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DONNIE PRESSED HIS mouth shut, as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.
“Donnie, listen to me. I have never even set foot inside this room before. Davison, can you tell your father...”
But Davison had disappeared. The plumber was concentrating very hard on putting his tools away and pretending to be deaf. Donnie and I stepped out into the hallway, to let the plumber clean up Davison’s shower in peace.
“I knew Davison was keeping something from me.” Donnie said, finally.
“Well, you’re not wrong about that. I’m sure he has been keeping something from you. But you don’t actually believe was my hair in his shower, do you?”
“What am I supposed to think? Did you see it?”
“Are you serious? I don’t think I’ve even seen Davison’s bathroom before today. Ask Davison if you don’t believe me, which you obviously don’t. Where is he?”
The door to the hallway bathroom was shut. I went over and pounded on it.
“Davison,” I shouted. “Davison!”
“I’m busy,” he called from the bathroom.
“Davison, whose hair was in your shower drain?”
No answer.
“You can’t hide in there forever,” I yelled at the door. “Come out and tell your father what’s going on.”
Silence.
“He’s protecting you.” Donnie stood at my elbow.
“He is not! Protecting! Me! Davison!” I pounded harder. “Come out and talk to your father!”
I jiggled the doorknob. It was locked.
You know how sometimes you read that someone’s expression is like a thundercloud, and it sounds like a silly exaggeration, because how could someone’s face look like a thundercloud? Well, that’s exactly what Donnie looked like now. Like a furious, betrayed thundercloud.
“I cannot believe this, Donnie. Weren’t you the one who got all offended because I made assumptions about your behavior based on circumstantial evidence? Do you realize what you’re inferring here?”
“I thought you hated the word ‘infer’.”
“I hate it when people use it as a substitute for imply. ‘Infer’ means you draw a conclusion in your own mind. For example, you see a clump of curly hair come out of the drain, and you immediately infer all kinds of awful things about me. Ugh!”
I felt around in my hair and retrieved a hairpin. I straightened it out, stuck in the hole in the center of the doorknob, and poked around until I felt the spring lock release.
Davison was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, holding his head in his hands.
“Davison,” I said, “Whose hair was in your shower drain?”
“I don’t know nothing about it. Leave me alone.”
“I have to pay the plumber.” Donnie turned and walked away.
“What are you doing? Your father thinks it was my hair in your shower.”
“Eh, not my fault he doesn’t trust you.”
“Oh, you are not blameless here. It’s Sherry’s hair, isn’t it? Why don’t you tell him the truth? Just go. Tell him.”
Davison shook his head.
“He’d be upset.”
“Oh. He’d be upset, would he? You don’t think he’s upset now? I don’t understand why you can’t just...”
Davison’s elbows rested on his knees; his hands were folded so tightly his knuckles whitened. His bare heels bounced on the tile floor, as if he wanted to jump up and run away.
“Did you know?” I asked, cautiously. “About Sherry being your...”
He glanced up at me briefly, and then back down at the tile floor.
“Yeah.” He seemed to be talking to the tarantula on his left foot. The tattoo was repulsive but well-executed. The artist had even put in shadows, to give it a three-dimensional effect, as if the spider were perched on Davison’s instep.
“Sorry you had to deal with that.”
Davison shrugged.
“No big deal. She’s not my real mom.”
“Well you can’t just avoid your father and hope he forgets about this. Because I guarantee you he won’t. Why don’t you just tell him you had a curly-haired friend come over and use your shower? That wouldn’t be untrue.”
Davison shook his head and stared at the floor.
I marched out and found Donnie in the kitchen. He was leaning against the counter, arms folded. Just like Davison, he was scowling at the ground. I heard the plumber’s van pull away.
“This is ridiculous.” I stood, hands on hips, and waited for Donnie to say something.
“Molly,” he said finally, “Davison trusts you. He looks up to you. You’re almost like a mother to him. How could you take advantage like that?”
“Donnie, are you seriously—”
“I’m sure he went along willingly. He’s a healthy, normal young man. He’s not going to say no. I mean, look at you, you’re—” he gestured at my torso. I had to restrain myself from swatting his hands away.
“Am I really hearing this? Donnie, how could you think for a second—?”
“You’re the adult here. You have to be the one to say—”
“I cannot believe I have to spell this out for you. I was never in Davison’s room, or his bathroom, or his shower, ever, and that is not my hair.”
“Molly, I’m not blind. Didn’t you hear what the plumber said?”
“He is a plumber, not a trichologist.”
“I thought you hated it when people made up their own words.”
I closed my eyes and tried to count to five. One-one thousand, two-one thousand. It was all I could manage.
“Trichologist is a real word. I do hate it when people make up their own facts. Listen, Donnie. Davison’s too chicken to tell you, so I will. The hair belongs to your ex-wife. Sherrine Di Napoli. She was here in this house. I saw her. I talked to her. I didn’t realize she was hooking up with Davison. I thought she was here for you. But she was here. That’s the truth. She’s the one whose hair clogged up Davison’s shower drain, not me. Run a DNA test on the hair if you don’t believe me. Geez.”
I was furious at Sherry. First, for getting me into this mess. Second, for making me feel sorry for Davison.
“Are you trying to tell me that Sherry was here? In my house?”
“Yes, Donnie.”
“And you think she...Molly, she was Davison’s stepmother.”
“You know both of us pretty well, Donnie. Sherry and me. What do you think? Which one of us would be more likely to carry on with her stepson?”
I placed my hands on my hips and glared at Donnie while he took an insultingly long time mulling over my question.
“So you’re saying Sherry was here, but she never tried to get in touch with me? And Davison never thought to mention it?”
“Well, I guess they had other priorities.”
“If your story is true, then where is Sherry now?”
“Last I heard, she got tired of Davison, and went back to the mainland. With someone named Atticus Marx. AKA the notorious hacker Mad Dog. Why do you care where she is?”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this? She was in my house?”
“Donnie, I tried to tell you I saw Sherry here. Remember? You thought I was crazy.”
Donnie stared at the floor. I waited for him to apologize, but he said nothing.
“Okay then,” I said, finally. “I guess I’ll get going.”
I would have made a more dramatic exit, but I had to spend some time looking for my purse, which I finally found hanging from the bathroom doorknob, where I’d left it.
My father phoned as I was driving home. I pressed the button to put my parents on speakerphone.
“Well, we got your message,” my father said. “We’re all set to check out tomorrow morning. I’m glad we’re finally going to meet Donnie. It’s a good thing we didn’t—”
“Don’t check out. Donnie and I are through. Enjoy the resort.”