The Girl in the Flammable Skirt_ Stories - Aimee Bender [25]
She stuck out her tongue at him but vanished into her bedroom again and came out in two minutes wearing lace-up brown boots.
“Lovely,” Haggie said.
There was a knock at the door.
“There he is,” said Haggie, “Monsieur Pronto.”
Mona looked at her watch. “No,” she said, “I’m picking him up. Are you expecting anyone?”
He laughed. “My illicit lover,” he said. He sank deeper into the chair. “Maybe we’re getting mugged. Didn’t I tell you? We should get bars on our windows.”
The knock interrupted again: rap rap rap.
Mona went to the door. She peeped in the peephole. “It’s a woman. Who is it?” she called.
A muffled voice came through.
Mona looked at Haggie. “Should I let her in?”
“Is she cute?” he asked.
Mona rolled her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said, “her hair is covering her face.” She opened the door.
“Hello,” said Mona, “how can I help you?”
The woman tugged off her wedding ring. “Please,” she said, holding it forward, “please, will you take this in exchange for a place to stay?”
Haggie burst out laughing.
Mona shook her head. “Oh no,” she said, “I can’t keep that.” The woman’s hand was trembling as she held the ring forward, and the edge of her dress was charred black.
“Haggie,” Mona said, “shut up. Stop laughing. She wants to stay here.”
“Fine,” he called from the chair, eyes closing. “But tell this one to keep the ring.”
Mona opened the door wider. “Please,” she said, “come on in, you look so tired.” She took the woman by the elbow and guided her into the living room. “Haggie,” she said, “get out of the chair, Hag, can’t you see this woman has been through something terrible and is about to collapse?”
Haggie sat there for a second. “But the sofa,” he said, pointing ineffectually.
Mona glared at him. “Haggie.” The woman’s legs started to curve beneath her. Haggie put one hand on each arm of the chair and hoisted himself up, wobbling a bit on his feet.
“Where are you from?” Mona asked, leaning down to relace the top of her right boot.
The woman closed her eyes. “Sinai,” she said. Haggie sat on the floor.
“What did she say?” Mona whispered, relacing the left boot for the hell of it. “Did she say cyanide?”
He looked up and noticed the woman was already asleep.
“Faster than me, even,” he said with respect.
“Do you think she’s a poisoner?” Mona hissed.
Haggie laughed.
“Sssh,” said Mona, “she’s sleeping.”
“Her dress is burnt,” he said.
“I know,” said Mona, “she smells like smoke, too. Camp-fire smoke or something.” She stood up. “Listen, Hag, I’ve got to go. Are you okay? Should I stay? What if she poisons you?”
Haggie made an attempt at a scared face but he couldn’t get himself to do it. He felt too tired. “Go, Mona,” he said. He laid his head back on the arm of the sofa.
Mona paused. “Do you think she’s sick?”
“She’s just tired.” His voice was fading. “She just needs some sleep.” The sofa arm dug into his neck. “I can’t believe she wanted to give you her ring.”
Mona smiled and checked herself one last time in the mirror. As soon as the front door closed and the clop-clop of her tightly laced boots faded away, Haggie tried to doze off, but the floor was hard beneath him and the air felt clotted and thick without Mona stirring it up, and he couldn’t find the familiar relief of that slow descending weight.
Heaving himself up, he sat on the couch. He almost twitched, craving the comfort of his chair. The woman snored lightly now. She had flushed skin and her eyelashes made simple black arcs on her cheeks.
“Hello lady,” said Haggie, “wake up and talk to me.” She kept sleeping, sending out her breath to the air and pulling it back in. Private.
It made him feel worse to be awake when there was someone else there that was asleep. The house seemed twice as big and twice as lonely. Dragging himself up, Haggie lumbered over to the bathroom. He wondered: was it possible to die simply from an absence of tempo? Sure, Mona was ruled by some kind of frenetic march, but there was no doubt that something was moving her inside—Haggie’s internal rhythms were so slow that he wondered if they counted as rhythms at