Girl in the Arena - Lise Haines [45]
Of course the thing that kept me up all night was trying to figure out how I’m going to make a killing now without losing my head.
It’s five a.m. and I place one of my old stuffed animals next to Thad in case he wakes early. Putting on my robe, I move around the ladders of light along the floor from the half-tilted blinds, then I wash up in the bathroom. I tiptoe past Allison’s room and head downstairs to make coffee and grab a couple of donuts from the freezer. Allison likes to place last bits of food in freezer containers, marking each item with its contents and freeze date. Last night she marked them with little more than: funeral food. Even though the light is burned out, by the look of things we’ll be eating funeral food for a few years. I can barely get the freezer lid closed. Then I realize the lid is no longer ours and other people will plunder our larder, so no worries.
While I gently nuke a couple of donuts, there’s a tapping at the front door. At first I ignore it, thinking it’s just the paparazzi, but then an envelope appears under the door. I recognize Caesar’s logo in the return address box and peek through the curtains to see a courier heading back to his truck. I put the envelope in my robe pocket and carry the tray out to the yard. Standing in the cool shade, I survey the garden, amazed at Allison’s ability to provide abundant life when she wants to. I look at the number and variety of pansies and violets, and I almost expect to hear them singing like the flowers in the animated Alice in Wonderland.
I feel that distinct vibration in my feet and that low sound and realize: the pump is running. The pump that keeps the hot tub hot and the warm tub warm. I freak, thinking Tommy is loose again. But when I enter the bathhouse, I find Mark soaking inside. His chin rests on his crossed arms spread out on the rim, his face glowing, eyes closed, legs stretched out behind him.
—What are you doing? I ask.
—Wow, I must have nodded off.
—You came over to soak?
—My dad thought we should be over here in shifts for a while to keep an eye on things. I got the first shift, of course.
—And you’re already falling asleep on the job?
He pushes away from the side. I see the tiger tattoo on his chest and then I realize he’s trunkless and look away.
—Get in, he teases.
—Maybe later.
—Donuts. Look at that. Just what I was dreaming about.
I put the tray down on a bench and I take a seat. It’s low enough, and the rim of the tub high enough, so all I can see are his head and arms now. This is completely unlike him, this getting up early. I can imagine the scene: Lloyd rousting him for duty, pulling him out of his bed by his feet until he lands squarely on the floor. The pan full of cold water thrown at his face when that doesn’t work. He’s even worse than I am about mornings.
—You okay? he asks.
Ever since Tommy’s death Mark has been trying to convey something that he can’t exactly express to me. Mostly it comes out in this kind of vague question.
—I’m fine, I say and sip my hot coffee.
—You know, I come with complete mood recognition. I read body language, speech patterns, facial expressions. I can read the heat patterns in your skin, your moisture levels. Your tongue is particularly dry right now. So maybe not entirely fine? I suggest rehydration.
—Stop, I say, and toss him a donut. —So Allison definitely wants me to marry Uber.
Mark sticks the donut in his mouth so it’s out of the way, cups his hands together and pushes at the water, causing a small wave to rise over the lip of the tub and spill to the floor, running toward the drain.
Taking the donut