Scared To Death (Live to Tell #2)(13)

“Because she won’t—” Suddenly aware that the living room has fallen quiet, Elsa peeks through the doorway and sees that Renny has turned off the TV. Either the movie is over or she’s getting restless.

“Brett, I’ve got to go.” She hangs up the phone quickly and goes in to find Renny sitting with her chin in her hands.

“Movie’s over?”

“No, but I already saw it.”

Elsa smiles. Understatement of the year. Renny knows The Little Mermaid by heart, usually mouthing the dialogue along with the characters.

“Was that Daddy again, on the phone?”

“Yup.”

“Is he coming home?”

“Not yet. He’s at work.”

“I wish he could come home.”

“He will, tonight. What do you want to do now?”

The little girl sneaks a wistful peek at the window before turning her back and surveying the room. “I don’t know. I guess maybe we can play Don’t Break the Ice again.”

“We can. Or there are some other fun things in the rainy day bin. An Etch A Sketch, or this paint-with-water book—”

“I don’t really feel like playing with anything else.”

“Well, we can go outside and have a picnic like we did yesterday. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Renny is shaking her head even before Elsa’s done speaking. “I don’t want to.”

But she does want to. Elsa can tell.

“Well, you know what? I think I’m going to go out and take a walk around the yard.”

Renny’s dark eyebrows shoot up toward her bangs. “To check for monsters?”

“I already did, honey. There aren’t any. I just want to get some fresh air. Want to come?”

“Maybe.”

Carefully nonchalant, Elsa holds out her hand. “Come on.”

Renny hesitates. Then, silently, she comes over to take Elsa’s hand. Her fingers are so small, and cold.

They walk to the door. As Elsa opens it, Renny holds back, clenching her hand.

“It’s okay, honey. Come on.”

She doesn’t exactly drag Renny outside, but she does have to give her a little tug over the threshold.

The sun is warm, and a slight breeze stirs the forsythia, whose April yellow blooms have long since given way to a dense, summery green. Elsa does her best not to peer at the boughs as she leads a reluctant Renny around the corner of the house toward the backyard.

She can feel her daughter’s grasp relax a bit.

“See?” she tells Renny. “Everything is fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. Look around.”

As they stroll across the yard, taking in the ordinariness of the June afternoon, Elsa feels Renny’s grip relax a bit. Fat bumblebees buzz over a clump of pink peony blossoms, birds call from the trees, and higher overhead, a humming jet trails a white path across the blue sky.

Suddenly, a voice calls out from somewhere close by.

Elsa clutches Renny and spins around.

Oh. Meg Warren. Thank God.

Ordinarily she wouldn’t be thrilled to see her next-door neighbor, but today, Elsa practically throws her arms around the woman in sheer relief.

“Well, aren’t you two a couple of nervous Nellies!”

“Hi, Meg.” To her own ears, Elsa’s voice sounds an octave higher than usual. Renny cowers against her, saying nothing.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it? What are you up to?”

“Not much. How about you? No work today?”

“I don’t go in until five,” Meg tells her. “All nights this week. Half shifts.”

“Well that’s nice. At least you get to enjoy the weather.”

“I can’t enjoy it when I’m worrying about paying my bills and they’re cutting my hours. Anyhoo”—she gestures with the shears in her hand—“I just stepped outside to snip some fresh basil for my salad. Would you two like to join me for lunch?”

“No, thanks, we—”

“Wouldn’t you know something got into my herb patch and trampled the bed? I’d blame my kids, but they’re off spending a week with their father. You wouldn’t happen to have any basil over there, would you?”

“I have dried basil in the kitchen, if you want to—”

“Lord, no!” Meg throws up her hands in horror. “Fresh basil or nothing—that’s what I always say.”

It’s not the only thing she always says. As she launches into one of her monologues, Elsa reminds herself that the woman means well.

But Meg Warren—a lonely, chatty divorcee—is one of those people who sorely lacks audience awareness. She tends to park herself in the yard or driveway and prattle on, with no regard to whether Elsa might have someplace to go, or has any interest whatsoever in Meg’s bunions—one of her all-time favorite conversational topics. She blames the bunions—like everything else—on her deadbeat ex-husband, because she’s on her feet all day as a Macy’s cashier, her only means of support other than his frequently late alimony payments.

For a while there last August and September, Meg spent far less time talking about her feet and her ex, instead wanting to know all about the Cavalons—specifically, their experience with Jeremy.