Francie’s gaze was impassive. Go ahead, she seemed to be saying. Who’s stopping you?
“I was thinking,” Beth went on, “since you’re already packed— I know it’s not what you had in mind, but how about coming with me?
It would be for only a couple of days. Then we’ll come back, so I can finish up here.”
Francie stood up straight, and Beth could not see her face. The pack dangled from her hand.
“What do you think?” Beth asked. There was no reply.
Beth was just about to ask again when Francie bent down and tossed the pack into the backseat. Then she slid into the front seat and glanced briefly at Beth.
“Well?” said Beth.
Francie shrugged her shoulders, and then she nodded.
“Good,” said Beth. Looking to make sure no one was coming, she pulled away from the curb.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”
Andrew jerked his hand out of the cash drawer and looked up into the red face and angry eyes of Lewis Temple. “Nothing,” he said.
“You were taking money from me.”
“No,” said Andrew.
“And why have you got your coat on?”
“I have to leave early.”
Lewis Temple looked at him incredulously. “Leave early? And what were you going to do? Just leave the store untended while you were gone.”
“I was going to lock up. That’s what I was just doing. Locking up the drawer.”
Temple shook his head and pulled off his jacket. “It’s a goddamn good thing I stopped in here.” He turned back to Andrew and stared at his pocket as if he could see inside it with X-ray vision. “Just locking it up. I’ll bet.”
Andrew came out behind the counter and passed the store manager, who was sputtering. “Gotta go,” said Andrew.
Temple grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and poked a finger into his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Andrew stared intently at the restraining hand on his shoulder. He wanted to break it off at the wrist and hear the man scream in pain. It was what he deserved. But he didn’t want to start trouble in case Mr. Temple decided to call the police. Besides, he had the money in his pocket, and the store owner couldn’t prove it wasn’t his. “I’m in a hurry,” said Andrew.
Temple let go of him with a little shove. “Don’t come back, Andrew. You’re fired as of right now. And don’t come sniffing around for your pay either. I think you already helped yourself to it.”
Andrew could barely control the desire to grin. He only wished he could tell the stupid prick that he could stuff his stinking job, that Andrew was not even going to be around after today. He forced himself not to say it, although the thoughts were loud in his head. He looked up at Mr. Temple’s face and saw that it was puffy and discolored. There was a trickle of blood running from the side of his mouth, and his eyes were rolled back in his head. Andrew felt a surge of happiness.
“You’ve been nothing but trouble anyway,” said Mr. Temple.
Andrew blinked hard and looked again. The bloody image had disappeared, and Mr. Temple’s glittering eyes bored into him.
“I’ll see ya,” Andrew said in a bland voice. He did not wait for a response.
The wind snapped around him as he alternately walked and ran the distance to his house. He had plenty of time, he reminded himself. Plenty of time. She never got back from Dr. Ridberg’s until nearly six. By then he and Francie would have a big head start, and no one would know in which direction.
He laughed aloud, thinking of how Temple had just fired him from his job. That would be a good story to tell Francie in the car.
He reached Berwyn Road in no time, as if he had been flying, not walking. The day was cold and gray, and there was a smell of wood-smoke in the air. Warm lights beckoned from houses he passed, and Andrew pictured the families inside, gathered by the hearths, cheerful and smiling with their arms around one another, like a bunch of stuffed dolls.
No, it was California for him and Francie. Where the sun was always shining. You never had to stay inside there. He reached the end of the street and stopped outside the house, debating what to do. He always took a shower when he came in. It was the rule. But today he didn’t want to go into that cellar and take off his clothes in the chill. He did not want to be blasted with that lukewarm water and emerge shivering, obedient, and clean.
What did it matter how angry she would be? She could never berate him for it, for she would never be able to reach him. Never again could she subject him to her disappointment and her peppermint breath, for he would be gone. Boldly he walked up the front steps, turned the doorknob, and stepped over the threshold, germ-laden and defiant.
The foyer was dark and chilly, but as soon as he closed the door he noticed the strange smell. Sniffing the air warily, he made his way down the hall. There was an odor of wood smoke in the house. A fire, he thought. It couldn’t be.
His heart beat fast as he approached the door to the parlor. A bright gleam met his eye. He stopped and stared transfixed at the cheery glow of burning logs, crackling steadily in the fireplace, which had never, in his memory, been used.
From an armchair with its back to him the familiar voice assailed him. “Andrew,” she said, without stirring from the chair, “what a nice surprise. Home so early.”
Andrew was rooted in the doorway, trembling from head to toe.
“Why don’t you come in and join me? I’m having a little bonfire.”
Andrew entered the room as if in a trance and walked toward the hearth. As he reached it he saw an empty sleeve trailing out of the fireplace. It was one of his shirts.
Leonora’s sour expression was made gargoyle-like by the light from the flames. “I was wondering when you would be coming in. I decided to start without you.”
Andrew looked from his mother’s face to the open bag beside her chair. It was his duffel bag, torn apart and nearly empty. She was holding a poker in one hand and feeding his belongings to the fire as if she were roasting marshmallows.
“There,” she said with satisfaction as the last of the clothing he had packed went into the flames. She reached into the open mouth of the bag and brought out the envelope of money.
“I have told you again and again, Andrew, that there are germs on everything and that we have to be very careful. I hope this will teach you a lesson about hiding things from me in this house.”
Andrew’s eyes were riveted to the gloved hand which held the envelope of money. “Put that down,” he growled.
Leonora turned and shook the envelope at him. “How dare you try to keep this from me? I have given you everything, and you, you’re that selfish—”
Andrew’s eyes were wide, and the fire seemed to be licking his pupils. “Give that to me.”
With the poker in her hand Leonora picked up the empty duffel bag and tossed it into the flames. The heavy canvas smothered part of the fire, and smoke began to fill the room.
Tears welled in Leonora’s eyes, and she started choking. But she continued to rant at him between coughs. “Run away, will you? I knew you were up to something. I suspected it last night. So this morning I decided I would just find out.” She again shook the envelope that held the money.
Andrew reached toward it, but she snatched it back.
“So I called up Dr. Ridberg and told him I was sick today. I did not like having to lie to him, but I had to find out what you were up to. And this is what I found.” Leonora laughed, but there was despair in her laughter. “Did you really think you could hide this from me?” she said, shaking the envelope again.
“I need that money,” he said, and his eyes were dull as he stared at it.
“I need that money.” She mimicked him. “What for? To rent motel rooms with your little piece of trash? Oh, you are just like him,” she cried. “And I suppose you need these too?” she said. She held up the set of car keys in her other hand, and they jingled as she waved them around in front of Andrew. The fire had burst through the canvas and was burning merrily. The keys glinted in the firelight, and Andrew stared at them as if he were hypnotized.
“Forget it, my boy,” she said, coming up close to his face. “There’s a little matter of your old man that you killed. I tell the police one word of that, and it’s off” to the loony bin for you. Or to jail. You pick.”
Andrew tore his eyes from the keys and lifted his gaze to her pale, rubbery face, the mouth that seemed to be constantly in motion.
“What do you want from me?” he whispered.
The question seemed to stun her, and they stared at each other in the firelight, their endless struggle suspended for a brief moment. Her mouth started to work, but nothing came out. Then, like a dazed fighter rising from the canvas, her righteous anger reasserted itself. “What do I want from you?” she asked, drawing herself up. “That’s a good one. What about you? What do you want from me? First you kill my husband. Then, after I protect you all these years, what do you do? You try to steal my car and my money and run away.”
Andrew turned away from the sight of her wounded, contorted features. There was no way to win with her. She had always held it over him, from the beginning. And he had never won. Not once. Time and again she had whipped him and rubbed his nose in it. But not this time, he thought. This one was his.
“It’s my money,” he said in a calm voice. “And as for your husband, I didn’t mean to kill him. It was you.”
Leonora, who was preparing some sarcastic reply, took a second to register the words. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes took on a glassy look. “What did you say?”
Andrew smiled and nodded, trying to ignore the peppermint fumes that she was aiming at him. “You heard me. I said I was trying to kill you.” He didn’t really know whether it was true or not. He couldn’t remember. But the effect of his words on her made him glad he had said it.
Her eyes widened, and she staggered back. Then she jerked back the hand that held the keys and smashed him across the face as hard as she could. “You—you liar.” She wheeled around and tossed the money envelope and duplicate keys into the fire. “See how far you and your little whore get now,” she cried.
The smile vanished from Andrew’s face, and he lunged forward, trying to reach them, but Leonora kicked them farther into the fire with a hysterical laugh. “You’re not going anywhere, you fool. Now go to your room,” she shrieked, pointing a finger in his face, “and don’t come out. Go!”
Slowly Andrew rose to his feet and came toward her, smacking her hand out of the way like an enraged bear.
“I told you to go,” she cried, but there was fear in her voice, and the look in her eyes, as his hands closed around her throat, filled him with euphoria, as if he were levitating off the floor. She clawed weakly at his hands, and he could feel her feet kicking him, but it was like the faraway patter of raindrops on the roof. The leaping fire filled him with warmth, and as he throttled her and as she struggled he felt a happiness, a satisfaction he had never known. Suddenly she shuddered and went limp beneath his deadly grip.
In that instant her weight seemed able to knock him over, and her flesh was slimy to his touch. He released her throat, and she tumbled to the floor with a resounding thud. Her left thigh landed on his foot. He jumped back, repulsed by the feeling of her bulk against him. For a long time he stared down at her, almost in disbelief. It was as if he had just come home and found her like that.
The fire died away as he stood there. Rubbing his eyes, he backed away from the dead body on the floor and stumbled over to the sofa. He huddled in the corner and stared at the blank screen of the TV. After a while he got up and turned on the set. Then he resumed his seat.
“RIGHT HERE. THE SECOND ONE ON THE RIGHT,”
said Beth, leaning over the seat of the cab. The driver pulled over to the curb and turned on the overhead light.
“Thirteen fifty,” he said.
Francie scrambled out of the cab, clutching her pack, as if the cab were about to take off with her still in it. Beth paid the fare and got out, closing the door behind her. Francie was standing on the curb, looking warily up the wide, dark corridor of a city street, lined with parked cars and intermittent scraggly trees.
“This one’s my house,” Beth mumbled, pointing to the shuttered, brick-fronted row house. Francie nodded and continued to look around her. Beth followed her gaze. Piles of plastic garbage bags, looking slick and greasy under the weak streetlights, lined the curb at intervals, in anticipation of the morning’s weekly pickup. Dirty chunks of snow and slush filled in the narrow gaps between the cars, and evidence of the neighborhood dogs decorated the spindly tree trunks up and down the block.
Beth walked quickly up the steps to her door and said, “Come on,” to Francie. She rattled the key impatiently in the lock.
Francie waited on the step below her. “What’s that smell?” she asked.
Beth sniffed the damp, night air. A familiar, unappetizing odor greeted her. “They refine oil around here. Some nights you can really smell it,” said Beth. “That’s how you can tell when you’re back in Philadelphia.” She tried to say it lightheartedly.
She opened the door and sighed as she entered the house. In the street a couple who were walking down the street together started yelling at each other, and the boy shoved the girl, who was teetering along on high heels, into the side of a parked car. Francie stared at them until the boy looked up at her and snarled, “What’s your problem?” She hurried in behind Beth, who shut the door behind her.
Francie shuffled into the living room and waited there while Beth riffled through the mail on the foyer table. Then Beth went down the hall into the kitchen and checked the back door and the windows. Francie followed her at a distance.
“What are you looking for?” Francie asked.
“Just making sure everything’s okay,” Beth said.
“I’ve heard about the crime down here.”
“Everything’s perfectly fine,” Beth said irritably.
Beth opened the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of ginger ale. “Want some?” she asked, holding out the bottle to Francie. Francie, who was still clutching her pack to her chest, shook her head. Beth put the bottle back in the refrigerator, finished the soda, and put the glass in the sink. “I’m tired,” she said, mainly to fill the silence.