Out of the Easy(29)

I passed the kitchen and spotted crusty plates stacked on the counter. I walked up the stairs slowly, listening. The old wood groaned underfoot as I reached the top and was immediately answered by a blistering yell from behind Charlie’s door.

“See! I told you,” whispered Patrick from the foot of the stairs.

“Shh.” I waved at him to be quiet while moving my face near the doorjamb. “Charlie, it’s only me. May I come in?” No response from behind the door. I put my hand on the cool glass knob. “I’m coming in, Charlie.” Still no response. The door creaked as I pushed it open and peeked inside.

The room was destroyed. The drapes had been torn from the windows, contents spilled from drawers, the floor covered in clothes, soiled sheets, shoes, the typewriter, dirty dishes, and cups.

The smell. I gagged and pulled my head back into the hall for a breath. I told myself I had seen worse, but I wasn’t sure I had. I steadied my grip on the door, took a breath, and walked in the room. Charlie sat in his underwear on a bare mattress, wild-eyed, clutching the Valentine box.

“Lucy?” he whispered.

“Hi, Charlie,” I began.

“Lucy, Lucy! Lucy!” he continued to whisper, rocking back and forth. It was more than I had heard him say in months.

I nodded, fearful that any disagreement might set him off. I picked up the pillow from the floor and placed it on the bed, which resulted in several rounds of Lucys.

“Time to rest, Charlie,” I told him. I smoothed his hair away from his eyes and nudged his shoulders down toward the pillow, trying to smile instead of gag.

He lay down and looked up at me, gripping the pink heart-shaped box against his chest. “Lucy.”

I thought about trying to take the box but didn’t want to push my luck. I began sorting through the items on the floor, finding horrible surprises under each towel or piece of clothing I picked up. Some things were not salvageable.

I worked for over an hour, placing things outside his door and tying up items for the trash in sheets. Once Charlie closed his eyes, I crept out of the room and shut his door.

Patrick was sitting in an armchair near the window in the living room, staring off with a blank face.

“He’s lying down, but I don’t know how long he’ll stay that way,” I told him. Patrick said nothing. “Patrick?”

“Lucy—Lucille—is his aunt. She’s been dead for over fifteen years.”

“He needs his medicine.”

“I don’t know what he did with his medicine. The druggist is closed now,” said Patrick, still staring into a void.

“I’ll call Willie. She’ll arrange something through Dr. Sully.”

Patrick nodded, silent.

“It’ll be okay, Patrick. Once we get the medicine, it will be all right.”

He turned to me, almost angry. “Will it? Or will it just continue to get worse? Just the sight of me makes him go mad, Jo. I couldn’t restrain him, couldn’t bathe him. He acted like he despised me, like I was going to hurt him.”

“He’s sick, Patrick.”

“I know. He needs professional help, a hospital. But I can’t bear to have him treated like a lunatic in Charity’s mental ward. He’s not crazy. Something’s just . . . wrong. He changed after that beating.”

“I’ll call Willie about the medicine.”

Patrick pointed to the telephone on the floor near the hallway. Willie would be furious that I was bothering her when the Cubans were there. I said I was calling about Charlie and was surprised how quickly Willie came to the phone. I told her everything.

“Poor sack.” Willie sighed. “I’ll handle the meds. It might take a couple hours because it’s so late, but I’ll send Cokie by.”

I hung up the phone and started to clean the kitchen. Patrick’s voice came from over my shoulder.

“It’s my fault, Jo. I left him.”

“You leave him every day. Generally he’s okay when he’s locked in his room.”

“But I left him at night.”

“You left him on New Year’s Eve, and he was fine.”

“No, I left him for longer than usual.”

“Where were you?” I asked, rinsing a plate.

Patrick glanced down at his feet. “I had some business.”

“Buying dead people’s books? Well, now you know that you can’t be away that long. So stop feeling bad about it.” I sounded like Willie.

Patrick looked up at me, serious. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jo, you know that?”

I laughed. “You’d survive.”

“No, I don’t know if I would.” He took a step closer. “Jo, we can tell each other anything, right?”

I looked at him. “What do you mean?”

He moved in close. “Just what I said. If I were to tell you something, I wouldn’t want it to scare you away.”

My pulse began to jog. I looked from Patrick to the sink. “I can’t believe you’re saying that. Think about the things I tell you about Willie’s. That doesn’t scare you away. Oh, and talk about scary, before I left for Shady Grove, I ran into John Lockwell leaving the house after a date with Evangeline. She was in pigtails and her schoolgirl outfit.”

“No!” said Patrick. He stepped back from me.