improved both my complexion and my hair. My skin — only slightly tanned thanks to SPF 15 sunblock — looked fine without any makeup, and I’d given up trying to straighten my long brown hair, and simply let it curl. A single hit of lip gloss, and I was on my way. I didn’t bother changing out of my cargo pants and T-shirt. I didn’t want to overwhelm the guy, after all.
Michael was waiting for me in the living room, his hands shoved in his pants pockets, looking at the many school portraits of me and my stepbrothers that hung upon the wall. My stepfather was sitting in a chair he never sat in, talking to Michael. When I walked in he dried up, then climbed to his feet.
“Well,” Andy said after a few seconds of silence. “I’ll just leave the two of you alone, then.” Then he left the room, even though I could tell he didn’t want to. Which was kind of strange, since Andy usually takes only the most perfunctory interest in my affairs, except when they happen to involve the police.
“Suze,” Michael said when Andy was gone. I smiled at him encouragingly since he looked like he was about to expire from nervousness.
“Hey, Mike,” I said easily. “You okay? No permanent injury?”
He said with a smile that I suppose he meant to match mine, but which was actually pretty wan, “No permanent injury. Except to my pride.”
In an effort to diffuse some of the nervous energy in the room, I flopped down onto one of my mom’s armchairs — the one with the Pottery Barn slipcover she was always yelling at the dog for sleeping on — and said, “Hey, it wasn’t your fault the mall authority did a shoddy job of hanging up their mardi gras decorations.”
I watched him carefully to see how he replied.
Did he know?
I wondered.
Michael sank into the armchair across from mine. “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I meant that I’m ashamed of the way I acted today. Instead of thanking you, I — well, I behaved ungraciously, and I just came by to apologize. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
He didn’t know. He didn’t know why that puppet had come down on him, or he was the best damned actor I’d ever seen.
“Um,” I said. “Sure. I forgive you. No problem.”
Oh, but it was a problem. To Michael, it was apparently a great big problem.
“It’s just that —” Michael got up out of the chair and started pacing around the living room. Our house is the oldest one in the neighborhood — there’s even a bullet hole in one of the walls, left over from when Jesse had been alive, when our house was a haven for gamblers and gold rushers and fiancés on their way to meet their brides. Andy had rebuilt it almost from scratch — except for the bullet hole, which he’d framed — but the floorboards still creaked a little under Michael’s feet as he paced.
“It’s just that something happened to me this weekend,” Michael said to the fireplace, “and ever since then…well, strange things have been happening.”
So he did know. He knew
something
, anyway. This was a relief. It meant I didn’t have to tell him.
“Things like that puppet falling down on you?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“Yeah,” Michael said. “And other things, too.” He shook his head. “But I don’t want to burden you with my problems. I feel bad enough about what happened.”
“Hey,” I said with a shrug. “You were shaken up. It’s understandable. No hard feelings. Listen, about what happened to you this weekend, do you want to —”
“No.”
Michael, usually the quietest of people, spoke with a forcefulness I’d never heard him use before. “It’s not understandable,” he said vehemently. “It’s not understandable, and it’s not excusable, either. Suze, you already — I mean, that thing with Brad earlier today —”
I stared at him blankly. I had no idea what he was getting at. Although, looking back on it, I should have. I really should have.
“And then when you saved my life
Michael was waiting for me in the living room, his hands shoved in his pants pockets, looking at the many school portraits of me and my stepbrothers that hung upon the wall. My stepfather was sitting in a chair he never sat in, talking to Michael. When I walked in he dried up, then climbed to his feet.
“Well,” Andy said after a few seconds of silence. “I’ll just leave the two of you alone, then.” Then he left the room, even though I could tell he didn’t want to. Which was kind of strange, since Andy usually takes only the most perfunctory interest in my affairs, except when they happen to involve the police.
“Suze,” Michael said when Andy was gone. I smiled at him encouragingly since he looked like he was about to expire from nervousness.
“Hey, Mike,” I said easily. “You okay? No permanent injury?”
He said with a smile that I suppose he meant to match mine, but which was actually pretty wan, “No permanent injury. Except to my pride.”
In an effort to diffuse some of the nervous energy in the room, I flopped down onto one of my mom’s armchairs — the one with the Pottery Barn slipcover she was always yelling at the dog for sleeping on — and said, “Hey, it wasn’t your fault the mall authority did a shoddy job of hanging up their mardi gras decorations.”
I watched him carefully to see how he replied.
Did he know?
I wondered.
Michael sank into the armchair across from mine. “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I meant that I’m ashamed of the way I acted today. Instead of thanking you, I — well, I behaved ungraciously, and I just came by to apologize. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
He didn’t know. He didn’t know why that puppet had come down on him, or he was the best damned actor I’d ever seen.
“Um,” I said. “Sure. I forgive you. No problem.”
Oh, but it was a problem. To Michael, it was apparently a great big problem.
“It’s just that —” Michael got up out of the chair and started pacing around the living room. Our house is the oldest one in the neighborhood — there’s even a bullet hole in one of the walls, left over from when Jesse had been alive, when our house was a haven for gamblers and gold rushers and fiancés on their way to meet their brides. Andy had rebuilt it almost from scratch — except for the bullet hole, which he’d framed — but the floorboards still creaked a little under Michael’s feet as he paced.
“It’s just that something happened to me this weekend,” Michael said to the fireplace, “and ever since then…well, strange things have been happening.”
So he did know. He knew
something
, anyway. This was a relief. It meant I didn’t have to tell him.
“Things like that puppet falling down on you?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“Yeah,” Michael said. “And other things, too.” He shook his head. “But I don’t want to burden you with my problems. I feel bad enough about what happened.”
“Hey,” I said with a shrug. “You were shaken up. It’s understandable. No hard feelings. Listen, about what happened to you this weekend, do you want to —”
“No.”
Michael, usually the quietest of people, spoke with a forcefulness I’d never heard him use before. “It’s not understandable,” he said vehemently. “It’s not understandable, and it’s not excusable, either. Suze, you already — I mean, that thing with Brad earlier today —”
I stared at him blankly. I had no idea what he was getting at. Although, looking back on it, I should have. I really should have.
“And then when you saved my life
Similar Books
