Chapter Five
On a Sunday night, four days before Christmas, the seniors got a treat in the living room: a choir of schoolchildren paid a visit. The staff had arranged dining-room chairs in rows so the residents could sit and enjoy the songs. Lina, sitting next to Mrs. B, glanced back and saw Ren leaning against the entry arch. He winked at her. With a grin, she turned forward again.
The children shouted “Merry Christmas!” in unison at the top of their lungs and filed out. Lina and Mrs. B stood and chatted with Alan and George while Ren whisked away the chairs. He pulled the sofa back into place and lingered to fix a drooping length of tinsel on the Christmas tree.
As Lina walked Mrs. B toward the stairs, Mrs. B stopped in the foyer and squinted upward. Lina looked up too and felt her lips twist in a smile.
“Is that mistletoe?” Mrs. B asked.
“Yes, it is,” Ren said, strolling up with his hands folded behind him. “Fresh-cut from an oak tree yesterday.”
“Well, we’re standing under it. Isn’t there a rule about that?” Mrs. B beamed at him.
Lina tried to slink away, but Mrs. B gripped her arm with the strength of an eagle’s talons and yanked her back.
“Why, yes, I believe so.” Ren stepped up to Mrs. B. He kissed her on the cheek, and she laughed. Then he swiveled and brushed a kiss onto Lina’s cheek. His gum smelled of peppermint, like a candy cane. “Happy Yuletide, ladies.”
Lina, dazed with delight, was putting together an answer when George shouted behind them, “Me next!”
And before she had even gotten to know it, the soft imprint of Ren’s kiss was wiped out by a bristly, loud smack from George Lambert. While George proceeded to lay a kiss on the squawking Mrs. B, Lina glanced at Ren and found him watching her, eyes alight with mirth.
At his shoulder appeared a tangle of dark red—Marla Drake’s hair—and below it, a sardonic smile. “All right, you crazy kids. If I’d known how much fuss you’d make over that mistletoe, I wouldn’t have picked it up.”
The group dispersed, tittering like children. Lina led Mrs. B up the staircase. She ducked a look through the banister and caught Ren glancing at her over his shoulder. They both smiled and moved along. Lina’s heart thumped more quickly than it needed to for the mild exercise of climbing stairs. Life felt glorious, until, with a pang like a whiplash, she remembered she had to go home to Tacoma on Christmas Eve. At least this time she was only staying two nights.
Mrs. B patted her arm at her doorway. “Aren’t we lucky?”
“Yes, we are,” Lina admitted.
“You’re welcome,” added Mrs. B.
Lina fell asleep easily that night, unafraid of the dark. She was happy knowing who she shared the house with, knowing the loveliness that warmed the cold basement.
A beep jangled her awake. She started, and looked around the shadowy room in confusion. It was not her alarm clock, nor the smoke detector, nor the doorbell—what was it? It took another electric jingling before she understood it was the pager. She was on call.
Lina flung back her blanket, looked at her clock—it was only mid-night—and picked up the pager. “Augusta B,” it said. Mrs. B—right next door. She put on her slippers and rushed over.
What she found there when she snapped on the light was so strange she could only stare for a moment. Mrs. B was in bed, covered with books and magazines. Stacks and heaps of them. Her hand, which had escaped to grab the alert button, flailed in the air. As she tried to shift, a stack of National Geographic s tilted and slid. Yellow-bordered issues thudded to the floor.
“Mrs. B, what did you do?” Lina started transferring armfuls of magazines from the bed to the carpet.
“Goodness, Lina, I didn’t do this. How on Earth could I?”
“Then how did they get here?” Lina examined the bookcase behind her, but it was too far away. If anything had fallen off the shelves, it would have landed on the floor. Besides, most of the magazines had been in stacks on the floor to begin with.
“They just started falling on me. I woke up when the first few landed, and then there were more and more, just piling up.” Her voice quavered. For once, the unshakable Mrs. B was shaken.
“So someone was in here?” Lina pulled a heavy hardcover dictionary from Mrs. B’s lap, and felt Mrs. B’s ribs and hips for fractures.
“I couldn’t see anyone,” said Mrs. B. “It was dark, and my eyes are bad anyhow.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m confused—I don’t know who would do this. Or why.”
“I’ll tell you one thing. I’m pretty sure nobody opened that door until you came in just now. If anyone else was in here, then they’re still in here.”
Lina froze, then turned, rising to her feet. “Did you hear anyone?” she whispered. Her eyes flew to possible hiding places: the closet, the small bathroom, the space beneath the bed.
“No, and I don’t think you’ll find anyone.” Mrs. B pushed away the last magazines and sat up.
Lina grabbed a pair of scissors from the bookshelf and advanced to the dark bathroom. She had seldom been more afraid in her life, but she couldn’t let anyone do this to her helpless old friend and get away with it. With a grunt she kicked the door open, sliced the scissors through the air, and flicked on the bathroom light. No one there. She turned and stalked toward the closet.
“Lina, I really don’t think you’ll find anyone.”
“Then how did those books get there?” Lina yanked open the closet. Mrs. B’s clothes hung there innocuously, nothing more.
“You know this house does strange things,” Mrs. B said.
“But it’s never done this before, has it?” Lina dropped to her hands and knees and looked under the bed from a safe distance, still clutching the scissors. Nothing but magazines and dust bunnies.
“No, but I didn’t do it myself, and it’s a strange thing for a burglar to do, don’t you think?”
Lina sank back on her knees. “Very strange. Mrs. B, forgive me for asking, but have you ever been known to sleepwalk?”
“No, and even if I did, how would I get myself under all those things?”
“I don’t know. Listen, we should wake up Marla and Alan. Whoever did this could still be in the house.”
“Oh, fiddle. If anyone broke in, they’d just steal the silver and the TV set. They wouldn’t traipse all the way up to the third floor and start throwing books onto old ladies.”
“Maybe someone else was sleepwalking.” Lina flourished the scissors to punctuate her new idea. “One of the other residents.”
“Well, then they ran away in an awful hurry, because those magazines kept falling right up to the second you walked in.”
“Are you sure?”
“As much as I’m sure of anything these days.”
Lina lowered the scissors. She felt queasy. “I’ll stay here tonight, in the armchair. I’ll keep watch.”
Mrs. B swatted at the air. “You don’t need to babysit me. I’m sure we scared it off.”
Lina emitted a shaky laugh. “You think I’m staying here for you? I’m not going back to bed alone. No, ma’am.”
“Do what you like, then. Turn off that overhead light, would you? Even to a blind woman it’s too bright.”
Lina obeyed, though only after switching on a desk lamp instead. “I’m just going to get a blanket from my room.”
Mrs. B, already settled down, grunted in answer.
Walking down the quiet midnight corridor, even with the lights on, terrified Lina further. The clicks and clangs of the radiator, echoing through the walls, sounded like Jacob Marley rattling his chains. At every step she feared the lights would go out as they had once done in her room. The ladder leading to the attic trapdoor was veiled in shadow, and she shuddered as she thought of venturing up there now, without Ren’s glowing flashlight to guide her.
Upon entering her room she stopped short. Her blankets and pillows were strewn across the floor, which was not how she had left them. She grabbed the nearest blanket, ran back to Mrs. B’s room, and huddled in the armchair with the scissors in her hand—even though logic, as far as it went regarding ghosts, told her a weapon was useless. She did not fall asleep until the familiar thumps and clatters of the kitchen staff beginning breakfast preparations started up downstairs at 6:30 a.m.
She woke up a scant hour later when Mrs. B’s alarm clock went off. Lina dragged herself to her feet and stumbled downstairs to fetch coffee and tea. She forgot Mrs. B’s oatmeal and had to go back for it. On the return trip she ran into Ren.
He frowned when he saw her. “You okay?”
“The house kept us up most of the night.”
“The house?”
“Poltergeists. Ghosts. Books, magazines—flying, stacking up under their own power. I know, I’m hallucinating. But then if I am, explain to me how Mrs. B ended up under a stack of books too heavy for her to move by herself.” It sounded nonsensical to her now, but he wasn’t laughing.
“Is she all right?”
“Just a couple bruises. I think she must have been sleepwalking. Or someone else was. Someone else who also wanted to throw around my blankets, and then disappeared without a trace.”
He couldn’t have been able to follow her from those disjointed words, but he looked concerned all the same. “I should’ve come up. I was awake most of the night, and I thought I…heard something once.”
The thought of calling him had definitely crossed her mind, but she hadn’t wanted to wake him. “Well,” she grumbled, “I need to get cleaned up.”
“Okay. I’ll come up to the third floor and look around, see if I can spot any signs of a break-in. Just to ease your mind.”
“Thank you.”
* * *
Half an hour later, wet-haired and wrapped in her blue terrycloth robe, Lina returned from her shower and stopped in her doorway. Ren stood at her bookshelves, bending to read the titles.
He straightened up. “Sorry. Got distracted by your books. I haven’t found any signs of a burglar, though.”
“That’s good, I guess.” She came in and picked up a comb from her vanity counter, then paused. Combing her hair while standing here in nothing but a bathrobe seemed too intimate a thing to do while talking with Ren. She picked specks of lint off the comb’s teeth. “What about the door to the fire escape?”
“Tight as a drum.” He strolled toward the corridor. “Doesn’t look like anyone got in or out.”
“So that leaves ghosts. Great.”
He turned as if to leave, then stopped, leaned on the door frame, and folded his arms. “You think they’re real, then?”
“I don’t know what to think. It’s that, or someone’s toying with us. Would anyone be toying with us?”
“I’m not doing it.” His tongue transferred his chewing gum from one side of his mouth to the other; Lina caught a glimpse of pale blue. “And I don’t think it’s the Drakes or the old folks either.”
She set down the comb and raked her wet hair back with her fingers. “I didn’t mean to accuse you,” she mumbled. “I’ve never lived with ghosts before. What are we supposed to do?”
“Just live with them, I guess.” His words were quiet. When she looked over, she found his gaze lingering halfway up her body.
She looked down. Her robe was gaping at the chest, tugged open by the motion of her arms. She seized the folds together in one hand, though by now he must have caught a glimpse of her breast. His gaze flitted to the far wall. He unfolded his arms, his hands swinging clumsily, with nothing like their usual steadiness and skill. Her skin tingled beneath the terrycloth, from the unexpected draft of air and the even more unexpected image of what those hands might feel like on her flesh. Her lungs felt tight, as if she could not take a deep enough breath to fill them. She was mortified, but at the same time thrilled.
He had checked her out. He was curious.
Footsteps approached on the hall carpet. Ren looked over his shoulder.
“What you doing all the way up here, Ren?” Marla shouted from down the corridor.
“Just checking for intruders.” He backed out of Lina’s room.
“You know you’re not going to find them.” Marla arrived in the doorway, examined Lina’s state of undress, and shot a glance back at Ren.
Lina’s lips tightened, and she grabbed the comb and started detangling her hair.
“I better go check on the bread,” Ren said. Over Marla’s shoulder, he nodded farewell to Lina.
“Thank you for coming up,” Lina called back. She kept combing as she spoke, and half hoped she had flashed him another peep of skin.
Ren slipped away, and Marla took his place at the door. “Heard our ghosts were bothering you and Mrs. B.”
“Something sure was.”
“I never warned you about that stuff. Maybe I should have.”
“I probably wouldn’t have believed you.”
“Yeah? What about now?”
“I can’t see how else to explain it. Are there ghosts?”
Marla planted a hand on her hip and gazed past Lina at the window. “Wish I had a better explanation. But I don’t.”
Lina set down the comb and picked up a bottle of hand lotion. “I’d rather not go through another night like last night, that’s all.”
“Nobody likes those. But they’re rare, and you get used to it.” Marla moved into a brighter tone of voice. “Say, you’re not seeing anyone, are you?”
“No.” Lina squeezed lotion onto her hand and rubbed it into both palms. “Why?”
“My nephew Gary’s starting grad school at U-Dub in the spring. He’s moving to town in January to get a place to live. I think you two might get along. You should come to dinner, double-date with me and Alan.”
Lina smiled dryly. “I’d have to think about it. What’s he going to study?”
“Business. Going for his MBA. Real smart kid.”
“Well, I’ll consider it. I can’t think straight right now, after last night…”
“That’s okay; I’ll ask you later.” Marla barked a laugh. “Thought it’d be a good idea, ’cause trust me, you don’t want to date anyone you work with.”
Lina’s hands slowed as they spread the lotion onto her knuckles. In the mirror she saw her chest rise, and her face turn pink with rage. But when she spoke, she knew she sounded apologetic. “That’s true. There can be problems.”
“Well, especially a houseboy. That’s all I’m saying.”
Lina replaced the cap on the lotion and set the bottle aside. “Right.” But she had no idea what Marla meant. Why “especially a houseboy”? Was it still the 1930s around here? Anyhow, advice against dating coworkers was rich coming from a woman who ran a business with her husband.
“I’ll find you a picture of Gary,” Marla said. “He’s a real sweetheart.”
“Since you mention it…” Lina took an emery board from the vanity and fiddled with it. “Is there something I should know about Ren?” She kept her eyes down. She felt the heat blazing in her face.
“Oh—no, it’s just, he’s not the type for dating.”
“Not the type?”
“Well, you’re not dating him anyway, so it doesn’t matter. Just my unwanted advice!” Marla laughed again.
Lina put down the emery board and turned away. “I need to get dressed.”
“I’ll get going. Say, don’t worry about those ghosts. It’s been going on for decades and we all still love living here.”
“I’ll try to get used to it.” Lina opened a bureau drawer and selected a pair of socks.
“All righty. I’ll close your door.”
When Lina heard the latch click shut, she waited five seconds, trembling, then spun around and pitched her balled-up pair of socks at the door. It bounced off the painted wood, right where Marla’s head had been a moment ago, and tumbled under her desk.
“None of your business,” she whispered. “None. Of. Your. Business.”
She flung off her bathrobe, yanked open a drawer, and grabbed a stick of deodorant. While she applied it, arm over head, she stared at her naked torso in the vanity mirror. Well, why shouldn’t he look? She had nicer breasts than some of the actresses she’d seen in movies. Her shoulders were attractive too, with lean-muscled upper arms. He would have been able to see that on Halloween—her sheet-dress had left her arms bare. And with her hair getting longer, she was showing a fair amount of feminine charm lately.
“That’s right.” She tossed aside the deodorant and raked through a drawer for her hair dryer. “Think we’ll even wear lipstick today. Deal with that .”
* * *
After getting dressed, she retired to a living room sofa with her comfortably worn copy of Pride and Prejudice . Nibbling one corner of her lipstick-tinted mouth, unaccustomed to the cosmetic taste, she flipped to the confrontation between Elizabeth Bennet and Lady Catherine de Bourgh. It had occurred to her that her conversation with Marla had been similar—or would have been, if Lina were as brave as Elizabeth. As she read she heard the lines in Marla’s voice and her own, instead of the characters’.
“Do you not consider that a connection with you must disgrace him in the eyes of everybody?…You are then resolved to have him?”
“I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.”
Lina yawned behind her hand. Well, at least one aspect of her case was the same as Elizabeth’s: all it had taken was someone telling her she should stay away from Ren, and now she liked him more than ever. Maybe she had a rebellious streak after all.
She closed the book and folded her hands over it. Lady Catherine, of course, was Mr. Darcy’s aunt and was worried about the family’s social standing; that was why she opposed Elizabeth. But why would Marla oppose Lina? Marla was no relation to Ren, and anyway, this wasn’t nineteenth-century England. Few modern Americans took objection to honest young women whose finances were only starting to rebound from paying off medical school.
Maybe Marla was trying to divert Lina’s mind from the idea of ghosts, give her something new to fix her emotions on. If that was the case, then it had worked. Or…maybe Marla wanted Ren for herself.
Lina squirmed in repulsion. Marla was married, yes, but these things did happen, and Ren was undeniably charming. Perhaps they had already indulged in an affair. Perhaps they were having one right now. Lina cringed and shifted on the sofa cushions, shutting her eyes against the pale sunlight.
No. Impossible. There was some thirty years’ difference between their ages, and more importantly, Marla loved Alan. Everyone knew that. She wouldn’t cheat on him. Besides, Marla and Ren never sparkled with chemistry around each other, the way lovers would. In fact, the only people Ren had shown affection to, in Lina’s memory, were herself and the old ladies—and with the old ladies it was just a grandchild variety of affection.
Which left herself. Lina smiled and wriggled down against the cushions. Marla must have seen it too, and for some reason didn’t like it. Maybe she feared they would engage in tactless displays of passion if they started dating—shocking the elders by making out in the kitchen or pinching each other in the parlor. (As if Mrs. B would be shocked. She would only laugh. And George Lambert would yell encouragements.)
Lina stifled a snort of laughter in her shoulder. The idea was absurd. Marla ought to have known they would behave themselves. Just imagine Ren settling down on top of her now, on this elegant living room sofa—planting a knee on either side of her hips, twining his fingers into hers and pushing them into the cushions, bending to press warm lips to her mouth and taste her tongue—no, she and Ren would never do such things.
Unfortunately, she drifted into a dream in which they were doing exactly such things. His hands coasted along her breasts, caressing them through her sweater; his hips sank heavy against hers; his mouth tasted of roses, odd but alluring. She murmured and sighed to him, inviting and pleading for more.
He pushed himself up then, his weight lifting from her body. “Why did you stop?” she protested.
She opened her eyes. Her heart failed her for a moment.
Ren himself leaned over her. He stood behind the sofa, resting his elbows on the back of it and leafing through Pride and Prejudice , which he must have picked up from her chest. Her face felt hot—Lord, she hadn’t moaned in her sleep, had she?
Ren smiled. “Sorry. Didn’t want to wake you up, but George was looking for you.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“I wouldn’t know, but it’s 11:30 now.” He turned a page, smile still pressing a dimple into his cheek. “Sounded like a vivid dream.”
Kill me now , she begged the powers above. She cleared her throat, sat up, and patted her hair. “Hm. Weird. Don’t really remember. Um, what does George want?”
He handed the book back to her. “Something about a prescription refill. He said your beauty is making his heart go nuts. Exact quote.”
“Then I better hurry before anyone else’s beauty becomes a problem.”
Ren offered her his hand. She took it, and he helped her off the sofa.
As they crossed the room, Jackie Clairmont shuffled in with her cane, clutching a magazine. She stopped and stared up at them, her head wobbling on her neck like a newborn kitten’s.
“Hi, Mrs. Clairmont,” Lina said.
Ren nodded to the old woman and moved forward.
But Mrs. Clairmont reached out with the magazine and touched his arm, stopping him. “It wasn’t your fault.” Despite her croaking voice, she sounded kind. “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”
“Oh. It’s all right,” he said, sounding tentative and surprised.
Lina laid a hand on Mrs. Clairmont’s arm, deflecting the magazine. “You get the living room to yourself. We were just on our way out. Is there anything I can get you?”
“No, thank you.” Jackie Clairmont tottered past them.
Lina watched her go, then turned and joined Ren, who was drifting into the foyer, his chin tipped down. Lina thought she understood. Nobody wanted to be reminded of an unpleasant experience, even by apology. Still, the apology hadn’t been that unsettling, had it?
“So I’ll see you at dinner?” she said.
He glanced at her, as if surprised to find her there. “Yeah. See you.” He veered off to the dining room.
Lina stood at the foot of the stairs, clinging to the newel post. She wanted to run after him, seize him by the shoulders, and…and either demand he tell her what was going on, or twine herself around him and pry his sealed mouth open with kisses.
As if either approach would work. Dreams—such unfair hopes they put in your head. Lina turned and trudged up the stairs.
* * *
Christmas came and went with little fanfare and no ghostly activity. Lina saw her mother and brother again, and found them no more palatable than she had at Thanksgiving. The day after Christmas, still at her mom’s house in Tacoma, she treated herself to another phone call to Ren.
This time she dialed his direct line. It was nine o’clock at night and she didn’t really expect him to answer. But he did.
“Hello?”
“Ren? It’s Lina Zuendel.”
“Oh, Lina Zuendel . Not one of the other Linas I know.” He sounded like he was smiling.
She lay back on her bed in the guest room. “I, uh, just remembered that you helped me stay sane over Thanksgiving, so I thought I might try the same medication again.”
“Medication now, am I? Always the nurse. How can I help you?”
“I…I don’t know.” Though she had planned to launch into all kinds of recent annoying remarks made by her family, she became shy now at hearing his voice. “Ever seem to you that Christmas gets less fun as you grow up?”
“Of course. You have to start spending money.”
“And visiting family. Or not visiting them if they’re far away.”
He apparently understood. “Who are you not visiting this year?”
“My dad. He lives in Philadelphia. Haven’t seen him since last summer.” She wanted to add more. How she felt like her dad had written off the rest of them as embarrassments, even herself, the respectable nurse; how she always remembered it was her dad, not her mom, she wanted to please by doing so well in school…
“I know what you mean,” Ren said. “I miss my folks this time of year.”
“God, I shouldn’t complain to you, when you’re actually an orphan.”
“Oh, I don’t know. The living are usually more trouble than the dead.”
“True. The dead can’t tell you how much you disappoint them.”
“I hope no one’s actually said you’re a disappointment.” He sounded offended for her.
“Well…” She closed her eyes. “I broke up with this guy, Brent, a doctor, back in spring. Mom, she doesn’t care, she goes through guys fast enough herself. But Dad really liked Brent. They got along so well when Dad came out to visit. Went golfing together and everything. So when I told Dad we broke up, he said, ‘You let him go? You’re not going to get many chances at men like him. You got to hang on to a good thing when you’ve got it.’”
“Ouch.”
“Which actually is true. But…”
“Bad time to say so.”
“Yeah. So why do I miss my dad?” she said.
“I think we get attached to people who challenge us. Whether it’s wise or not.”
“That’s a deep observation. I will have to think about it.”
“I doubt he’s actually disappointed in you,” Ren said. “I doubt anyone is.”
Lina’s eyelids drifted open. She smiled. “I knew it was a good idea to call you.”
“Lina…”
Her heart started thumping. “Yes?”
“I like you.”
“I like you too.”
“And I will probably disappoint you someday.”
Her smile shifted to a frown. “What do you mean?”
“I always do. Believe me. Something comes up, and…” He sighed. “I just wanted you to know, when that time comes, I really did like you.”
“Did?”
“Do. Still. Just…remember it, all right?”
She blinked at the ceiling. “What brought this on?”
“I seem to have trouble keeping friends. And I suppose I’d like to change that, but I’m not sure I can.”
“Oh. Well, I understand. I’m the same way.”
“Okay.” They were both quiet for a moment. “Ah, I just remembered,” he added, “I said I’d run the tablecloths through the wash tonight.”
“All right. I’ll let you go.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you. If I haven’t already disappointed you.” Sounded like the smile was back.
Confused, she smiled anyway. “No, I look forward to seeing you too.”
“Bye, then.”
“Bye.” She hung up, and kept her fingertips on the warmed phone receiver for a few minutes, as if touching him that way.
Friend. At least she was that.
* * *
When she returned to the old haunted mansion in Seattle the next day, and paused to gaze at the tinsel-wrapped Christmas tree, she was surprised to feel the type of holiday thrill she thought she had outgrown. She wanted to scoot underneath the tree on her back and look up the trunk, and imagine she had wandered into a glittering fairy-forest that was miraculously warm even in winter.
Or, she wondered as she touched the white lights and garlands, was she just feeling the effects of her crush? Was this simply how it felt to enter the house where he lived, to look at the decorations he put up?
She couldn’t resist. She went to the kitchen first.
Ren in his apron instantly filled her field of vision like the star on a stage. He appeared to be sealing leftover dough into plastic freezer bags, but her heart leaped as if he were singing a serenade below her bedroom window. She thumped her soft suitcase onto the floor. “Hi!”
He looked up, beamed, and dusted his hands on his apron. “Hi! Hey, check this out.” He moved toward the pantry, beckoning her along.
Lina followed, turned the corner, and exclaimed in admiration. On the counter stood an elaborate gingerbread house, two feet tall, complete with chimneys, front steps, windows drawn with icing, and dark candy wafers lined up as shingles on the steep roof.
Lina gasped. “It’s this house! Ren, did you make this?”
“You recognized it. I’m flattered.”
“It’s perfect, of course I recognized it. How did you do it?” Lina bent to examine the licorice-trim rain gutters.
“It’s a Christmas tradition of mine.”
“You could get into any culinary school in the world with this, Ren.” Lina bent down to look closer. He had even sketched in the tops of the basement windows in icing. “This is amazing.”
“But you can’t eat it,” said Marla, who had appeared behind them.
Lina straightened up, chastened at the mockery in Marla’s voice. Was that a veiled “hands off” message again? If so, Marla apparently intended it for Ren as well: she was looking right at him.
Ren’s gaze dropped to the floor. “No. But you can eat those.” He nodded toward another table. Lina glanced there and saw a tray of gingerbread men.
“That’ll be fine,” Lina said. “I wouldn’t want to break this into pieces anyway.”
Marla grunted a laugh without opening her lips, and sauntered away.
* * *
On the morning of December 31 Lina reclined on a living room sofa with a book, looking out the window every few minutes to see if the rain had turned to snow yet, as the forecast predicted.
Marla walked in. “There you are. Looking all over this house for you!”
“What’s up?”
Marla held out a photograph. “Found a picture of Gary for you. My nephew.”
Lina took the picture and examined the man, about her own age, standing between two older women. His warm, good-humored smile and tousled sandy hair gleamed in the flash. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a maroon sweater vest over his white shirt. “Looks nice. How old is he?” she asked, though it didn’t matter anymore.
“Thirty-two or thirty-three, I forget. He’s in town now. We could all do dinner next week.”
She handed the photo back to Marla. “He’s a good-looking guy, but I can’t promise…”
“Oh, no—no pressure! Just thought you should meet each other.”
“Okay. I guess so.” Lina looked out the window.
Marla looked too. “Miserable day.” She tapped Lina on the shoulder with the photo and walked off.
Lina stayed a few minutes more, watching the rain but not seeing it. Resolve spread through her system like a drug. That woman’s interference had gone far enough. Marla was about to see what her little words of wisdom actually inspired.
Lina closed the book and got up. Near the foyer a mirror hung on the living room wall. She looked into it and smoothed her hair, and licked her lips to bring color into them. With a deep breath she went to the kitchen.
She found Ren in the pantry, twisting the handle of a can opener around giant cans of tomatoes. He was alone. The day cook and Consuela were working together at the ovens. They wouldn’t overhear.
“Hi,” Lina said.
Ren sent her a sidelong smile. “Hi. Need some tomatoes, by any chance?”
“Uh, actually I was wondering…do you want to go see a movie this weekend?”
He wiped tomato juice off the can-opener blade and moved to the next can. “Rent one, you mean?”
“Go out for one, I was thinking. Might be nice to get out of the house once in a while.”
Ren’s head was still bent over the tomato cans. “What, just meeting me up on the roof isn’t enough?”
“I like the roof. But the thing is…” Lina looked at her foot in its dark blue wool sock, as she pushed a cereal flake around with her toe. “Marla’s trying to set me up with her nephew. I’m sure he’s nice, but…I don’t think I can say yes or no without asking you, because…”
The can opener barely moved. Ren thumbed a loose scrap of label under the blade, tense, waiting.
“Because,” Lina said, “if I was going to get set up with anyone, I would want it to be you.”
Ren released his breath. His eyebrows moved in surprise, but he still didn’t look at her.
“I know it’s sudden,” Lina rushed on. “You don’t have to decide this second.” Though it would be nice , she thought.
He gestured with the can opener. “I…I’m flattered, I really am, but…”
“It’s okay. Never mind. I just thought I’d ask.”
He pushed away the opened can and pulled over a new one. “It isn’t that I don’t want to. It’s that…”
“He can’t. He’s under house arrest.”
The words came from behind her. Lina whirled around. Marla stood with one hand on her hip, fixing a level gaze at Ren.
Lina did not speak. She turned again and looked to Ren. He hadn’t spoken either, but his face confirmed everything. A flush suffused his cheeks; his gaze burned into Marla with frustration. Then he closed his eyes and turned his head aside, as if ducking an invisible blow. He moved past, sidewinding between them. “Sorry,” he murmured. He jogged down to the basement and slipped out of sight.
Lina sucked in her breath. Her gaze staggered to Marla. “He is?”
“Sorry, kiddo. Tried to warn you.”