The last secret_ a novel - Mary McGarry Morris [100]
“Don't do this. Please.” She looks up at him as she starts the car.
A woman has left the pharmacy and is getting into the next car. She glances over at them before backing out.
Again, Robin tugs at the door and says she has to go. Why, he demands over the racing engine. He doesn't get it. One minute they're friends, next minute not. Why?
“Everything you told me, all those random things, the space program, your sick brother, and your businesses, but the one thing you never said was, you know Nora.”
“Yeah, I know Nora. So?”
“You know what I mean,” she says grimly.
“No. I don't. Why's it such a big deal?” He grins, wanting to laugh. Toying with her, he feels giddy, almost silly. And powerful.
“Mommy!” Lyra whines, and kicks the back of her mother's seat. “I have to go potty! Now!”
“I have to go.” She shifts into reverse, but he doesn't move. “Please.”
“I knew her from a long time ago. Then I ran into her again. That's all. I swear!” He yanks the door open and leans in. “Robin,” he says reassuringly. “She doesn't have anything to do with us. Really.” Such a look of fear comes over her that he cups his hand on the side of her face. “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Believe that.”
“Oh my God,” she gasps while behind her the little brat's tantrum of kicks and threats to do poop enrages him. Robin leans away from his touch, cringing almost. Her hands shake on the wheel. She inches the car back, until he is forced out of the way. She speeds off.
His skin feels prickly. His eyes hurt. That bitch. It came from her. Why do people do this, always setting obstacles in his way?
Everything enrages him, getting caught next to this wheezy fat man when the light changes to green, the biting wind and honking horns as he darts through traffic to the municipal lot. And now this, the orange ticket flapping under his wiper. He shreds it into tiny pieces, which he flings at the meter. It doesn't make sense, though. She didn't want anyone to know. And all that money, without him even asking. So why would she have said anything? Unless she's been checking, looking back, and now she thinks there's nothing to fear. That she's free of him. Suddenly, he's afraid. What if she wants her money back? Turns it around on him. Extortion. What if she calls the police who've just written a ticket off the other bitch's plate? And here he is in her car. Brand-new, but he should've gotten rid of it. Should've done a lot of things.
Years of cigarette smoke have stained the ceiling a dusky yellow. The flat brown carpet smells of dust and mold, the mattress sour with stale pee. He usually sleeps with the window cracked open. But for the last couple of nights the heat's been off Charlie's been in twice to check the thermostat. He can't fix it and his electrician is out of town, he says with a shrug. Then call another one, Eddie says.
“Easier said than done,” Charlie tells him, peering out from his little pig eyes. “I'm just the manager. I gotta use who they say.”
“What about the baseboard, the unit?” Eddie suggests.
Grunting, Charlie kneels down and pries off the cover. In a motion, Eddie slips a screwdriver and pliers from Charlie's tool bucket.
“Nothing here,” Charlie says, grunting even more as he gets up.
Eddie's no fool. They're trying to freeze him out. And it's Tiff, the girlfriend, Charlie's, the snaggle-toothed beast who cleans. She goes through his stuff, so Eddie won't let her in, and she hates him.
Later that night, as soon as the manager's unit goes dark, he puts on a heavy jacket. Leaves the TV on, volume low, lights on. Shuts the bathroom door, just in case, then slips out, locking the door after him. He drives north, two states up, into Maine. Kittery little town on the coast. Never been here before, but he likes the narrow, winding streets and old houses, mostly small cottages. He's looking for a car that doesn't appear to get much use. Little noticed. He keeps driving, farther north. Motels and fish shacks. Souvenir shops. Strip malls.