Little Girls(39)

For dinner the three of them ate steak, baked potatoes, and green beans. Afterwards, Ted poured himself a few fingers of scotch from Myles Brashear’s liquor cabinet, and it kept him in a good place for the rest of the evening. After watching a DVD on the laptop, he and Susan adjourned to the kitchen to load the dishwasher while Laurie sat in the parlor going through some of her father’s stuff.

“Mommy seems sad,” Susan said, stacking plates into the dishwasher.

“Well, it’s been a pretty stressful week for her.”

“Because her daddy died?”

“Yes.”

Out of nowhere, Susan wrapped her arms around Ted’s waist and squeezed him hard. “I would be very stressful if you died, Daddy.”

He felt a swelling of emotion inside him. “Thank you. Do you know what ‘stressful’ means, sugar-booger?”

“Does it mean sad?”

“Not really. It means you have a lot of things to worry about.”

“Well, I would be sad if you died, Daddy.”

“I’m not going to die.”

“Not ever?”

He rubbed the top of her head and then gently separated her from him. “Everyone dies eventually. You know that.”

“I do. But it doesn’t have to be for a very long time, does it?”

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

“Good. Because I want you to not die for a very long time. Not for a very, very long time!”

He couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll do my best,” he told her. “Now why don’t you hop upstairs and take a bath? You’ve made quite a mess of yourself from playing in the dirt all day. Look how gross and grubby you are.”

Susan crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out. Ted laughed and feigned a grab for the tip of her tongue. Giggling, Susan raced through the kitchen and darted out into the parlor. He finished rinsing the plates, then loaded the rest into the dishwasher. Just as he finished, he heard the faucet come on in the bathroom upstairs.

In the parlor, Laurie sat on the loveseat staring out the darkened windows across the room. On her lap was one of her father’s photo albums.

“What’re you up to?”

Laurie sighed and looked wearily over at him. “Just going through some old photos.”

“There are a few good shots of you and your mom in there. I hope you don’t mind, but I went through it the other day. You might want to keep some of those.”

“I suppose.”

“What is it, Laurie?”

“It looks like some photos are missing. They’re in perfect order otherwise.” She closed the album. “Or maybe I’m just looking too deeply into things. I don’t know.”

“Are you doing all right? Hanging in there?” he asked.

“Yes. Just like the little cat in those inspirational posters. What about you? You’ve seemed stressed since you came back from Annapolis yesterday.”

“It’s nothing huge.” He sighed. “Got a call from Steve Markham while Susan and I were out. He says the high and mighty John Fish isn’t happy with the outline I submitted. I’ve just wasted months of my time writing pages of a play while all along Fish the wunderkind wasn’t happy with the lousy outline to begin with.”

“I thought you said the outline was approved?”

“By the production office, yes,” Ted said. “Per his contract, Fish gets final say.”

“Seems awfully negligent of him.”

“Ha. To say the least.”

“Isn’t there a way you can salvage the pages you’ve already written? Maybe you won’t have to change any of it.”

“I don’t know. Markham is going to talk with Fish’s agent, see if we can reach a compromise.” He went to the liquor cabinet, decided against more scotch, and poured himself a glass of wine. “This house feels very cold.”

“It’s been a mild summer so far,” she said absently.

“That’s not what I mean.” He sat down on the sofa and faced her. “This house holds some power over you.”

“It’s not that.” She ran a finger along the edge of the photo album. “Have you been hearing any strange noises in the house?” she asked.

“What kind of strange noises?”

“Noises upstairs. Like someone moving around. Twice I thought I heard a door slam when there was no one up there.”

“I’m sure it’s just Susan.”

“Susan wasn’t up there. And it’s not in the bedrooms.” She pointed straight at the ceiling. “I think it’s coming from the belvedere.”

“That door’s locked.”

“I know. It’s stupid.” She seemed to consider something for a long time. “Susan’s frog,” she said eventually. “The one in the cigar box. It looked like someone squeezed it to death.”

“What are you saying? That Susan did it?”

“No, of course not. I know she wouldn’t do a thing like that. And she was so upset . . .”

He got up, went over to her, and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s stress. This whole thing is grating on you.”

“You’re probably right.”

“There are unresolved issues with your father. It’s going to take some time for you to learn how to deal with them. In the meantime, I’m worried about you.”