of person who would peep at a child. Susan believed him.
“But …”
“But?”
“I
was
standing out there. I like to keep an eye on Andrea. Just between you and me, Susan, I get a little … just a little worried about the old girl, sometimes.”
“Worried?”
Louis looked around, discomfort emanating like sweat, his big hands knotted together. “Yeah. Since Howard died, she hardly sleeps, you know, and that’s not right. She seems … oh, just sad, I guess. Tell you the truth, this house has always had an
atmosphere
to it. Something. Just a whole lot of sadness in the place since Howard died. So sometimes I peek in on old Andrea. Just keepin’ tabs. Figure I owe itto my friend.”
“Huh.” Susan wasn’t sure what she thought about this information. A brief, painful surge of memory coursed through her, of her mother, her mother’s death, the stupid funeral.
They had tried to make her look, right in the casket, but for God’s sake …
“And, if you don’t mind my asking,” Susan said suddenly. “What was it Howard died of, exactly?”
“No, I don’t mind.” Louis heaved a big, body-shifting sigh, juggled the bucket of supplies from one hand to another. Now the room smelled thickly of cleaning fluids, of bleach and ammonia. “He was sick. Real sick. It came on sudden, because before that, I tell you straight up, this was the healthiest person you could ever meet. We played racquetball three times a week, and if I beat him once in forty years, I can’t say when it was.”
“Wow.” Susan was blatantly prying now, but she couldn’t help it. “What did he have?”
“I don’t exactly know. A disease. Something in his blood. He didn’t let it kill him, though. That was not Howard’s style.” Louis tilted his head to one side, his eyes glinting with the memory of his friend. “He shot himself, you see? Did himself in before the disease could do it first. Shot himself right in the head.”
*
In the front hall, Emma eyed Louis warily, but he crouched down, tugging up the cuffs of his jeans, and grinned at her. “Hey, little sister, can I tell you a secret? I got a granddaughter just your age, and you want to know her name? Her name is Amethyst.”
Emma’s eyes widened, and she nodded, as if, yes, she
had
knownthat. “And guess what?” she asked, leaning confidentially toward Louis. “That’s a kind of jewel.”
“No kidding!” He pretended astonishment, and Emma nodded rapidly, beaming. “It is! It’s a jewel. And it’s
purple.
”
As Louis stood up, a faint but clear
ping
filled the room.
“Ping!” Emma yelped merrily in reply.
“That’s—” Susan began, but Louis held up one hand, palm up, listening. “Hold on.”
It went again.
Ping
.
And then, a moment later, came a ghostly, deflating moan, raspy, long and low. It was an ugly, uncanny noise, all the more so for being so indistinct—barely audible, really, and originating, or so it felt, from no particular place. Louis narrowed his eyes, took a halting step in no particular direction, then stopped. Susan reached for Emma and grasped her hand. She held her breath, waiting for the noises to come again, felt her whole body grow thick with tension and unease.
A second passed, then another. Silence.
And then her iPhone rang, ripping through the silence, and Susan screamed.
8.
“Marni,” said Susan into the phone. “Crap, you scared me.”
“Why? What?”
“Mama?” said Emma. “What’s crap?”
“Nothing, love. Marni, what’s up?” Susan glanced at the clock on the cable box: 8:17. Marni was supposed to be walking through the door in thirteen minutes. Louis gave a cheerful salute and mouthed “so long.” Susan held up a finger for him to wait—
the pinging noise, what about
—but it was too late.
“Listen,” Marni said. “I am really sorry about this … ”
Speaking in a voice so exaggeratedly throaty and congested that Susan immediately suspected playacting, Marni explained that
“But …”
“But?”
“I
was
standing out there. I like to keep an eye on Andrea. Just between you and me, Susan, I get a little … just a little worried about the old girl, sometimes.”
“Worried?”
Louis looked around, discomfort emanating like sweat, his big hands knotted together. “Yeah. Since Howard died, she hardly sleeps, you know, and that’s not right. She seems … oh, just sad, I guess. Tell you the truth, this house has always had an
atmosphere
to it. Something. Just a whole lot of sadness in the place since Howard died. So sometimes I peek in on old Andrea. Just keepin’ tabs. Figure I owe itto my friend.”
“Huh.” Susan wasn’t sure what she thought about this information. A brief, painful surge of memory coursed through her, of her mother, her mother’s death, the stupid funeral.
They had tried to make her look, right in the casket, but for God’s sake …
“And, if you don’t mind my asking,” Susan said suddenly. “What was it Howard died of, exactly?”
“No, I don’t mind.” Louis heaved a big, body-shifting sigh, juggled the bucket of supplies from one hand to another. Now the room smelled thickly of cleaning fluids, of bleach and ammonia. “He was sick. Real sick. It came on sudden, because before that, I tell you straight up, this was the healthiest person you could ever meet. We played racquetball three times a week, and if I beat him once in forty years, I can’t say when it was.”
“Wow.” Susan was blatantly prying now, but she couldn’t help it. “What did he have?”
“I don’t exactly know. A disease. Something in his blood. He didn’t let it kill him, though. That was not Howard’s style.” Louis tilted his head to one side, his eyes glinting with the memory of his friend. “He shot himself, you see? Did himself in before the disease could do it first. Shot himself right in the head.”
*
In the front hall, Emma eyed Louis warily, but he crouched down, tugging up the cuffs of his jeans, and grinned at her. “Hey, little sister, can I tell you a secret? I got a granddaughter just your age, and you want to know her name? Her name is Amethyst.”
Emma’s eyes widened, and she nodded, as if, yes, she
had
knownthat. “And guess what?” she asked, leaning confidentially toward Louis. “That’s a kind of jewel.”
“No kidding!” He pretended astonishment, and Emma nodded rapidly, beaming. “It is! It’s a jewel. And it’s
purple.
”
As Louis stood up, a faint but clear
ping
filled the room.
“Ping!” Emma yelped merrily in reply.
“That’s—” Susan began, but Louis held up one hand, palm up, listening. “Hold on.”
It went again.
Ping
.
And then, a moment later, came a ghostly, deflating moan, raspy, long and low. It was an ugly, uncanny noise, all the more so for being so indistinct—barely audible, really, and originating, or so it felt, from no particular place. Louis narrowed his eyes, took a halting step in no particular direction, then stopped. Susan reached for Emma and grasped her hand. She held her breath, waiting for the noises to come again, felt her whole body grow thick with tension and unease.
A second passed, then another. Silence.
And then her iPhone rang, ripping through the silence, and Susan screamed.
8.
“Marni,” said Susan into the phone. “Crap, you scared me.”
“Why? What?”
“Mama?” said Emma. “What’s crap?”
“Nothing, love. Marni, what’s up?” Susan glanced at the clock on the cable box: 8:17. Marni was supposed to be walking through the door in thirteen minutes. Louis gave a cheerful salute and mouthed “so long.” Susan held up a finger for him to wait—
the pinging noise, what about
—but it was too late.
“Listen,” Marni said. “I am really sorry about this … ”
Speaking in a voice so exaggeratedly throaty and congested that Susan immediately suspected playacting, Marni explained that
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