Dovetail: A Novel(32)
“Oh dear,” she said, her mouth downturned. “I’m not sure who you heard that from, but Edna Clark passed away. Her great-niece is living here now. I can’t imagine a single young woman like her would be interested in renting out a room.”
“Such a shame.” He even managed to blink as if about to cry. “I was willing to pay top dollar. I’m really desperate.” And then he spun a story explaining his urgent need to spend a few days in Pullman. He explained how he’d been driving home from the hospital up north after having had surgery and needed to rest a few days before continuing the trip home. “I thought I could do it,” he said sadly. “But I’m weak as a kitten. I should have listened to the doctor and stayed a few more days to recover, but you know how we men are. Too proud.”
She nodded thoughtfully, her hand resting under her chin. “I might be able to help you,” she said finally, her head tilting in the direction of the house next door. “I have a guest bedroom that’s sitting empty.”
Ricky held back a grin. Sometimes the universe opened up and gave you a gift, and the best thing to do was not grab at it too quickly. “Oh no, I couldn’t impose on you like that.” He put out his hand and said, “I’m Richard, by the way. And you are?”
“Lorraine Whitt.”
He gave her hand a gentle grasp and met her eyes. “I can’t believe I got myself into this mess.” He let go of her hand and clutched his abdomen as if in pain.
“What kind of surgery did you have?”
“Emergency appendectomy. I was lucky. They got it before it burst. Hurt like a son of a gun.” He feigned a small smile.
“Oh, you poor thing.”
“Not listening to doctor’s orders was stupid on my part. I’m so tired now, I could sleep standing up.”
She nodded in sympathy and offered her guest bedroom again, but he demurred, saying he didn’t want to be any trouble. It seemed that the more he held back, the more insistent she was that he stay with her. “Well, maybe for a few days,” he said. “You’re so kind. I can’t thank you enough.”
Within minutes, he’d parked his car inside her garage, taken his suitcase into her house, and given her a stack of cash along with words of gratitude. “If only there were more people like you, the world would be a better place, Mrs. Whitt.”
“It’s actually Miss Whitt,” she said. “I never married.”
“A woman like you never married?” Ricky opened his mouth in mock astonishment. His mother said he could charm the birds out of the trees without half trying. “Hard to believe.”
“Oh, but it’s true.”
“Well, then, there are a lot of men out there who missed out.” He shook his head and made a tsk-tsking noise.
She giggled. “Just one thing,” she said. “If anyone asks, I’m going to tell them you’re my nephew. I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”
He winked at her. “Whatever you want, Aunt Lorraine.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
1983
Secondhand Heaven closed every night at six, which meant Kathleen could be back home by six thirty most nights, seven at the latest. Aunt Edna’s house, now hers, was only a block away. An easy walk, even for someone who’d been on her feet all day. In the few months she’d lived there, the place felt more like home than the apartment she’d shared with her husband back in the days when she’d been married.
Ricky had preferred a modern look. Contemporary furniture with clean lines, uncluttered spaces. Nothing on the kitchen counters, very little on the walls. He didn’t read, so he considered books to be no more than dust collectors. He didn’t mind her having books; he just didn’t want to look at them. She gave away most of her collection to the library book sale and kept her favorites in her bottom dresser drawer. At the time, it seemed a small price to pay for love.
He had all kinds of quirks. They could eat only at the kitchen table; otherwise, he said, falling crumbs would attract vermin. Vermin! She’d laughed at first, then realized he was dead serious. Dishes had to be done immediately, towels could be used only once, and their cars had to be kept impeccable, inside and out. Kathleen, trying to be accommodating, went along with whatever he wanted. She thought she was compromising, but in retrospect, it fit the cycle of abuse: his controlling nature and the need for him to make his mark. It was almost as if she’d been branded, along with the house. Property of Ricky Dorsey.
She came to detest the sound of his whistling as he walked about the house. Always some tune she didn’t know, or maybe it wasn’t a song at all. He said he did it without realizing it, but she believed otherwise. It was important for him to stand out, and a man who whistled as he walked up the path certainly did. It gave the neighbors the impression he was a happy and carefree person. If only that had been true.
When Kathleen took a stand and became less responsive to his needs, his moods darkened, and his anger overshadowed everything good in life. After that, the tidy, sparse apartment started to feel less like home and more like a prison cell.
Aunt Edna’s house suited her much better. It was a small two-story brick house with a front porch large enough for two rocking chairs and a table in between. The place was spacious enough for one person and cozy too. Kathleen had arrived with only a suitcase, so the fact that the house was already furnished was a bonus. The house also came with linens and kitchenware and built-in bookcases filled with books. Everything from classics to Agatha Christie to paperback thrillers and the Bible too. Something for every mood. She didn’t miss the fact that Aunt Edna didn’t have a television. Maybe someday Kathleen might feel the urge to buy one, but for right now, she was fine.