She was quiet for a beat. Then she scraped back her chair and stood up. “Come and see Ellie,” she said. “She’s so beautiful when she’s asleep.” She passed close to him and took his hand in hers. Led him out through the kitchen and into the rear lobby and up the back stairs, toward the noise of the fan turning slowly. Down the long hot corridor to Ellie’s door. She eased it open with her foot and maneuvered him so he could see inside the room.
There was a night-light plugged into an outlet low on the wall and its soft orange glow showed the child sprawled on her back, with her arms thrown up around her head. She had kicked off her sheet and the rabbit T-shirt had ridden up and was showing a band of plump pink skin at her waist. Her hair was tumbled over the pillow. Long dark eyelashes rested on her cheeks like fans. Her mouth was open a fraction.
“She’s six and a half,” Carmen whispered. “She needs this. She needs a bed of her own, in a place of her own. I can’t make her live like a fugitive.”
He said nothing.
“Do you see?” she whispered.
He shrugged. He didn’t, really. At age six and a half, he had lived exactly like a fugitive. He had at every age, right from birth to yesterday. He had moved from one service base to another, all around the world, often with no notice at all. He recalled days when he got up for school and instead was driven to an airstrip and ended up on the other side of the planet thirty hours later. He recalled stumbling tired and bewildered into dank bungalow bedrooms and sleeping on unmade beds. The next morning, his mother would tell him which country they were in. Which continent they were on. If she knew yet. Sometimes she didn’t. It hadn’t done him any harm.
Or, maybe it had.
“It’s your call, I guess,” he said.
She pulled him back into the corridor and eased Ellie’s door shut behind him.
“Now I’ll show you where I hid the gun,” she said. “You can tell me if you approve.”
She walked ahead of him down the corridor. The air conditioner was loud. He passed under a vent and a breath of air played over him. It was warm. Carmen’s dress swayed with every step. She was wearing heels and they put tension in the muscles of her legs. He could see tendons in the backs of her knees. Her hair hung down her back and merged with the black pattern on the red fabric of the dress. She turned left and then right and stepped through an archway. There was another staircase, leading down.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Separate wing,” she said. “It was added. By Sloop’s grandfather, I think.”
The staircase led to a long narrow ground-floor hallway that led out of the main building to a master suite. It was as big as a small house. There was a dressing area, and a spacious bathroom, and a sitting room with a sofa and two armchairs. Beyond the sitting room was a broad archway. Beyond the archway, there was a bedroom.
“In here,” she said.
She walked straight through the sitting room and led him to the bedroom.
“You see what I mean?” she said. “We’re a long way from anywhere. Nobody hears anything. And I try to be quiet, anyway. If I scream, he hits me harder.”
He nodded and looked around. There was a window, facing east, with insects loud beyond the screen. There was a king-size bed close to it, with side tables by the head, and a chest-high piece of furniture full of drawers opposite the foot. It looked like it had been made a hundred years ago, out of some kind of oak trees.
“Texas ironwood,” she said. “It’s what you get if you let the mesquite grow tall.”
“You should have been a teacher,” he said. “You’re always explaining things.”
She smiled, vaguely. “I thought about it, in college. It was a possibility, back then. In my other life.”
She opened the drawer on the top right.