“Do you work for a company?”
“I did, a few, but now I work for myself—or, I mean, for us,” he said.
“How do people find out about you? Do you advertise in newspapers, on the radio?”
“Naw. Word of mouth’s enough. Don’t worry about it. I can get as much work as I want.”
I nodded and turned another page.
I had hoped to find out something more specific about him, but then I thought, what good would it do me? I couldn’t get a message out to anyone. A part of me, however, was truly curious about him. Maybe I would learn something that could help me fashion an escape. He didn’t seem to mind my questions. In fact, he thought it meant I was more accepting.
“Did you learn all this from your father?”
“Hell, no. He had no patience for me, and besides, as soon as I was old enough, I left school and went to work and got to know more than he ever knew. My mother would usually ask me to fix things around the house.”
“I bet he didn’t like that.”
“You’re smart. He hated it. Sometimes I think he’d go and break something I fixed just so he could say I didn’t do it right.”
“Do you have carpet upstairs?”
“In every room but the kitchen,” he said. “I laid the tile for the kitchen floor, too.”
“Maybe you want a color similar to what’s upstairs, then.”
“No,” he said emphatically. “This is our place. It’s got to be different. I’ll tell you if we can do the color you pick out.”
It took
until we reached the middle of the third catalogue before he approved the color, a medium-green cut pile.
“I knew you’d make the right choice for us,” he said. “I can get this pretty quick.”
“Why don’t we start on the floor today? I need exercise,” I said. What I really wanted was for him to leave again and maybe, just maybe, forget to lock the door behind him.
His smile widened. “Start today?” He thought a moment. “Yeah, good. We’ll start by preparing the floor. I’ll go up and get the equipment and the vacuum cleaner and all.”
“Don’t you have to go buy things?”
“No, not for step one. I told you, I do this for a living. I got all we need here.”
He stood and leaned down to kiss me.
“My own little homemaker,” he said. “We’ll make this place cozy and beautiful together. Then it will mean more. To both of us.”
I watched him carefully as he left. This was possibly still very good. He hadn’t locked the door behind him, and I was sure he had to have his tools somewhere other than in the house, perhaps in a shed or in the garage. I might not get as good a chance as I have now, I thought. I took some deep breaths and went to the door.
Mr. Moccasin followed me, as usual. I tried to wave him back. He didn’t retreat.
“You want out as much as I do, don’t you?” I said, and then I opened the door, keeping my body between the cat and the opening. I listened for a moment. The stairway, as short as it was, loomed before me, looking formidable. What if I was only halfway up and he opened the door above? The very thought gave me shivers. I listened. I’ve got to try, I thought when I heard nothing. I’ve got to risk it. I slipped out of his too-big-for-me slippers, closed the door behind me, and started up the stairs. When I reached the top, I realized that I had held my breath so long that I might faint and topple back down. I steadied myself by gripping the banister.
As quietly as I could, I opened the upstairs door. Again, I paused to listen for him. Hearing nothing, I opened the door a little more and saw that I was in a short, narrow hallway. It was lighter on my right, so I imagined that was the way out. Directly across from me and the basement door was a bedroom, its door wide open. I stepped out and turned to the right, but something caught my eye in the bedroom. I paused to look, and this time, I really did come close to fainting.
I did not enter the bedroom. I stood just outside the doorway and gazed in amazement. A coffin had been placed right on top of the bed, which had a rosewood headboard. The coffin was made from the same wood but had an unfinished look to it. It took up most of the bed, which had a cream-colored top sheet with rosebuds and two large matching pillows. There was a small, working grandfather clock on the right nightstand. On the opposite side was a vase with what looked like freshly cut roses. The light-blue shag carpet appeared recently vacuumed. The darker-blue curtains were fully opened. Looking through those windows, I could see a thick wooded area. Between the house and that was a browned, spotty lawn with a rusted table and two rusted chairs.
Whose coffin was it? Was it meant to be mine? Was that why it was unfinished? Why had it been put on a bed? I was trembling so hard that I didn’t think I could continue, but I walked down the short hallway and saw the front door. It was open, but there was a screen door, too. The sight of a sunny sky with only a patch of clouds restored my determination.
Carefully, I approached the screen door. The front porch had only a few wooden steps. I saw Anthony’s van parked on the right. The gravel driveway did go down a small incline. I’d have to step out to see the road, but I was sure the best escape was to run down the driveway and take any direction once I reached the road.