Make Your Move

by Laura Heffernan

  The first candidate showed up fifteen minutes late. Not the best start, but traffic sucked, and the T was wicked unreliable. In Boston, if you gave up on everyone who showed up late once in a while, you’d never make any friends. Not to mention, no one could hold a job if our bosses insisted on a firm start time in a city where the trains ran late more often than not. She could have texted, but maybe she got stuck underground or something.

  After my third Are you still coming? text, I started to reconsider that bath. Or at least curling up with a good book. I’d just settled into my chair when something scratched against the front door, so faint I might have imagined it. It sounded like a kitten had gotten into the hallway by mistake, an impossibility since the only other person who lived in the building, my Nana, was also allergic.

  Upon opening the door, I found a small, dark-haired girl, utterly swallowed by the enormous beat-up old jacket she wore, staring at the mat. “Hi! You must be Kimberly. I’m Shannon.”

  “Hi. Was I supposed to wait downstairs at the outside door? I couldn’t decide.”

  “I would’ve come down if you’d rung the bell, but it’s fine. I left the main door unlocked.”

  She jumped, and for a second, I thought she was going to turn and run. But finally, she nodded. “Okay. Sorry I’m late. I wanted to make sure I had the address right, so I checked and then I checked again, and then I went through all your texts and emails, but I thought maybe I had the wrong street, so I walked back to the T and started over. Twice.”

  “It’s not a problem,” I said. “You could’ve texted, and I’d have sent it to you again.”

  “I worried I might have the wrong number.”

  I didn’t know what to say. At least she was thorough? Odd that she didn’t respond to our existing message thread, but I understood not thinking clearly when stressed. “Well, I’m glad you’re here now. Let me show you the place.”

  She stepped in, too close, peering into my eyes intently. Her pupils were huge, so big I wondered if she’d been taking something. I took a step back, all the way to the wall to give her room to pass. She remained where she was, peering at me like she wanted to see my soul.

  “You’re very pretty,” she said. “Not conventionally attractive, maybe, because you’re so big, but there’s something about you.”

  I swallowed my surprise. Not to mention my sudden desire to send this woman back out the door. Something didn’t seem right. But I was almost twice her size, and my cell phone lay in a pocket of my cardigan, within easy reach. “Thank you.”

  “Am I pretty, too?”

  Truthfully, I had no idea, but this didn’t seem the time for honesty. “Yes, very pretty.”

  “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” Yes, I was. I didn’t answer, and she said, “I’m sorry. You think I’m weird.”

  Once again, I lied. “No, not at all. You seem lovely. Just a little nervous.”

  She nodded emphatically. “Definitely nervous. So anyway, tell me about this place.”

  I took Kimberly around the apartment, pointing out the features, showing her the kitchen, the screened-in back porch, and finally the room that would be hers. She squealed, clapping her hands together. “Awesome! Oh, this is so great! I love it! And I’d be sleeping right next to you?”

  “Well, I’d be in my room.” With a lock on the door, at this rate. Kimberly had been a bit reserved in our emails, and she seemed nervous when she arrived, but I was starting to wonder if something was off about her. At first, I’d thought she was dealing with anxiety, but her demeanor made me uneasy.

  She nodded several times, eyes darting around the room. “I love it. Don’t have any furniture, though.”

  “That’s not a problem. There’s plenty of furniture in the common areas. All you need is whatever you want for the bedroom.”

  “Good news. I can find a bed anywhere.” Her tone suggested she was thinking about looking in dumpsters or, say, the neighbor’s house. She held out one hand. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Well… I have a few other people to interview first,” I said, not wanting to get into a discussion about my reservations. Maybe she was the kind of person who had to meet someone a few times before relaxing. I knew all about that. “It would be rude to cancel on them at the last minute. But we can talk at the end of this week.”

  “Sure thing. I like you. You like me, right?”

  “Absolutely.” My hand inched toward the phone in my pocket.

  “Hey, do you always get your mail delivered this late?”

  “Late? I don’t know. It’s usually here when I get home from work. Why?”

  “Your mailman was coming up the walk when I was debating whether to ring the doorbell.”

  I shrugged. “He must’ve been running late.”

  “Okay. Can I use the bathroom before I go? It’s a long ride.”

  “No problem.” I pointed her to the door, then went into the kitchen, not wanting to be creepily lurking in the hallway when she came out. I’d hear the door open. Besides, at this rate, I needed a fortifying drink before my next interview arrived.

  Kimberly took an inordinately long time in the bathroom, so long I started to wonder if something was wrong. Finally, when five minutes ticked by after I’d started to worry, I tapped on the door. “Everything okay in there?”

  “Rooty-tooty-absolutely!” came the immediate response.

  I was still deciding what to do when a text came in from Tyler. Hey. Have you given any more thought to the roommate thing?

  Well, you’re looking way better than the woman here now, I replied. She asked to use the bathroom before leaving, and she’s been in there forever. I’m starting to worry. Am also mildly concerned that she might be on drugs. If you never hear from me again, tell police to start with Kimberly from Craigslist.

  Tyler: Do you need me to call with an emergency so you can ask her to leave?

  Me: That might not help, if she’s stuck on my toilet.

  He replied immediately. I can come over. Seriously. I want you to be safe.

  I’m fine, I typed. Just concerned that she might need medical attention.

  The lock on the bathroom door cracked open, making me jump. Kimberly appeared in the doorway, face flushed. She’d slicked her hair back, and it took me a minute to realize it looked different because she’d wet it thoroughly. “Sorry about that. I feel much better now.”

  “No problem.” I went to the front door and opened it. “It was great to meet you. I’ll be in touch.”

  Once the door shut behind her, I checked to make sure she’d gone through the landing out the main door, then double-locked everything. After a quick text to Tyler to let him know Kimberly had left me alive, I went to turn on the fan in the bathroom or light a candle.

  At the entrance to the room, I stopped dead. Water covered the floor and counter. Not droplets, puddles. The cabinet doors stood open, with a box of feminine products hanging haphazardly out the front. Okay, that explained some things, although she could’ve asked me for a tampon. But when I went to put the box back, it was empty. I could’ve sworn it had been about half full last time I used it.

  A drip called my attention to the shower. Leaning in to tighten the knob, I noticed two things: first, my razor, sitting on the edge of the tub rather than in the hook on the wall where I always left it. Second, a wet towel lay on the floor of the bathtub. I never left wet towels in the tub. My mind didn’t want to accept the evidence, but it seemed obvious that Kimberly had used my shower while I waited in the kitchen to see her out. My shower, my tampons, my razor, and my towels.

  With a shudder, I shut off the taps, tossed the towel in the hamper by the door, threw my razor in the trash, and put everything back in the cupboards. As I was washing my hands, something drew my attention to the cup next to the sink. The empty cup.

  She’d stolen my toothbrush
.

  Chapter 2

  “Grandparents and grandchildren get along so well because they have a common enemy.” —Nana

  The next morning, I got up to eat breakfast with Nana before work as usual. Nana’s apartment was a no-cell-phone zone. Seriously, she put it in my lease. When I visited, the phone stayed upstairs at my place. She didn’t realize that, with my “young ears,” as she called them, a loud ringtone carried down to her kitchen. For important calls, I’d just turn the volume up, come visit, and excuse myself as necessary.

  Today, I hoped for no important calls. Nana’s apartment also served as an excellent place to unplug, which was my goal after waking up to twenty more messages about my room for rent, many of which grew increasingly disturbing. No, I didn’t want to live with someone who said they’d rent from me as long as I wasn’t fat. (Boy, would they have been disappointed if we’d actually met. I’m by no means svelte.) Might as well give myself some peace, grab some delicious waffles, and spend time with my favorite person in the world.

  To my surprise, when I tried to open the door after knocking twice, which I did every morning, the chain lock stopped me in my tracks. Nana always unlocked her door as soon as she got up, and I’d never known the chain to be engaged. I had a key for emergencies, of course, but that didn’t do me any good against a chain.

  A tremor went through me as I tried not to imagine her lying passed out on the floor of the bathroom or having banged her head on the kitchen stove. She’d been sick about six months ago, sure, but she was fine now. The likelihood of her injuring herself or getting sick on the one day she happened to lock me out must be incredibly low. But still, the barrier worried me. What if she’d locked it in her sleep or something?

  “Nana?” I called through the two-inch gap in the door. “Is everything okay?”

  Her reply came instantly. “Yes, dear! Sorry, I didn’t see the time.”

  What did that mean? Was she in the habit of setting the chain at night and then opening it in the morning? That seemed dangerous. Even with her improved health, relapses happened. Illnesses came back, and falls occurred. I worried about her, down here all alone. Maybe I should get a small saw, in case she needed me to take the chain off one day.

  The door swung shut in my face, sending me flinching back off the cupcake-covered “Stressed is just desserts spelled backwards!” welcome mat. On the other side, a chain clinked, and then the barrier swung open. Nana stood in her entryway, her face flushed like she’d run to let me in. She wore a housecoat and slippers, unusual for her even at seven o’clock in the morning. Nana tended to wake up early, get dressed, and put on full makeup before leaving her bedroom. A trait I’d inherited from her, much to the dismay of my all-natural, cruelty-free mother.

  As usual, when I entered Nana’s apartment, I inhaled deeply. On an ordinary day, the scents of freshly percolating coffee mingled with the sweet smell of Nana’s cinnamon vanilla waffles or chocolate chip pancakes, punctuated with a hint of maple syrup. This morning, I smelled nothing but her lilac-scented plug-in air fresheners. Maybe I’d been right to be concerned.

  “Nana? Is everything okay?”

  “Fine. Why?”

  “Well, you’re not dressed yet. There’s no coffee, no waffles, nothing on the stove. And I’m actually a few minutes later than usual. Are you coming down with something?”

  She laughed, a small tinkling sound that never failed to bring a smile to my face. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. Everything is fine. I overslept. It happens.”

  In the entire three and a half years I’d lived upstairs, Nana never overslept. I’d used her as my backup alarm more than once. “You’re sure you’re not sick?”

  “Of course not! I’ll just put on the coffee and pop into my room. As soon as I get my face on, I can whip up something for us.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Let me make you breakfast this morning.”

  She smoothed back her short golden hair, the first time I’d ever seen it out of place. Not blonde, but tinted gold in that way only women over sixty can pull off. Sharp blue eyes darted toward the back of the apartment. “Are you sure?”

  “How will we ever know whether I’ve mastered your recipes when you do all the cooking?”

  She vanished into her bedroom, leaving me to fill the percolator’s lower chamber with water and add coffee grounds to the top. As a child, I loved watching the liquid pop up and down in the small indicator on the top of the device, going from clear to dark brown. These days, I usually arrived after Nana was on at least her second cup, so I didn’t get to watch much anymore.

  Soon, the butter on the griddle sizzled, letting me know it reached the right temperature. I poured a quarter cupful of batter onto the hot surface, thinking about how Nana always used to make me funny shapes as a kid. Nana’s house was a haven, especially for a girl whose mother shunned carbs and sweets. Mom wouldn’t allow anything she deemed unhealthy near the house, and what she found unhealthy constantly changed with the latest fad diet. But pancakes were permanently banned, along with cupcakes, cookies, and pretty much anything else Nana made. No wonder I loved this place so much.

  A thump jarred me out of these memories, followed by a grunt of pain. A male grunt of pain. I whirled around, spatula raised as if it might make an effective weapon against an intruder.

  A short, white-haired man stood in the dining room, picking a chair up off the floor. That explained the thump. His eyes caught the look on my face as he straightened, and his face turned red. “Why, hello there.”

  I blinked several times, my mind unwilling to put together the picture in front of me. Nana, oversleeping for the first time in probably fifty years. A door locked against me, of all people. A grown man, sneaking out of my grandmother’s bedroom. Not to mention the sheepish looks worn by both of them.

  It took a moment, but finally I regained my composure. “Good morning. It’s nice to meet you…?”

  Before he could reply, Nana scurried out of her room, patting her hair with one hand. She still looked flustered, but far more put together than when she’d opened the door. When she saw the two of us talking, she stopped dead, and her face flushed. Out of the corner of her mouth, she said, “You were supposed to sneak out quietly while she was cooking.”

  “Nana! Are you trying to hide your friend from me?” I moved closer, and with a start, I realized I knew this man. Hadn’t recognized him without the uniform and cap, but once I got a good look at his face, it didn’t take long. “And Michael! You were going to leave without saying hello?”

  At that, his flush turned an even deeper shade of red, making his white eyebrows stand out almost comically. “I didn’t think you’d know me without the mail bag.”

  “I almost didn’t.” Behind me, the skillet sizzled a reminder that I’d been in the middle of something before they distracted me. A row of bubbles formed on the surface of each pancake. I flipped the globes one at a time, finding a perfect shade of golden brown on the other side. Delicious. And now I knew why my toothbrush-stealing potential roommate saw our mail carrier arriving at the apartment so late in the day. “Won’t you join us for breakfast?”

  “Oh, no, I can’t. I’m running late already.”

  Nana walked him to the door, speaking quietly. I moved closer to the stove and the percolator to give them some privacy. While I waited, I put a small pot of water to boil on the back of the stove, adding the maple syrup container. An old trick to warm the syrup without cracking the glass bottle.

  A moment later, Nana returned, standing sheepishly at the edge of the counter while I focused on making breakfast. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

  “Obviously,” I said. “Why not? Are you ashamed of him? Ashamed of me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! It’s just that, well, I figured you’d be grossed out by the idea of an old lady having a sex life.”

  “Sex is a healthy part of g
rowing up, right? You taught me that.” Sliding two pancakes onto a plate, I handed it to her while leaning over and kissing her cheek. “I’ve known Michael for years, just like you have. I’ve always liked him.”

  “He did mention that you chastise him for carrying heavy packages up the stairs.”

  “Every time. He refuses to leave them on the porch for me to do it,” I said. “He’s a dear. I’m delighted for you. And you’re not that old.”

  My grandfather had died when I was a kid, close to twenty years ago. Nana met him back when people married young, and my parents had been college sweethearts. It hadn’t been terribly long since Nana and I went on a cruise to celebrate her sixtieth birthday. She was relatively young and in good health ever since her last round of scans came back clear. Why shouldn’t she have someone to spend private time with?

  She poured herself a cup of coffee slowly, as if the lengthy gesture allowed her to measure her words. “I guess I figured that, since you never talk about your love life, you wouldn’t want to hear about mine.”

  Warning bells sounded in my head. Any time someone brought up dating these days, it triggered my fight-or-flight instinct. No, I didn’t date much. I was very tired of so many people giving unsolicited advice on my personal life. Why did people even care whether I was in a relationship? After all, I didn’t go around telling couples to break up because I wouldn’t have been happy in their shoes.

  But this was Nana, and she never judged me. I took a deep breath to settle my pulse, then added another two pancakes to a plate, grabbed the now-warm maple syrup from the stove, and set both on the table. A moment later, Nana set the percolator down, and I helped myself to a steaming cup of coffee. In any other location, I preferred tea. But here, at Nana’s, coffee was king. No cream or sugar required.