This again, Grey thought. But as long as he'd decided to play along, he saw no reason to disabuse her of the notion that he knew what he was doing.
"Do you need anything else before you get started?"
"I guess not," Grey managed.
She yawned into her hand. A sudden weariness seemed to have overcome her, as if she were a slowly deflating balloon. "Then I suppose I'll leave you to it. I'm going to get off my feet for a bit."
With these words, she left him alone. Grey heard the snap of a door closing down the hall. Well, wasn't this the damnedest thing, he thought. Painting a baby's room in some rich lady's house certainly wasn't anything he'd imagined himself doing when he'd woken up at the Red Roof. He listened for more sounds from her but heard nothing. Maybe the funniest thing of all was that Grey didn't mind, not really. The woman was as nutty as they came, and not a little bossy. But it wasn't as if he'd deceived her about who he was, since she'd never even asked. It felt good to be trusted by someone, even if he didn't deserve it.
He retrieved his supplies from the foyer and got to work. Painting wasn't anything he'd ever done much of, but it was hardly rocket science, and he quickly settled into its rhythms, his mind a pleasant blank. He could almost forget about waking up at the Red Roof, and Zero and Richards and the Chalet and all the rest. An hour passed, and then another; he was cutting in the edges along the ceiling when Lila appeared in the doorway, bearing a tray with a sandwich and a glass of water. She had changed into a high-waisted denim maternity dress that, despite its roominess, made her appear even more pregnant.
"I hope you like tuna."
He climbed off the ladder to receive the tray. The bread was covered with furry green mold; there was a smell of rancid mayonnaise. Grey's stomach flipped.
"Maybe later," he stammered. "I want to do a second coat first."
Lila said nothing more about this, instead stepping back to look around the room. "I have to say, this really looks better. So much better. I don't know why I didn't think of white before." She pointed her eyes at Grey again. "I hope you don't think me too forward, Lawrence, and I don't want to assume anything, but you don't by chance need a place to stay the night?"
Grey was caught short; he hadn't thought that far ahead. He hadn't thought ahead at all, as if the woman's delusional state were contagious. But of course she'd want him to stay. After so many days alone, there was no way she was letting him get loose now-keeping him here was the point. And besides, where would he go?
"Good. It's settled then." She gave a nervous laugh. "I have to say, I'm very relieved. I feel so guilty, dragging you into this, never even asking if you have someplace else to be. And after you've been so helpful."
"It's okay," Grey said. "I mean, I'm glad to stay."
"Don't mention it." The conversation seemed over, but at the doorway Lila turned, wrinkling her nose with distaste. "Sorry about the sandwich. I know it probably isn't very appetizing. I keep meaning to get out to the market. But I'll make you a nice dinner."
Grey worked through the afternoon, completing the third coat as the sun was setting in the windows. He had to say, the room didn't look half bad. He deposited his brushes and rollers in the tray, descended the stairs, and followed the central hallway back to the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, the room had a spare, modern appearance, with white cabinets, black granite countertops, and appliances of gleaming chrome, the effect marred only by the garbage bags that were piled everywhere, reeking of old food. Lila was standing at the stove-the gas appeared to be working-and stirring a saucepan by candlelight. The table was set with china, napkins, and silverware, even a tablecloth.
"I hope you like tomato," said Lila, smiling at him.
Lila directed him to a small room behind the kitchen with a utility sink. There was no water to wash the brushes, so Grey left them in the basin and used a rag to clean his hands as best he could. The idea of tomato soup repelled him, but he would have to do a convincing job of trying to eat-there was simply no way to avoid it. By the time he returned, Lila was ladling the steaming soup into a pair of bowls. These she carried to the table with a plate of Ritz crackers.
"Bon appetit."
The first spoonful nearly made him gag. It didn't even seem like food. Against every instinct, he managed to swallow. Lila appeared to take no notice of his distress, breaking the crackers into her soup and spooning it into her mouth. By sheer force of will, Grey took another spoonful, then a third. He could feel the soup lodging at the base of his gut, an inert mass. As he attempted a fourth, something viselike clamped inside him.
"Excuse me a second."
Trying not to run, he retreated to the utility room, arriving at the sink in the nick of time. Usually he made a racket when he puked, but not now: the soup seemed to fly effortlessly out of his body. Christ, what was the matter with him? He wiped his mouth, took a moment to steady himself, and returned to the table. Lila was looking at him with concern.
"Is the soup all right?" she asked gingerly.
He couldn't even look at the stuff. He wondered if she could smell the puke on his breath. "It's fine," he managed. "I'm just ... not very hungry, I guess."
The answer appeared to satisfy her. She regarded him for a long moment before speaking again. "I hope you don't mind my asking, Lawrence. But are you looking for work?"
"More painting, you mean?"
"Well, certainly there's that. But other things, too. Because I have the impression, and forgive me if I'm leaping to conclusions, that you may be a little bit ... at loose ends. Which is fine. Don't get me wrong. Things happen to people." She squinted across the table. "But you don't really work at Home Depot, do you?"
Grey shook his head.
"I thought so! Really, you had me going for a while there. And regardless, you've done a beautiful job. A beautiful job. Which only proves my point. If you see what I'm saying. Because I'd like to help you get back on your feet. You've been so helpful, I'd like to return the favor. God knows there's plenty that needs doing around here. There's putting up the border, and of course the problems with the AC, and the yard, well you've seen the yard ..."
If he didn't stop her now, Grey knew, he'd never get her out of here. "Lady-"
"Please." Holding up a hand, she gave him a warm smile. "It's Lila."
"Lila, okay." Grey drew a breath. "Have you noticed anything ... strange?"
A puzzled frown. "I don't know what you mean."
Best to back in slowly, Grey thought. "Like, take the electricity, for instance."
"Oh that," she said, and waved a hand dismissively. "You already mentioned that, at the store."
"But doesn't it seem odd that it's still out? Don't you think they would have fixed it by now?"
A vague disturbance moved across her face. "I haven't the foggiest. Honestly, I don't see where you're going with this."
"And David, you said he hasn't called. How long has it been?"
"Well, he's a busy man. A very busy man."
"I don't think that's the reason he hasn't called."
Her voice was absolutely flat. "You don't."
"No."
Lila's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Lawrence, do you know something you're not telling me? Because if you're a friend of David's, I hope you would have the decency to tell me."
Grey might just as well have tried to snatch a fly out of the air. "No, he's not a friend of mine. I'm just saying ..." There was nothing to do but just come out with it. "Have you noticed there aren't any people?"
Lila was staring at him intently, arms crossed above her pregnant belly. Her eyes held a look of barely contained rage. She rose abruptly, snatched her bowl from the table, and carried it to the sink.
"Lila-"
She shook her head emphatically, not looking at him. "I won't have you talk this way."
"We have to get out of here."
With a clatter she tossed the bowl into the sink and turned on the tap, violently pumping the lever back and forth, to no avail. "Goddamnit, there's no water. Why is there no f**king water?"
Grey got to his feet. She spun to face him, her fists balled with anger.
"Don't you understand? I can't lose her again! I can't!"
Did she mean the baby? And what did she mean by "again"?
"We can't stay." He took another cautious step, as if approaching a wary animal. "It's not safe here."
Furious tears began to spill down her cheeks. "Why do you have to do this? Why?"
She lurched toward him, fists raised like hammers. Grey was thrust back on his heels. She began to pummel his chest as if she were trying to break down a door. But her attack wasn't organized; it was an expression of pure panic, of the storm of emotion breaking inside her. As she reared back again, Grey regained his balance and pulled her into him like a boxer into a clinch, encircling her upper body and pinning her arms to her sides. The gesture was reflexive; he didn't know what else to do. "Don't say that," Lila pleaded, thrashing inside his grip. "It isn't true, it isn't true...." Then, with a rush of breath and a whimper of surrender, the air let out of her and she collapsed against him.
For a period that might have been a full minute they stayed that way, locked in an awkward embrace. Grey couldn't have been more astonished-not by her violent reaction, which he could have foreseen, but by the mere presence of a woman's body in his arms. How slight she was! How different from himself! How long had it been since Grey had hugged a woman, hugged anyone? Or even been touched by another person? He could feel the hard roundness of Lila's belly pressed against him, an insistent presence. A baby, Grey thought, and for the first time, the full implications of this fact dawned in his mind. In the midst of the chaos and carnage of a world gone mad, this poor woman was going to have a baby.
Grey relaxed his grip and backed away. Lila was looking at the floor. The brisk, officious woman he'd met in the paint aisle was gone; in her place stood a frail, diminished creature, almost childlike.
"Can I ask you something, Lawrence?" Her voice was very small.
Grey nodded.
"What did you do before?"
For a moment he didn't understand what she was asking; then he realized she meant what job. "I cleaned," he said, and shrugged. "I mean, I was a janitor."
Lila considered his statement without expression. "Well, I guess you've got me there," she said miserably. She rubbed her nose with the back of her wrist. "To tell you the truth, I don't think I was anything at all."
Another silence descended, Lila staring at the floor, Grey wondering what she would next say. Whatever it was, he sensed their survival depended on it.
"I lost one before, you see," Lila said. "A baby girl."
Grey waited.
"Her heart, you understand," she said, and placed a hand against her chest. "It was a problem with her heart."
It was strange; standing in the quiet, Grey felt as if he'd known this about her all along. Or, if not the thing itself, then the kind of thing. It was as if he were looking at one of those pictures that made no sense when you saw it up close, but then you backed away and suddenly it did.
"What was her name?" Grey asked.
Lila raised her tear-streaked face. For a moment she just looked at him, her eyes pulled into an appraising squint. He wondered if he'd made a mistake, asking this. The question had just popped out.
"Thank you, Lawrence. Nobody ever asks me that. I can't tell you how long it's been."
"Why wouldn't they?"
"I don't know." Her shoulders lifted with a tiny shrug. "I guess they think it's bad luck or something."
"Not to me."
A brief silence passed. Grey didn't think he'd ever felt so awful for anybody in his life.
"Eva," Lila said. "My daughter was Eva."
They stood together in the presence of this name. Outside, beyond the windows of Lila's house, the night was pressing down. Grey realized it had begun to rain-a quiet, soaking, summer rain, pattering the windows.
"I'm not really who you think I am," Grey confessed.
"No?"
What did he want to tell her? The truth, surely, or some version of it, but in the last day and a half, the idea of truth seemed to have slipped its moorings completely. He didn't even know where to begin.
"It's all right," Lila said. "You don't have to say anything. Whoever you were before, it doesn't make much difference now."
"It might. I've had ... some troubles."
"So that would make you just like the rest of us, wouldn't it? One more person with a secret." She looked away. "That's the worst part, really, when you think about it. Try as you might, nobody will ever truly know who you are. You're just somebody alone in a house with your thoughts and nothing else."
Grey nodded. What was there to say?
"Promise me you won't leave," Lila said. "Whatever happens, don't do that."
"Okay."
"You'll look after me. We'll look after each other."
"I promise."
The conversation seemed to end there. Lila, exhaling a weary breath, pushed her shoulders back. "Well. I guess I'd better turn in. I expect you'll want to be leaving first thing in the morning. If I'm reading you correctly."
"Do you need anything else before you get started?"
"I guess not," Grey managed.
She yawned into her hand. A sudden weariness seemed to have overcome her, as if she were a slowly deflating balloon. "Then I suppose I'll leave you to it. I'm going to get off my feet for a bit."
With these words, she left him alone. Grey heard the snap of a door closing down the hall. Well, wasn't this the damnedest thing, he thought. Painting a baby's room in some rich lady's house certainly wasn't anything he'd imagined himself doing when he'd woken up at the Red Roof. He listened for more sounds from her but heard nothing. Maybe the funniest thing of all was that Grey didn't mind, not really. The woman was as nutty as they came, and not a little bossy. But it wasn't as if he'd deceived her about who he was, since she'd never even asked. It felt good to be trusted by someone, even if he didn't deserve it.
He retrieved his supplies from the foyer and got to work. Painting wasn't anything he'd ever done much of, but it was hardly rocket science, and he quickly settled into its rhythms, his mind a pleasant blank. He could almost forget about waking up at the Red Roof, and Zero and Richards and the Chalet and all the rest. An hour passed, and then another; he was cutting in the edges along the ceiling when Lila appeared in the doorway, bearing a tray with a sandwich and a glass of water. She had changed into a high-waisted denim maternity dress that, despite its roominess, made her appear even more pregnant.
"I hope you like tuna."
He climbed off the ladder to receive the tray. The bread was covered with furry green mold; there was a smell of rancid mayonnaise. Grey's stomach flipped.
"Maybe later," he stammered. "I want to do a second coat first."
Lila said nothing more about this, instead stepping back to look around the room. "I have to say, this really looks better. So much better. I don't know why I didn't think of white before." She pointed her eyes at Grey again. "I hope you don't think me too forward, Lawrence, and I don't want to assume anything, but you don't by chance need a place to stay the night?"
Grey was caught short; he hadn't thought that far ahead. He hadn't thought ahead at all, as if the woman's delusional state were contagious. But of course she'd want him to stay. After so many days alone, there was no way she was letting him get loose now-keeping him here was the point. And besides, where would he go?
"Good. It's settled then." She gave a nervous laugh. "I have to say, I'm very relieved. I feel so guilty, dragging you into this, never even asking if you have someplace else to be. And after you've been so helpful."
"It's okay," Grey said. "I mean, I'm glad to stay."
"Don't mention it." The conversation seemed over, but at the doorway Lila turned, wrinkling her nose with distaste. "Sorry about the sandwich. I know it probably isn't very appetizing. I keep meaning to get out to the market. But I'll make you a nice dinner."
Grey worked through the afternoon, completing the third coat as the sun was setting in the windows. He had to say, the room didn't look half bad. He deposited his brushes and rollers in the tray, descended the stairs, and followed the central hallway back to the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, the room had a spare, modern appearance, with white cabinets, black granite countertops, and appliances of gleaming chrome, the effect marred only by the garbage bags that were piled everywhere, reeking of old food. Lila was standing at the stove-the gas appeared to be working-and stirring a saucepan by candlelight. The table was set with china, napkins, and silverware, even a tablecloth.
"I hope you like tomato," said Lila, smiling at him.
Lila directed him to a small room behind the kitchen with a utility sink. There was no water to wash the brushes, so Grey left them in the basin and used a rag to clean his hands as best he could. The idea of tomato soup repelled him, but he would have to do a convincing job of trying to eat-there was simply no way to avoid it. By the time he returned, Lila was ladling the steaming soup into a pair of bowls. These she carried to the table with a plate of Ritz crackers.
"Bon appetit."
The first spoonful nearly made him gag. It didn't even seem like food. Against every instinct, he managed to swallow. Lila appeared to take no notice of his distress, breaking the crackers into her soup and spooning it into her mouth. By sheer force of will, Grey took another spoonful, then a third. He could feel the soup lodging at the base of his gut, an inert mass. As he attempted a fourth, something viselike clamped inside him.
"Excuse me a second."
Trying not to run, he retreated to the utility room, arriving at the sink in the nick of time. Usually he made a racket when he puked, but not now: the soup seemed to fly effortlessly out of his body. Christ, what was the matter with him? He wiped his mouth, took a moment to steady himself, and returned to the table. Lila was looking at him with concern.
"Is the soup all right?" she asked gingerly.
He couldn't even look at the stuff. He wondered if she could smell the puke on his breath. "It's fine," he managed. "I'm just ... not very hungry, I guess."
The answer appeared to satisfy her. She regarded him for a long moment before speaking again. "I hope you don't mind my asking, Lawrence. But are you looking for work?"
"More painting, you mean?"
"Well, certainly there's that. But other things, too. Because I have the impression, and forgive me if I'm leaping to conclusions, that you may be a little bit ... at loose ends. Which is fine. Don't get me wrong. Things happen to people." She squinted across the table. "But you don't really work at Home Depot, do you?"
Grey shook his head.
"I thought so! Really, you had me going for a while there. And regardless, you've done a beautiful job. A beautiful job. Which only proves my point. If you see what I'm saying. Because I'd like to help you get back on your feet. You've been so helpful, I'd like to return the favor. God knows there's plenty that needs doing around here. There's putting up the border, and of course the problems with the AC, and the yard, well you've seen the yard ..."
If he didn't stop her now, Grey knew, he'd never get her out of here. "Lady-"
"Please." Holding up a hand, she gave him a warm smile. "It's Lila."
"Lila, okay." Grey drew a breath. "Have you noticed anything ... strange?"
A puzzled frown. "I don't know what you mean."
Best to back in slowly, Grey thought. "Like, take the electricity, for instance."
"Oh that," she said, and waved a hand dismissively. "You already mentioned that, at the store."
"But doesn't it seem odd that it's still out? Don't you think they would have fixed it by now?"
A vague disturbance moved across her face. "I haven't the foggiest. Honestly, I don't see where you're going with this."
"And David, you said he hasn't called. How long has it been?"
"Well, he's a busy man. A very busy man."
"I don't think that's the reason he hasn't called."
Her voice was absolutely flat. "You don't."
"No."
Lila's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Lawrence, do you know something you're not telling me? Because if you're a friend of David's, I hope you would have the decency to tell me."
Grey might just as well have tried to snatch a fly out of the air. "No, he's not a friend of mine. I'm just saying ..." There was nothing to do but just come out with it. "Have you noticed there aren't any people?"
Lila was staring at him intently, arms crossed above her pregnant belly. Her eyes held a look of barely contained rage. She rose abruptly, snatched her bowl from the table, and carried it to the sink.
"Lila-"
She shook her head emphatically, not looking at him. "I won't have you talk this way."
"We have to get out of here."
With a clatter she tossed the bowl into the sink and turned on the tap, violently pumping the lever back and forth, to no avail. "Goddamnit, there's no water. Why is there no f**king water?"
Grey got to his feet. She spun to face him, her fists balled with anger.
"Don't you understand? I can't lose her again! I can't!"
Did she mean the baby? And what did she mean by "again"?
"We can't stay." He took another cautious step, as if approaching a wary animal. "It's not safe here."
Furious tears began to spill down her cheeks. "Why do you have to do this? Why?"
She lurched toward him, fists raised like hammers. Grey was thrust back on his heels. She began to pummel his chest as if she were trying to break down a door. But her attack wasn't organized; it was an expression of pure panic, of the storm of emotion breaking inside her. As she reared back again, Grey regained his balance and pulled her into him like a boxer into a clinch, encircling her upper body and pinning her arms to her sides. The gesture was reflexive; he didn't know what else to do. "Don't say that," Lila pleaded, thrashing inside his grip. "It isn't true, it isn't true...." Then, with a rush of breath and a whimper of surrender, the air let out of her and she collapsed against him.
For a period that might have been a full minute they stayed that way, locked in an awkward embrace. Grey couldn't have been more astonished-not by her violent reaction, which he could have foreseen, but by the mere presence of a woman's body in his arms. How slight she was! How different from himself! How long had it been since Grey had hugged a woman, hugged anyone? Or even been touched by another person? He could feel the hard roundness of Lila's belly pressed against him, an insistent presence. A baby, Grey thought, and for the first time, the full implications of this fact dawned in his mind. In the midst of the chaos and carnage of a world gone mad, this poor woman was going to have a baby.
Grey relaxed his grip and backed away. Lila was looking at the floor. The brisk, officious woman he'd met in the paint aisle was gone; in her place stood a frail, diminished creature, almost childlike.
"Can I ask you something, Lawrence?" Her voice was very small.
Grey nodded.
"What did you do before?"
For a moment he didn't understand what she was asking; then he realized she meant what job. "I cleaned," he said, and shrugged. "I mean, I was a janitor."
Lila considered his statement without expression. "Well, I guess you've got me there," she said miserably. She rubbed her nose with the back of her wrist. "To tell you the truth, I don't think I was anything at all."
Another silence descended, Lila staring at the floor, Grey wondering what she would next say. Whatever it was, he sensed their survival depended on it.
"I lost one before, you see," Lila said. "A baby girl."
Grey waited.
"Her heart, you understand," she said, and placed a hand against her chest. "It was a problem with her heart."
It was strange; standing in the quiet, Grey felt as if he'd known this about her all along. Or, if not the thing itself, then the kind of thing. It was as if he were looking at one of those pictures that made no sense when you saw it up close, but then you backed away and suddenly it did.
"What was her name?" Grey asked.
Lila raised her tear-streaked face. For a moment she just looked at him, her eyes pulled into an appraising squint. He wondered if he'd made a mistake, asking this. The question had just popped out.
"Thank you, Lawrence. Nobody ever asks me that. I can't tell you how long it's been."
"Why wouldn't they?"
"I don't know." Her shoulders lifted with a tiny shrug. "I guess they think it's bad luck or something."
"Not to me."
A brief silence passed. Grey didn't think he'd ever felt so awful for anybody in his life.
"Eva," Lila said. "My daughter was Eva."
They stood together in the presence of this name. Outside, beyond the windows of Lila's house, the night was pressing down. Grey realized it had begun to rain-a quiet, soaking, summer rain, pattering the windows.
"I'm not really who you think I am," Grey confessed.
"No?"
What did he want to tell her? The truth, surely, or some version of it, but in the last day and a half, the idea of truth seemed to have slipped its moorings completely. He didn't even know where to begin.
"It's all right," Lila said. "You don't have to say anything. Whoever you were before, it doesn't make much difference now."
"It might. I've had ... some troubles."
"So that would make you just like the rest of us, wouldn't it? One more person with a secret." She looked away. "That's the worst part, really, when you think about it. Try as you might, nobody will ever truly know who you are. You're just somebody alone in a house with your thoughts and nothing else."
Grey nodded. What was there to say?
"Promise me you won't leave," Lila said. "Whatever happens, don't do that."
"Okay."
"You'll look after me. We'll look after each other."
"I promise."
The conversation seemed to end there. Lila, exhaling a weary breath, pushed her shoulders back. "Well. I guess I'd better turn in. I expect you'll want to be leaving first thing in the morning. If I'm reading you correctly."
