No other vehicles in sight.
The front door to the house was shut, and I figured she’d already gone in. But then she appeared from around the back of her car—taking something out of the trunk?
No, nothing in her hands. No pocket bulges.
Her mouth opened as I pulled up.
I said, “Think of it as an extended house call.”
Expecting anger, but she stared past me.
Blank and focused at the same time.
Hypnotic.
When she put a hand to her mouth, I thought she’d lost her nerve and I felt relieved, yet sad.
Then she walked quickly to the house, stomping up the wide porch stairs.
I was next to her as she knocked hard on the front door.
No one answered. She tapped her foot and knocked harder. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”
I looked through the dusty windows. The big front room was unlit and uninhabited.
Lucy began pounding the door with both hands. When there was still no response, she dashed off the porch and stood in front of the house, taking in its bulk.
Walking toward the right side of the building, her steps were fast and deliberate, scuffing the dust. Another brief pause; then she continued. Toward the back. Toward the high thicket that rose behind the house like some great green tide.
I found her staring at the overgrowth.
“Back there,” she whispered.
A voice above us said, “What’s going on?”
Nova, framed by a second-story window, her face grayed by a screen.
“Hi,” I said, taking Lucy’s icy hand. “We knocked but no one answered.”
A finger poked the screen. The expression above it was hard to gauge. “So you decided to come.”
Lucy’s fingers dug into my hand. “Sure,” she said. “We were in the neighborhood and decided to pop in. Is there a problem with that?”
Nova tented the screen with her fingertips. “No. Not unless Daddy’s got one.” She gave a strange laugh. “Come around the front.”
She was waiting for us, holding a glass of lemonade. The copper in her hair shone like electric wire.
“He wasn’t in any great mood when he went to bed, but I’ll tell him you’re here.”
“I’ll tell him myself,” said Lucy, walking past her into the front room. Taking in the stuffed heads, the shabby furniture, the emptiness.
Staring at the log walls.
Nova seemed amused. Nothing nurturant about her. Why had she chosen to care for a feeble, cruel man?
Kindred souls, just like Trafficant and Mellors?
What was her particular brand of cruelty?
Lucy made her way toward the staircase, moving slowly and cautiously, like a trapper on ice, passing under the steps, then continuing toward the back room.
Nova put her hands on her hips and watched, rubbing one foot against the other.
She wet her lips with her tongue and glanced at me.
Her eyes returned to Lucy and satisfaction filled them.
Lucy’s discomfiture turned her on.
Lucy looked up at the ceiling, then the floor.
Then back to the walls.
Stopping short. Arms straight at her sides, her face frozen.
She stared at the left-hand door.
Nova said, “That’s right, Daddy’s back there, dear.”
Despite her smile, tension in her voice.
Competition—mock sibling rivalry?
Wanting Lucy to come here, certain it would destroy her?
I took Lucy’s elbow. She shook her head and moved her arm out of my grasp.
Twenty feet from the room.
I covered the distance with her.
The door was pine, once heavily varnished, the finish cracked, flaking like dandruff.
She sucked in breath and opened it. As we stepped into a big, dark, book-lined room, a sulfurous smell hit us, not unlike the stench of the ER at Woodbridge. A hospital bed was in the center, cranked to a semi-upright position. Lowell’s wheelchair was folded in a corner.
Lowell reclined under the covers, his hair greasy and limp, his long arms resting on the blanket, white and blue-veined below frayed gray undershirt sleeves. His chin was coated with white stubble, his eyes unfocused. It was 2 P.M. but he hadn’t awakened fully. He turned toward us with obvious effort, then turned away and closed his eyes.
Lucy’s hand found its way back into mine, so sweaty it slithered in my grasp. Her shoulders twitched, then began shaking.