Little Deaths(6)

“What? No, I had a spare one—I got an air-conditioner in my room, so I had a spare screen—my old one.”

“Well, I took the screen into their room earlier in the week but I noticed some . . . some dried dog mess on it. We used it to fence in Minnie’s puppies when they were just born and I guess it was never cleaned right. So I put theirs back—the broken one—but I couldn’t bolt it in. I’m going to . . . I was going to clean mine and replace it as soon as I could.”

“No, I closed the window. To keep the bugs out.”

“Then I collected all the empty bottles around the apartment and put them out for the garbage. I made a pile of old clothes. Mostly Frank’s stuff that he’d left behind when he moved out. I washed the dishes. Then I was tired, so I sat on the couch and watched some TV.”

“Um . . . The Fugitive. On CBS.”

“Until about eleven-thirty. Then I called Lou again.”

“No, not at home. He was at Santini’s. On Williamsbridge Road.”


The phone rang out ten, twelve times before one of the hostesses picked up. Ruth asked for Mr. Gallagher and the girl asked who was calling. When she heard it wasn’t Mrs. Gallagher, her voice became less refined.

“Gimme a minute. I’ll see if he’s around.”

She put the receiver down and Ruth listened to her heels clicking into the distance. Music, laughter, the clink of glasses. She wondered what Lou was doing. Who he was with. Why he was taking so long.

Finally she heard footsteps, a change in the air as he picked up.

“Hello?”

“Lou, it’s me. You didn’t call me back.”

“I was busy, sweetheart.”

Her legs were tucked beneath her on the sofa. She tapped ash into an overflowing saucer.

“You could come over.” She hated the pleading note in her voice.

“Where are you?”

“Home.”

“I’m tired, Ruth. I’m just gonna have a drink and go home.”

He wasn’t alone. She knew he wasn’t, just as she knew he wasn’t going home. He was with the bowling girls again. The women who said they were going bowling to get away from their husbands. When she’d had a husband, she had been one of them.

After she hung up, she felt like she had an itch she couldn’t reach. She fell back on the couch, smoking and thinking.

The phone rang. She snatched it up, her voice breathy, but it was only Johnny.

“Hey, baby, guess who’s here?”

He was drunk. He’d probably been drinking all day again.

“Meyer’s here, and Dick. Remember Dick, baby? Dick Patmore. He wants to see you. Hell, I wanna see you, baby. I miss you. I ain’t seen you in weeks. Why don’t you come over?”

“I don’t have a sitter, Johnny.”

“Can’t you get one? I’ll give you the money. You know I’m good for the money, baby.”

“It’s late and I’ve got this custody thing coming up—I have to see my lawyer tomorrow.”

She listened to his heavy, ragged breathing.

“Johnny? I’m going to go now . . .”

“There was a time you would’ve got a sitter. A time you’d have come down here like a shot.”

“Look, this isn’t a good time.”

“What’s changed, baby? I haven’t changed. I still love you, baby. Ruthie. I love you, Ruthie.”

Then his voice changed.

“Is it that guy? Gallagher? Is he there?”

“No, of course not. That’s . . .”

“Are you with him now? You’re always with him, these days.”

“Johnny, there’s no one here. It’s late and I have to go. Call me tomorrow.”

She hung up and turned the TV on again. Poured herself a drink.


“I checked on the kids at midnight. Frankie was half-asleep but he needed to use the bathroom. I tried to wake Cindy but she just rolled over, so I let her sleep.”

“Yeah, I put the catch back on their door afterward. I always do.”

“No, I don’t remember doing it, but I always do.”

“We put it up a year ago. Frankie got up one morning and ate everything in the refrigerator. He was sick for hours. After that, I got Frank to put a lock on the door.”

“Then I took Minnie for a walk. I saw Tony Bonelli—I waved to him. He had his dog with him too. I was gone twenty minutes, and then I sat on the stoop for a while. It was nice out. A little cooler. I could hear people in the distance. And music. I thought maybe it was the World’s Fair.”

“I think I bolted the front door when I went back inside.”

“I think so.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Look, I don’t remember, okay? I don’t remember! If I’d known I’d need to remember . . . did you bolt your door last night, huh? Do you remember doing it?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just upset.”

“No, I’m okay. I can keep going.”

“I gave Minnie some water, then I went into my bedroom and lay down. Just for a minute, but I must have fallen asleep. Something woke me up. I don’t think I was out long.”

“Uh . . . two-thirty . . . two forty-five.”