Life and Other Inconveniences(79)

On the iPod screen, Tess’s legs finally gave out, and she crumpled to the mattress, asleep. He watched for a minute to make sure she was breathing, then poured himself a finger of single malt and went to sit on the front porch, Luigi on his heels. The cat jumped up on his lap, purring.

“Hey, buddy,” Miller said, stroking the cat’s fur, which was considerably softer since his Desitin treatment. Latin music from the next-door neighbors drifted up, and he heard laughter. They were a happy family, the Oliverases, and Miller tried not to resent them for it. Sometimes, Mrs. Oliveras left food on his porch. It was always delicious.

For a builder, Miller didn’t have the most impressive house. His parents had, back when they lived in town, a sprawling McMansion with a four-car garage at the top of a hill in a development, appropriate for the owner of a construction company, Miller supposed. It had been more than comfortable growing up, but Ashley preferred older houses, and whatever she wanted, he did, too. They’d bought a fire-sale house, literally; a Craftsman bungalow that had been seriously damaged when the owner left a frying pan on the stove. Who better than a carpenter to reclaim it? They’d restored it, put on an addition with plenty of room for kids (pause for bitter laughter). Really good insulation, too, and double-paned windows, which kept the Oliveras family from reporting him to DCF, since they didn’t have to hear Tess’s screams.

He’d thought about selling the house a thousand times since Ashley died, but her spirit was here, her touches, the paintings she’d chosen, the ugly lamp shaped like an Easter lamb, her books, her cat. Tess would at least have something of her mother in this house.

Besides, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. “You don’t want to move, do you, Luigi?” he asked the cat, who answered by curling his claws gently into Miller’s leg. “I didn’t think so.”

The front porch was his favorite place—snug and deep with two comfortable chairs and a coffee table. Fat rhododendrons grew in front of it, hiding it from the road, from the sidewalk. In the summertime, he and Ashley used to sit out here. She’d offer commentary on the summer folks who liked to stroll and look at the houses. Back before she died, their front yard had had quite a garden, and it wasn’t unusual for people to take pictures of the flowers, not realizing the owners were sitting there, watching. Sometimes, Ash would fake a sneeze to scare them, which never got old for her. Now the garden was in sore need of weeding and pruning. He should get on that.

The air was cooling down, and the wind rustled the leaves, bringing the scent of moonflower and roses, both planted by his wife. Joe Oliveras was playing guitar, and one of his daughters was singing softly.

Miller sometimes wondered if he was the loneliest man on earth.

A woman stomped by, her pale shirt glowing in the dim light from the streetlamp.

It was Emma.

“Hey,” he said. She didn’t stop. “Emma.”

She turned. “Hello?”

“It’s me. Miller.” He suddenly felt stupid.

“Oh! Hi! I didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah. It’s . . . I’m lurking.”

“Is this your house? Or do you just sit on random porches at night?”

He smiled. “The former. Come on up. Unless you’re going somewhere, that is.”

“No, I was just taking a walk.” She came up the path and took in the house. “What a nice place.”

“Thank you. Have a seat. Would you like a drink?”

“Um . . . sure. If it’s no trouble.”

“Wine? I have both colors. Or scotch.”

She smiled, and he remembered that he’d always liked her. “I’ll have a glass of white.”

He went in and poured from a bottle he must’ve opened a month or two ago, hoping it wasn’t vinegar. On the monitor, Tess hadn’t moved and was still breathing.

He went back outside. Luigi had taken up residence on Emma’s lap, and was purring loudly.

“I like cats,” she said. “This one seems extra nice.”

“He is. Luigi, meet Emma.” He handed her the glass. “Hey, thank you for tonight. For dealing with Tess and, uh, for having a great kid.”

She smiled. “She is pretty wonderful. Yours is, too.”

“She’s a terror, but thanks.”

“She’s sleeping, I assume?”

“Don’t curse it, but yes.”

They sat there a few minutes in the near dark. “So why are you out walking the mean streets of Stoningham?” he asked. “You seemed like you might have been . . . stomping.”

“Oh, I was,” she said with a sigh. “Genevieve and I have issues, and she likes to slip in the knife whenever possible.”

“What issues?”

She glanced at him. “She kicked me out when I got pregnant.”

“Really?” He tried to remember if he’d known that. Three years of sketchy sleep had wreaked hell on his memory. He knew Jason had knocked up his girlfriend and that she moved to the Midwest. Oh, yeah. “Riley was born on my wedding day,” he said. “I remember now.” Jason, in a tuxedo, crying happy tears. Eighteen fucking years old. Ashley had hugged him and told him congratulations.

He hadn’t realized Emma had been banished.

“That must’ve been really hard,” he said.