kitchen counter and says, “Got to see a man about a dog,” then throws a wink past Veronica toward Lana.
“You’re not going anywhere, Lucian Winters,” Veronica says.
This affects Whit not at all. He takes a crackling bite of the green apple. “Oh, I’m going somewhere, all right,” he says, and jangles his car keys. He begins to sing as he crosses the yard to the garage. “Some enchanted evening,” he croons in an exaggerated, comic way, but still, it sounds pretty good, “you will meet a stranger …”
Lana has the sudden sensation that she is locked into a dream, a dream that goes on and on and moves easily from the real to unreal, from the house here on Cedar Street to Miss Hekkity’s shop and back again, a sensation so unsettling that she pushes a fingernail into the palm of her hand until she feels actual pain. And—she runs a finger over her left ear—the two-dollar bill is gone.
So she isn’t dreaming.
12.
B efore dusk that evening, when Veronica’s in the backyard fiddling with her hollyhocks and trying to ignore the Snicks, Lana sneaks to the kitchen phone and dials Hallie’s private number.
“Hallie?” she says. Over the line, Lana can hear voices, clinking sounds, the happy shrieking of children, which is strange because Lana knows Hallie doesn’t have children. It was why, when Lana lived in Omaha, Hallie could occasionally take Lana to the movies, the mall, or the ice rink. “It’s me, Lana,” she says now into the phone.
“Ah,” Hallie says in her smooth, silky voice. “It’s Lana calling my private cell number … in the evening … after hours, and here I am at my niece’s eighth-grade graduation party wondering, Why would Lana do that?”
Lana sighs. Hallie is friendly when being friendly is her own idea, but it’s a different story when Lana’s doing the calling. “Veronica planted pills in my room,” she says anyway. “They look like meth.”
Calmly Hallie says, “By Veronica, I’m presuming you mean Mrs. Winters?”
“Mmm.” Through the window Lana watches Veronica pulling off her gloves and stepping into the garage.
“And why would Mrs. Winters plant pills in your room?”
“She says she’s going to mail them to a lab downstate and have them tested and that it will be my word against hers. Hers being like God’s, I guess.”
“Why would she do that, Lana?”
“Because she wants to get rid of me.”
Behind Hallie’s silence, Lana hears something new: the low throb of dance music. She stares across the lawn at the garage. Behind the grimy garage window, Veronica seems to be getting something from a cupboard.
Hallie says, “Why would Mrs. Winters want to get rid of you?”
Because she thinks I’ve got the wild eye for her husband
, Lana thinks, but what she says is, “I have no clue.”
Hallie doesn’t respond. Outside, Veronica emerges from the garage with a handful of bamboo stakes and a ball of twine, but they wouldn’t’ve come from the cupboard. Lana pulls hard on the stretchy coil of phone cord. “Hallie?” she says. “You still there?”
Hallie says quietly, “If she just wanted you out of there, all she would have to do is file a five-day notice with us. Which means that if what you’re saying is true, she not only wants you gone but wants you gone
with cause
.”
“Which means?”
“That you’ve regally ticked her off for some reason.”
For some reason
seems to hang suspended in the silence between them.
Outside, Veronica looks at the sky, then the street, then her watch.
Whit
, Lana thinks.
Veronica’s worried about Whit
. And what she’s doing to Lana is just one patch in the blanket she wants to wrap around Whit.
These are strange, alarming thoughts and Lana says with sudden vehemence, “So what are you going to do about this shit?”
“If I hear another vulgarity,” Hallie says evenly, “I will hang up,” and Lana knows she will, so she says in a softer voice, “Well?”
“Let’s see if
“You’re not going anywhere, Lucian Winters,” Veronica says.
This affects Whit not at all. He takes a crackling bite of the green apple. “Oh, I’m going somewhere, all right,” he says, and jangles his car keys. He begins to sing as he crosses the yard to the garage. “Some enchanted evening,” he croons in an exaggerated, comic way, but still, it sounds pretty good, “you will meet a stranger …”
Lana has the sudden sensation that she is locked into a dream, a dream that goes on and on and moves easily from the real to unreal, from the house here on Cedar Street to Miss Hekkity’s shop and back again, a sensation so unsettling that she pushes a fingernail into the palm of her hand until she feels actual pain. And—she runs a finger over her left ear—the two-dollar bill is gone.
So she isn’t dreaming.
12.
B efore dusk that evening, when Veronica’s in the backyard fiddling with her hollyhocks and trying to ignore the Snicks, Lana sneaks to the kitchen phone and dials Hallie’s private number.
“Hallie?” she says. Over the line, Lana can hear voices, clinking sounds, the happy shrieking of children, which is strange because Lana knows Hallie doesn’t have children. It was why, when Lana lived in Omaha, Hallie could occasionally take Lana to the movies, the mall, or the ice rink. “It’s me, Lana,” she says now into the phone.
“Ah,” Hallie says in her smooth, silky voice. “It’s Lana calling my private cell number … in the evening … after hours, and here I am at my niece’s eighth-grade graduation party wondering, Why would Lana do that?”
Lana sighs. Hallie is friendly when being friendly is her own idea, but it’s a different story when Lana’s doing the calling. “Veronica planted pills in my room,” she says anyway. “They look like meth.”
Calmly Hallie says, “By Veronica, I’m presuming you mean Mrs. Winters?”
“Mmm.” Through the window Lana watches Veronica pulling off her gloves and stepping into the garage.
“And why would Mrs. Winters plant pills in your room?”
“She says she’s going to mail them to a lab downstate and have them tested and that it will be my word against hers. Hers being like God’s, I guess.”
“Why would she do that, Lana?”
“Because she wants to get rid of me.”
Behind Hallie’s silence, Lana hears something new: the low throb of dance music. She stares across the lawn at the garage. Behind the grimy garage window, Veronica seems to be getting something from a cupboard.
Hallie says, “Why would Mrs. Winters want to get rid of you?”
Because she thinks I’ve got the wild eye for her husband
, Lana thinks, but what she says is, “I have no clue.”
Hallie doesn’t respond. Outside, Veronica emerges from the garage with a handful of bamboo stakes and a ball of twine, but they wouldn’t’ve come from the cupboard. Lana pulls hard on the stretchy coil of phone cord. “Hallie?” she says. “You still there?”
Hallie says quietly, “If she just wanted you out of there, all she would have to do is file a five-day notice with us. Which means that if what you’re saying is true, she not only wants you gone but wants you gone
with cause
.”
“Which means?”
“That you’ve regally ticked her off for some reason.”
For some reason
seems to hang suspended in the silence between them.
Outside, Veronica looks at the sky, then the street, then her watch.
Whit
, Lana thinks.
Veronica’s worried about Whit
. And what she’s doing to Lana is just one patch in the blanket she wants to wrap around Whit.
These are strange, alarming thoughts and Lana says with sudden vehemence, “So what are you going to do about this shit?”
“If I hear another vulgarity,” Hallie says evenly, “I will hang up,” and Lana knows she will, so she says in a softer voice, “Well?”
“Let’s see if
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