The House in the Cerulean Sea(7)

“Are you sassing me, Mr. Baker?”

“I wouldn’t even dream of it.” He dreamed of it often.

“I thought not. Are you in for the night?”

“Yes, Mrs. Klapper.”

“No dates again, huh?”

His hand tightened around the handle of his briefcase. “No dates.”

“No lucky lady friend?” She sucked on her pipe and blew the thick smoke out her nose. “Oh. Forgive me. It must have slipped my mind. Not one for the ladies, are you?”

It hadn’t slipped her mind. “No, Mrs. Klapper.”

“My grandson is an accountant. Very stable. Mostly. He does have a tendency toward rampant alcoholism, but who am I to judge his vices? Accounting is hard work. All those numbers. I’ll have him call you.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

She cackled. “Too good for him, then?”

Linus spluttered. “I don’t—I’m not—I don’t have time for such things.”

Mrs. Klapper scoffed. “Perhaps you should consider making time, Mr. Baker. Being alone at your age isn’t healthy. I’d hate to think of what would happen if you were to blow your brains out. It’d hurt the resale value of the whole neighborhood.”

“I’m not depressed!”

She looked him up and down. “You aren’t? Why on earth not?”

“Is there anything else, Mrs. Klapper?” Linus asked through gritted teeth.

She waved a hand dismissively at him. “Fine, then. Go. Put on your pajamas and that old record player of yours and dance around the living room as you do.”

“I asked you to stop watching me through my window!”

“Of course you did,” she said. She sat back in her chair and stuck her pipe between her lips. “Of course you did.”

“Good night, Mrs. Klapper,” he called as he slid the key into the doorknob.

He didn’t wait for a response. He shut the door behind him and locked it tight.



* * *



Calliope, a thing of evil, sat on the edge of his bed, black tail twitching as she watched him with bright green eyes. She started purring. In most cats, it would be a soothing sound. In Calliope, it indicated devious plotting involving nefarious deeds.

“You aren’t supposed to be in the yard next door,” he scolded her as he slid out of his suit coat.

She continued purring.

He’d found her one day almost ten years back, a tiny kitten under his porch, screeching as if her tail were on fire. Thankfully, it wasn’t, but as soon as he’d crawled underneath the porch, she’d hissed at him, black hair on her back standing on end as she arched. Rather than waiting to get a face filled with kitten scratch fever, he’d backed quickly out and returned to his house, deciding that if he ignored her long enough, she’d move on.

She hadn’t.

Instead, she spent most of that night yowling. He’d tried to sleep. She was too loud. He pulled the pillow over his head. It didn’t help. Eventually, he grabbed a flashlight and a broom, bent on poking the cat until she left. She was waiting for him on the porch, sitting in front of the door. He was so surprised, he dropped the broom.

She walked into his house as if she belonged.

And she never left, no matter how many times Linus had threatened her.

Six months later, he’d finally given up. By then, the house was filled with toys and a litter box and little dishes with CALLIOPE printed on the sides for her food and water. He couldn’t quite be sure how it’d happened, but there it was.

“Mrs. Klapper will get you one day,” he told her as he slid out of his wet clothes. “And I won’t be here to save you. You’ll be feasting on a squirrel, and she’ll … Okay, I don’t know what she’ll do. But it’ll be something. And I won’t feel sad in the slightest.”

She blinked slowly.

He sighed. “Fine. A little sad.”

He put on his pajamas, buttoning up the front. They were monogrammed with an LB on the breast, a gift from the Department after fifteen years of service. He’d selected them out of a catalogue he’d been given on the day of. The catalogue had two pages inside. One page was the pajamas. The second page was a candleholder.

He’d selected the pajamas. He’d always wanted to own something monogrammed.

He picked up the wet clothes and left the room. The loud thump behind him told him he was being followed.

He dropped his soiled work garments in the washing machine and set it to soak while he made dinner.

“I don’t need an accountant,” he told Calliope as she wound between his legs. “I have other things to think about. Like tomorrow. Why is it that I must always worry about tomorrows?”

He moved instinctively to the old Victrola. He flipped through the records sitting in the drawer underneath before finding the one he wanted. He slid it out of its sleeve and set it on the turntable before bringing down the needle.

Soon, the Everly Brothers began to sing that all they had to do was dream.

He swayed back and forth as he headed toward the kitchen.

Dry food for Calliope.

Salad from a bag for Linus.

He cheated, but just a little.

A splash of dressing never hurt anyone.

“Whenever I want you,” he sang quietly. “All I have to do is dream.”