Do you talk about it with her?”
“Not much. Sometimes she’ll say something, but usually it’s a joke, some kind of morbid joke about seeing her father or her husband.”
“So what do you talk about?”
“I read to her sometimes. Recently she’s been talking more, though. She asks me about women and gives me—well, I’ve never tested it out, but it seems like pretty bad advice.”
Alice laughed. “Like what?”
“Oh, like all kinds of things. Stuff that was probably really helpful in 1940. Like, make all the decisions because women like that, order for them, that kind of thing. Study wines. I don’t know. You think I should try them?”
“I have no idea,” Alice said. “I haven’t been on a date since about 1940.”
Sam laughed.
The waitress gathered their plates. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked.
Sam ordered coffee and Alice did, too, glancing at her watch.
“Do yo
u have to get going?” Sam asked.
“Eventually,” Alice said.
They looked around. The coffee came. They stirred and sipped.
Sam cleared his throat behind his hand. “So, when did you meet your husband?” he asked.
“Oh, in college,” Alice said. “Senior year. At a football game, if you can believe it.” She didn’t want to talk about Ed. But this wasn’t about Ed, it was about her life. There was a line, never straight but never too curvy, from that football game to—what—her living room, her car, the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink of a house she was cleaning. She didn’t talk about it with Viv too much anymore; kids, cleaning, groceries, husbands and their moods and demands, television—it was all Viv’s life as much as it was Alice’s. So maybe Viv seemed to think that of course you felt bored sometimes, cut off from yourself or amazed by what your life had become; it was part of life and to talk about it too often was to complain.
“What did you major in in college?” Sam asked, wanting instead to ask more about her husband.
“Oh, that’s a trivia question,” Alice said. “History. I loved American history. And now I don’t remember any of it.”
“Really? I loved history, too.”
How did we get from the edge of her marriage to college majors so quickly, Sam thought.
“Yeah, I met my husband at a football game,” Alice said. “My friend Becky set us up. She was so proud of that. She came to our wedding, got really drunk, and slept with the best man.” Alice laughed. “I think I’ve only seen her a couple of times since then. She lives in California.”
“How long did you date before you got married?” Sam asked.
“About a year and a half. We moved in together after we graduated and got married a little while after that.”
Sam nodded.
“You’ve never been married?” Alice asked.
“Nope.”
“Ever lived with anyone?”
Sam shook his head. “I had one girlfriend in college—one girlfriend I was—I really think I was in love with,” he said. “She—I just—it didn’t work out. And since then—I don’t know. It’s hard for people to keep each other’s attention, I guess.”
THE GHOST DETECTIVE: Boston Page 17