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Her eyes drift out the kitchen window to the unlit pool house, strangled in vines.
Quietly, she says, “I know you lost your mom, too.”
She knows because we were still in school together when it happened. Everyone knew. It was splashed across every newspaper and magazine, everywhere I went:
Starlet Slain by Stalker…
Actress Gunned Down in Her Own Home…
My mother died on our front porch. The man shot her the moment she opened the door.
I was there. I found her.
My stomach clenches, and all the blood seems to drain from my head. The kitchen floor feels like it’s tilting beneath my feet.
“Yup,” I say. “It fucking sucks.”
Theo lays her cool, soft hand over mine. “It really does.”
Her hand is like an anchor, holding me in place.
The kitchen straightens and everything is back in place, steady and still.
I turn my hand over and link my fingers with hers, squeezing once.
It feels good, this moment of connection, of shared pain, shared comfort.
It feels so good, in fact, that the pulse of warmth is immediately followed by waves of guilt and fear. Fear that I better not get used to this, and guilt because I don’t deserve it.
I push back from the table, my chair scraping beneath me.
Avoiding Theo’s clear blue eyes, I say, “Thanks again for the eggs—I better get to bed.”
11
THEO
The next day is Sunday, so I expect Sullivan to sleep in, but he’s in the kitchen in one of his sleek, dark suits by 8:00 a.m.
“Where are you going?” I ask him, rubbing sleep out of my eyes.
“Hustling isn’t nine-to-five,” he says, gulping down his coffee and adding a second empty mug to the one already sitting in the sink. “I’ve got other deals to make.”
“I thought you said you were all in on this one?”
“I am…but I still need to pay the bills in the meantime.”
I’m guessing one of those bills is the mortgage on this big, empty mansion—or at least the property taxes, which would be ruinous all on their own. I get the impression that Sullivan lives here out of obligation, not because he actually likes the place.
He gives me a wave that looks a bit like a salute as he hurries out the door. “Make yourself comfortable…eat whatever you want, do whatever you want. There’s a grocery order coming at ten.”
When he’s gone, the house settles into a stillness that’s almost unbearable.
All this empty space is eerie. There’s probably twenty rooms in this place, rooms that were meant for friends and family, for parties that never came to pass…
I start exploring because I don’t want to feel like I’m lost. I want to know where everything is and where I am inside of it.
Soon I see that the house is essentially shaped like a giant bird, with two long wings extending to the east and west and the body of the bird being the large, central space encompassing the entryway, kitchen, living room, and formal dining room.
