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I woke up around noon on Monday and threw on some old jeans and a T-shirt before heading downstairs to clear out Helen’s second bedroom.
I paused outside her front door, fingering her key on my keychain. Despite having access to her unit, I hadn’t technically moved in yet. She might still be used to sitting around in her underwear for all I knew.
I did know she was awake. Either that or she had somehow fallen asleep while the television blared at full volume.
Or she was dead, I considered with a shudder before pushing the thought aside. Fate couldn’t be so cruel as to grant me two dead roommates in the span of a week.
I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. A whoosh of relief extinguished my fears when the door swung open.
“Megan,” Helen said, glancing at the keys in my hand. “Does your key not work, dear?”
I buried the keychain into the pocket of my jeans. “Oh, no, it works fine,” I told her. In truth, I’d never thought to check, maybe wrongly assuming she’d given me the right key. I’d look like a fool later if it didn’t fit the lock, but after yesterday’s vigil that would be par for the course. “I just wasn’t sure if you were expecting me.”
She waved me inside, balancing surprisingly well on one foot while she barricaded a sniffing Whiskers with the other. “Don’t be silly. I don’t need to expect you. You live here now.”
Thankfully, she did indeed have clothes on. I stepped into the apartment so she could secure the exit, half hoping Whiskers got trapped during an attempted escape. But he pulled his nose back just before the door shut.
“I’m moving my stuff down today,” I told Helen, eyeing Corduroy on the windowsill. His fur stood on end, and he hissed at me. “I have a friend coming over to help move furniture later, but I wanted to get a head start on things.”
“That’s wonderful. Don’t let me get in your way.” She shuffled over to the couch and plunked herself down. “And if you need a break, come watch talk shows with me. The topic right now is child beauty queens.”
On the television, an imposing man turned toward a couple holding hands, the huge picture of a made-up little girl stretched across the screen behind where they sat. He pointed at the adults and thundered, “Sexualization at such a tender age confuses young girls. Combined with your unrealistic expectation that she take home a trophy during every competition, the pageant experience will undoubtedly traumatize your impressionable child.”
“That’s the psychologist,” Helen told me.
“As she ages, she’ll have no idea how to handle her emotions!” the shrink raged. “She’ll need years of therapy to survive the damage you’ve done. You might as well put a gun to her head and shoot a bullet through her brain now. Spare her the misery of an agonizing life!”
“What the hell do you know?” the other man spat back as the woman cowered next to him. “With that ugly mug, you’ve clearly never been in a beauty pageant!”
I held my breath, waiting for the male guests to start whaling chairs at each other. Normally I would scoff at such ridiculous daytime antics, but anything would be so much more enjoyable than moving.
Unfortunately, allowing myself to watch the show would only delay the inevitable. “Maybe later,” I told Helen. I tore my gaze away just as the psychologist stood up from his seat.
I stepped into my new bedroom, glancing automatically at the top of the cat condo. The uppermost platform sat empty, but I didn’t relax. Instead, I looked around in search of two ominous yellow eyes.
“Herman?” I called out, hoping my tone didn’t betray my anxiety. I hadn’t seen him in the living room, so I could only presume he was hiding somewhere, awaiting his opportunity to lunge at my throat.
But after several seconds Herman still hadn’t shown himself. I decided my best bet would be to relocate all of his things and hope he got the message.
I poked at a circular pillow on the floor, sending angry gusts of fur flying into the air. Careful not to inhale, I pinched the filthy thing between two fingers and slung it into the foyer. It landed close to the front door, but not close enough to block anyone’s exit. The neighboring two beds quickly followed.
Next, I worked on finding new locations for the other cat items. At some point, Whiskers came over to inspect my progress, sniffing at every spot I uncovered. Corduroy also abandoned his stake at the windowsill to come watch. I studiously avoided the bad-tempered tortoiseshell, believing him to be perfectly capable of biting me if I failed to perform according to his silent expectations.
When I reached over to move a box with a fur-covered towel lining the bottom, I finally discovered where Herman had been hiding. A scream lodged in my throat when he streaked away from his disturbed resting spot. The sight of him caused me to lose my hold on the box, sending it crashing against the closet door.
Whiskers fled. Corduroy arched his back and started walking backward out of the room. I swore the little devil smirked, as if he were actually enjoying himself.
“Is everything all right in there?” Helen called over the television noise.
“I’m fine,” I called back.
I peeked into the living room. Herman and Whiskers had taken cover in her lap, the little tattletales.
By one o’clock, I’d cleared everything out of the bedroom except the hulking cat condo. I hadn’t even attempted to move it, already deciding I would need Mike’s help.
I waited until a commercial break, then asked Helen where she kept the vacuum cleaner. Since that would become my chore, I might as well familiarize myself with its location.
She gestured toward the coat closet. Whiskers had resumed his supervisory role, but turned and ran before I could even open the door.
“The boys don’t like the vacuum,” Helen informed me as Whiskers hunched next to her on the couch.
“Oh, good to know.” I silently vowed to make vacuuming a daily activity.
“Before you do that, would you be a dear and help me with this?” She held up a pill bottle.
“Sure.” I took it from her.
“Why don’t you sit down and rest for a bit?” Helen said. “The next show begins soon, and you’ve been working so hard.”
“Maybe for a minute,” I conceded.
I glanced at the television while I opened the bottle. A pretty brunette swept her hand toward a tiny blender and announced, “It even makes margaritas!”
I could use a margarita, I thought, even the type of microscopic one that could only be produced by that little device.
Helen settled back into the couch, Herman adjusting himself in her lap. “The guest today is a former basketball quarterback who made millions up until last year, but fell down on his luck and recently filed for bankruptcy.”
I wasn’t sure what position a basketball quarterback played, but I doubted Helen could tell me. Besides, that would give me a reason to watch the show.
I started to hand the pill bottle back to her, but froze when the white label caught my eye. I pulled back my hand and took a closer look.
The label included Helen’s name, her doctor’s information, what the pills were, and instructions for taking them. Ingest orally with food twice daily, I read. Do not chew. My eyes moved to the Walgreens pharmacy location and prescription number.
I fell back against the couch, my head swimming. I stared at the television, but didn’t digest anything, no longer interested in some bankrupt ex-millionaire’s plight.
Keisha’s pill bottle hadn’t had a label. Granted, hers contained prenatal vitamins rather than actual medicine, but it still lacked a directive as simple as “swallow whole.” In fact, her vitamins could have been intended as anal suppositories for all anyone knew. Options had dispensed it directly.
A growing sense of unease washed over me. Why would Options give out prenatal vitamins in an unmarked bottle?
Corduroy jumped on the windowsill and stared at me through slitted eyes. I made a face at him, but his expression failed to change.
Ignoring the cat, I pondered over Keisha’s vitamins while pretending to watch the television. When the first commercial break cut in, I handed Helen her pills.
“Do you always get your pills at Walgreens?” I asked her.
Her eyes widened a fraction, as if I’d surprised her with the question. “Yes. I used to go to CVS, but they’re on the wrong side of the street and I grew weary of making U-turns all the time. Why, did you hear something about them?”
I shook my head. “I’m just curious whether your doctor ever gives you pills while you’re in his office. Any type of pill, prescription or vitamin.”
She chuckled. “And risk forfeiting my frequent-shopper points at Walgreens?”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
Helen’s laughter faded. “Is something bothering you, dear?”
Yes, I thought, the Options clinic operates in an unorthodox manner from adoptions to drugs to files, and it’s making my head spin.
But I couldn’t tell any of this to Helen unless I also explained how I even knew about the Options operations in the first place. That would require that I admit to posing as half a lesbian couple in order to adopt a baby neither of us wanted. Helen struck me as pretty modern, but I wasn’t sure how even women of my own generation would handle such a confession.
I crossed my legs. “I’m just wondering whether you ever want me to stop by and pick up your prescriptions. I drive right by Walgreens on my way to work.”
I held my breath, praying she didn’t accept. Then guilt wormed its way into my chest. After Helen had offered to take me in practically rent free, I should be jumping at the opportunity to return her generosity.
Helen’s eyes lit up. “That’s very nice of you, dear. I’ll remember that if I ever can’t get over there myself.”
I nodded, both relieved and disappointed. It was as if I no longer knew what I wanted. Did I want to pick up Helen’s pills or not? Did I want to be a stripper or an administrative assistant? Did I prefer white wine or martinis? The only thing I knew for certain was that I wanted this overarching sense of dissatisfaction to disappear.
Maybe I’d feel better once I settled into my new room.
After I vacuumed, I began bringing my smaller items downstairs. By three o’clock, the closet brimmed with my clothes and other items, I’d done a cursory cleaning of my old bathroom, and I’d hauled all my toiletries downstairs. The cats watched my every move, although they must have dozed off as soon as I left the apartment because each time I returned they were snoozing peacefully.
While I was compacting the clothes hanging in the closet to accommodate the addition of more junk, I heard Mike climbing the stairs leading to my old unit. My compressed clothes burst free as soon as I stopped leaning against them, nearly knocking me off my feet. I frowned, taking in the unruly state of my new room. I’d only just moved in and already needed to do some major reorganizing.
But I didn’t have time to worry about that now. I headed outside before Mike ducked away using the excuse that he hadn’t known I was home.
“Mike, I’m coming up,” I called out. “The door’s open.”
By the time I made it upstairs, he had sat down on the couch and was pouring a glass of wine. I tamped down a flash of annoyance, reminding myself that he likely needed to unwind after finishing his work shift. Besides, I could use a drink myself before we struggled with the furniture.
I fetched a glass from the kitchen and joined him.
“You look tired,” he said, raising his glass in my direction and downing half of it as if toasting this keen observation.
“I am.” I relaxed against the couch and closed my eyes, letting my arms rest for a moment. My left hand brushed against something when it flopped over the side of the sofa, prompting a sigh. I had probably dropped it during one of my many trips downstairs.
But when I leaned over, I spotted the paper bag the police had given me on Tuesday. A pulse of adrenaline shot into my bloodstream. I’d been so consumed with phoning Carly’s contacts that I’d forgotten about the rest of her recovered items.
I lifted the bag up and pried it open, spying Carly’s keys and purse inside.
“What’s that?” Mike asked.
“Carly’s stuff that the police brought over.”
Mike relocated practically onto my lap. I elbowed him aside while unzipping Carly’s purse, but he didn’t pay me any heed.
“Can’t you move over?” I said, jabbing him in the ribs again.
He scooted over a millimeter. “Why are you looking in her purse?” He accompanied the question with a narrow-eyed glare, as if I were a nosy snoop with nothing better to do than disrespect Carly’s privacy.
I felt like slapping him, but he’d probably misconstrue the gesture as a sexual suggestion. “Because the police gave it to me. Because I’m her roommate and emergency contact. Because I have to sort through all her stuff and figure out what to do with everything.”
“I can help with that,” Mike said.
I arched one eyebrow. “Oh, like you helped to clean out her entire bedroom and bathroom?”
He moved over now, sliding clear to the other end of the sofa. He topped off his wineglass, his mouth pursed. “Now how could I have known you wanted help with that? You never asked.”
He was right, of course. I really had no reason to be mad at him, except I was in the mood to be mad at someone about something and he happened to be here.
I sighed. “Why don’t I just dump everything on the coffee table, and we can go through it together?”
Mike didn’t say anything as he chugged his wine. Not waiting for a response, I turned Carly’s purse upside down and let the contents spill out.
Like most girls, Carly carried everything of potential importance in her purse. Mike lunged for her wallet. I picked through the stray makeup tubes, containers, bottles, brushes, and sponges, setting them aside with disposable items like tissue packages.
A pill bottle rolled onto the carpet when I plucked a tiny compact out of the pile. My heart pounded as I reached for it. Except for the lack of a label, it resembled any other orange prescription bottle.
I twisted off the cap and let one of the little white pills tumble into my palm.
Mike snatched the bottle out of my hand. “What are those?”
“Some sort of prenatal vitamin the Options clinic gave Carly, I think. Keisha—another pregnant girl, you may have met her at the vigil—has something similar.” I tried to conjure up an image of Keisha’s pills but just remembered their white color. “The clinic doctor, Patrick, gave Keisha hers. He didn’t write out a prescription or anything. Do you think that’s odd?”
“Maybe they’re not prescription.” He shook out a pill and turned it around in his hand. “There’s nothing written on them, so they’re probably just regular vitamins.”
“Then why are they in an orange bottle?” I asked. “Don’t vitamins usually come in their own bottle?”
Mike shrugged. “Maybe the clinic didn’t have anything else to put them in. You said this place serves low-income girls, right? They probably buy these in bulk, then give them out to the girls to make sure they take them.”
Mike’s theory made sense, assuming Carly and Keisha shared the same type of pill. Unfortunately, although Carly had mentioned prenatal vitamins in her journal, she hadn’t elaborated on how she’d come in possession of them or described their physical characteristics. It probably had never occurred to her that her roommate might need that information after she died.
If these pills weren’t the same as Keisha’s, Carly could have been ingesting street drugs for all I knew. Who could say she hadn’t experimented with a few other drugs before eventually turning to heroin?
Although, wouldn’t the police have confiscated these in that case?
“You should ask your friend Keisha what she’s taking,” Mike suggested.
“We’re not really friends.”
I considered cold-calling Keisha, the idea growing in appeal. I wanted to hear if she’d learned anything about the location of her medical file during her Options appointment this afternoon anyway.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t asked for her contact information during the vigil, having overlooked that detail of my hastily thought-out plan. I’d have to get her number from Adelaine.
I took the bottle from Mike and returned the pills we’d taken out. “I’ll deal with these after we finish moving my furniture,” I said, slipping the container into my jeans pocket.
“Well, let’s go then.” Mike dragged himself off the couch, his shoulders hunched. He looked and sounded just as unenthusiastic as I felt.
I stood up and stretched, my muscles twitching with protest. “Before we take stuff down, I need you to move a cat condo.”
Mike followed me outside. “What’s a cat condo?”
“Some contraption the cats like to lie around in.”
“You mean a cat bed.”
“It’s a bit more elaborate than a bed.” We reached Helen’s unit, and I swung the door open. “You’ll see.”
I didn’t spot Helen, but she’d left the television on as though she expected to come back soon. The programs had transitioned from daytime talk shows to sitcom reruns.
I stepped into my bedroom and pointed to the cat condo. “That’s it.”
Mike froze in the doorway. “Holy crap,” he said, his eyes bulging as he took in the structure.
I had to admit, it loomed larger than I remembered, although its perceived growth could have resulted from my current task of moving the thing.
Mike walked over and grabbed hold of a carpet-covered post, giving it an experimental shake. Herman popped out of one of the levels and leapt onto Mike’s head, sending him crashing into the closet door.
Herman launched himself off Mike’s skull and stood a few feet away, glowering at the intruder with his giant yellow eyes.
“Jesus H. Christ!” Mike’s own eyes darted around the room as he scrambled to right himself. “What the hell was that?”
“Herman,” I told him. “One of the cats.”
Herman watched us as he settled inside my laundry basket. I hadn’t had time to wash any clothes since last Monday, and the basket brimming with worn jeans and soft shirts must look to him like a brand-new cat bed.
Mike ran his hands over his head as though to make sure it remained attached to his neck. “That was a cat? It looked like a damned polar bear.”
“He’s white,” I said, as if this shared trait alone often caused Herman to be mistaken for a huge arctic creature. “Anyway, I’m thinking the cat condo can go by the patio door.”
Mike eyed the condo but made no move to touch it again. “I don’t think this thing will move.”
“Of course it will move.” I never knew Mike could be so frightened by a common house pet.
He wrapped his fingers around the condo again, but stood farther back than he had before. “It’s not moving.”
Impatient, I stomped over to the other side of the condo and took hold of it myself, not caring about animals spilling on top of my head. But no matter how much I strained, it didn’t even sway.
Perhaps we were taking the wrong approach by trying to carry it. “You’ll just have to slide it out,” I said.
Mike braced his feet against the wall and leaned into the cat condo with the full force of his muscled frame. After a moment of grunting, he stopped and shook his head. “It won’t budge.”
“What do you mean it won’t budge?”
“I mean it’s not moving.”
“It must move,” I said, tamping down a lurch of panic. “It had to get in here somehow, right?”
“Well, it’s not moving now.”
“You must not be pushing hard enough.”
“I’m pushing,” Mike said, his clipped tone reflecting his own annoyance.
I inspected the condo again. Maybe it consisted of screws or snap-on parts, and we could transport it in pieces then rebuild it.
A knock shifted my attention away. Helen stood in the open doorway. “Hi, Megan. I thought I heard voices in here.”
“Helen, this is Mike.”
“Hi, Mi—”
“Helen, how do we get the cat condo out of here?” I interrupted. I knew I was being rude, but I was desperate.
She frowned. “I’m not sure. My son built that as his Christmas gift to me one year. He bought all the supplies, then constructed it right there.”
“Did he tell you how to unconstruct it?” I asked.
“I don’t think he intended for it to be taken apart. He said he wanted to make sure it was durable for my boys. See, I actually have four delightful boys, one is just fully grown.” She beamed. “My son may have even drilled the base into the floor. Cats dislike anything unsturdy, you know.”
I sucked in a breath. This couldn’t be happening. Surely her dimwitted son had conceived that his mother might possibly want to move the cat condo at some point in her life. Did he ever consider she might have a roommate who did not want any type of cat housing drilled into her bedroom floor? Had Ray approved this?
“That settles it then,” Mike announced, a grin spreading across his face. “The cat condo stays.”
I reached behind me, needing the support of the wall to remain upright. The bedroom suddenly felt impossibly stuffy.
Herman climbed out of the laundry basket and planted himself next to Helen. The wretched beast looked positively triumphant.
“Excuse me a moment,” I said, pushing past Helen and making my way outside.
I gulped down the fresh air, fearing I might start hyperventilating any second now. I could survive with the cat condo in my bedroom, I assured myself. I would just have Mike put my bed as far away from it as possible. And I could use the levels as shelves for my CDs and DVDs. If I didn’t have enough items to fill each platform, I’d just buy more. In fact, I could cram so much stuff on the cat condo that Herman would have no choice but to find somewhere else to plant his smug self.
After a few minutes of deep breathing, I realized Mike had yet to make sure I hadn’t collapsed from the stress of the past half hour. I stuck my head back in the door, irked to note his comfortable position on the couch next to Helen. Both of them clutched what looked suspiciously like gin and tonics as they stared at the television screen.
I gritted my teeth. I would really need to make some more guy friends—and take special care not to alienate them—before I moved to my next apartment.
“Mike,” I snapped. “I need you upstairs.”
He put down his glass and trudged toward the front door. “I’ll be back soon,” he said to Helen, not even bothering to tear his gaze away from the program unfolding.
I grabbed his elbow and yanked him the rest of the way outside before he could tell me to hold off until the commercial break. “We still have tons of work to do,” I chided. “I’d like to get it done quickly.”
From my peripheral vision I swore I saw him roll his eyes. But he was following me upstairs, so I let it go.
Mike and I spent the next half hour wrestling my furniture downstairs. Fortunately, he proved that all those hours he devoted to the gym really did have a practical use. He performed the majority of the heavy lifting, with me around mostly to balance loads and bark orders.
Smug Herman disappeared from the bedroom once we set up my bed and dresser. I half hoped he’d ended up trapped under one of the pieces, but then I caught him sitting on the couch near Helen.
When we finished, Mike and I celebrated upstairs by breaking open another bottle of wine. After all, the more we drank, the fewer bottles I’d have to move.
“I thought you wanted me to do something with Carly’s stuff too,” Mike said after we’d downed half our glasses. He sounded merely curious, not put out that all he’d done so far was move my furniture.
“I’ve already boxed up her clothes and things,” I told him. “We just need to drive everything to Goodwill.”
“Sounds easy enough.” He lifted his glass in toast.
“Oh, and her furniture too.” I gave him a big smile and raised my own glass.
Mike’s arm didn’t move. His eyebrows merged in the center of his forehead, his eyes flashing beneath them. “You never mentioned anything about hauling furniture all over town.”
“You don’t think I asked you to borrow a trailer for nothing, do you?” I said.
He grumbled something I couldn’t understand and stood up. “I might as well get this over with.” He paused in Carly’s doorway and glared at me. “You’re going to owe me big time after today.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I have a reward already planned for you.” I cocked my head and batted my eyelashes at him.
He raised his eyebrows. “Sounds intriguing.”
“I can think of another word for it.”
He laughed and picked up a box of Carly’s stuff.
I followed him onto the landing outside my front door and peered toward the parking lot to check out the trailer, but my neighbor’s massive SUV obscured even a moving trailer from view. “How big is the trailer?”
“Big. It should fit everything, but we can make another trip if needed.”
Ten minutes ago Mike would have scoffed at the idea of making more than one trip to Goodwill. I attributed his recovered spirit of generosity to my offer of payment. I just hoped today he was as tired as I was and took a rain check on collecting.
I watched him as he descended the steps, my eyes following the word Donate written on the box in his arms.
My brain buzzed, an idea percolating.
“Mike,” I called after him, “how would you feel about making another stop?”
