EVERY CURSE SHE’D ever heard in her life rattled around in Julia’s head. She considered not answering it, even as it rang again and again.
Angie wrapped her arms around herself and rocked in her seat.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get rid of whoever it is.”
Julia ran for the door, followed by Jake, reminding herself not to let the curses escape. She peered through the peephole, blinked in surprise, and twisted the deadbolt open.
“Wayne? What’s up?”
He stepped through the door without waiting for an invitation. “Hey, buddy.” He stooped to pet Jake, who went into paroxysms of glee, finally falling onto his back and presenting his belly for a final rub.
“You weren’t at work today. Just wanted to make sure everything was okay, especially with all the crazy stuff you’ve been dealing with.”
“I’m fine. Calvin wasn’t feeling well.” She spoke in a low voice, casting a worried glance toward the stairwell, hoping to convey a sick child in a room above them.
“I’m sorry. Is he going to be okay?”
“He’ll be fine. Just one of those twenty-four-hour bugs, probably. Thanks for checking on me, Wayne. I appreciate it.”
Julia waited for him to take the hint. He didn’t.
“Sure smells good in here? What’s cooking?” He headed for the kitchen.
“Wayne, wait!”
But it was too late.
“Hey, Angie. Fancy meeting you here.”
Angie jumped up so fast the chair fell to the floor. Jake yapped in surprise.
Wayne cocked his head. “You’re looking good, Angie. What’s different about you?”
Julia looked from one to the other, Wayne standing relaxed, hands in his pockets, feet apart, rocking a little on his heels; Angie backed against the kitchen counter, eyes wide, teeth audibly chattering.
“It’s all right, Angie. Wayne just came by to check on me because I called in sick. Someone’s been harassing me and he’s been keeping an eye on my place.”
Angie’s mouth worked. Her voice emerged hoarse. “Yeah. I’ll bet he has.”
Wayne walked to the stove. Angie cringed as he brushed past her.
He lifted the lid from the pot and inhaled. “So this is what smells so good. I’m starving. You don’t mind, do you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he started opening cupboard doors until he found a plate, then repeated the process with the drawers until he had a fork and tablespoon in hand.
Angie retreated to a corner of the room. She pressed her back to the wall, slid to the floor, and wrapped her hands around her knees.
A colander in the sink still held some spaghetti. Wayne dumped it onto his plate, then spooned sauce atop it. He dropped the spoon on the counter, leaving it in a puddle of sauce, and brought his plate to the table.
“Oh, hey. And you’ve already opened some wine. That’ll come in handy.” His glance fell on the whiskey bottle on the counter. “That too. Even better.”
He sat at the table and proceeded to fork up the pasta, ignoring the wine he’d praised seconds earlier.
Julia reverted to the automatic pilot of good manners. “Let me get you a glass for the wine.”
He waved a hand. “No need.”
She stopped trying to make sense of the performance playing out before her. She swallowed hard. “Then what do you mean, the wine will come in handy?”
Wayne tore a hunk of bread from the baguette, dipped it into the sauce, and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing exaggeratedly. He swallowed, leaned back, patted his belly, and belched. Then he snapped his fingers.
Julia jumped.
“That’s it. Angie, I’ve been trying to figure out what’s so different about you, and it just came to me.”
“No, no, no,” Angie murmured. Her head fell to her knees.
“Yes, yes, yes. It’s that you’re clean. You don’t reek. That’s why I was able to enjoy this good food. Otherwise, you’d be stinking up this whole damn room.”
Which was when Julia knew Wayne was not there to help her.
She felt the pressure of her phone, safely in her pocket, against her hip. But even if she could somehow use it without Wayne seeing, who would she call? 911?
Whatever was going on, if a cop were to arrive at her door, what would she say? Your buddy Wayne was rude to my guest?
Her mind was already running through the sort of standard questions she usually posed to someone on a witness stand.
“Did he physically hurt you?”
“No.”
“Touch you?”
“No.”
“Threaten you in any way?”
“No.”
“Then what is your complaint, exactly?”
“I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know. But it’s bad.”
She’d always thought that business of the hair standing up on the back of your neck was no more than a handy trope. Now she fought an urge to rub her hand across it, to smooth the hair back into a semblance of order in hopes that these last few cockeyed moments would also revert to normalcy.
Wayne pushed his plate away with such force that it scooted across the table and sailed off the edge, bouncing once against the tile floor before breaking neatly into three pie-shaped pieces.
“Well, would you look at that?” Wayne guffawed.
Jake, ever alert to falling food, ran to it. Julia finally unfroze, reaching the dog a second before his tongue could swipe the razor-sharp edges.
She straightened, clutching the dog to her chest. He squirmed briefly then quieted, sensing the tension in the room and rolling his eyes toward hers, his brow creased in worry and confusion. She hugged him tighter and tried to keep her voice low and calm so as not to frighten him further.
“Wayne, what the fuck is going on?”
He belched again and looked toward Angie.
“Wanna tell her? Or should I?”
Like an answer to a prayer, the doorbell rang again.