Little Secrets (12 page)

Ginny paused. She'd kicked Noodles because she was sitting, quiet. But when she ran, the telltale jingle of her collar had once again been silenced.

Huh.

Back in bed and coordinated around her multiple pillows, Ginny's lovely sleepiness had vanished. Every time she thought she might actually be able to fall back to sleep, Sean let out another grunt or a snuffle, or he shifted in the bed and pulled the covers off her and made her cold again. He'd always been a restless sleeper, but it seemed to be worse now. Or maybe she was just more sensitive to it. At any rate, at last Ginny had to resort to her old trick of counting backwards from a hundred in order to see if she could trick her brain into shutting down.

She got to eighteen before Sean coughed and her eyes flew open.

Starting over, she got to thirty-seven before he let out a long, ripping fart that had her gritting her teeth.

This time, she got to fifty before he rolled onto his back and started snoring in earnest. Ginny sat up. She leaned over and poked him. Hard.

“Honey,” she said, her tone making the endearment a lie. “Roll over.”

He did with another snort and snuffle, and she lay back and stared at the ceiling, even though she knew sleeping on her back was going to be impossible and she could only last a few minutes before she'd have to move. When she rolled onto her side to look out the windows, something like the first gleam of sunrise teased her.

She was still awake when the alarm went off.

Chapter Seventeen

With Sean's hands over her eyes, all Ginny could do was laugh as he guided her. “What's the surprise?”

“If I just told you, it wouldn't be much of a surprise, would it?” His breath, warm against her cheek, made her want to nuzzle against him. “Okay. Hold on a second. Don't look until I tell you. Okay?”

“Okay, okay.”

She heard shuffling. The scrape of wood against wood. She knew they were in the library because he'd brought her upstairs before making her close her eyes. But what on earth could he be about?

“Open them.”

She did, expecting maybe a chair to match the sofa. Instead, Ginny faced her easel—which had been set up in the dormer, with a fresh new canvas in the size she liked best. Beside it was the ugly telephone table. On it rested a new palette. Tubes of paint. A cup bristling with brand-new brushes.

“I know you threw all your old stuff away. I figured you needed some new things.”

“Sean…”

“Look, the light's great right there. I mean, I'm not an artist or anything, but the sun shines in that dormer almost all day long.”

She knew it did. She'd noticed. Ginny moved forward to look at the setup, then at him. “You didn't need to do this.”

“Sure I did. Consider it a late anniversary present.” Sean smiled. “Since what I got you was lame, I know.”

She didn't want him to feel like he had to make anything up to her. She especially hadn't wanted him to feel like he had to do it by buying her art supplies. Yet, faced with all of this new equipment, the pretty colors, the fresh and untainted brushes, Ginny's fingers did twitch. Just a little.

“I got you special paints and some nontoxic brush cleaner.” He sounded so proud. “Natural pigments and stuff. So…you don't have to worry about the chemicals.”

It was too much. She should weep, but no tears sparked her eyes. Ginny stroked her fingertips over the canvas gently. Then she kissed him. “Thank you.”

“You like it?”

“It's…so nice.” The lie hardly tasted bitter at all. “So unexpected.”

“Now you can paint again,” Sean said. “I know you've been missing it. I can tell. You want to get started on something now?”

“Later,” Ginny said. “I'll do it later.”

Chapter Eighteen

“I know I have it. I know I have it in a box of things I packed specifically for the house.” Ginny put her hands on her hips and looked around the smallest of the rooms on the second floor. No more than a closet really, it would be just big enough to hold a desk and a chair, maybe a set of shelves. Sean's office. If they ever moved everything out of it anyway.

Sean sighed and rubbed at his hair, that bad habit that always left him looking rumpled. She wanted to smooth it, to stroke down the sleek bits that always fell just in front of his ears and stroke it away from his forehead. Too many boxes blocked her.

“What kind of a box?”

“A file box.” She indicated the size with her hands, then pointed. “Like one of those. Like any of those, but it's not one of those. I labeled all of them. It should be marked “Linwood.” Anything we got from Bonnie would be in there.”

“Do we even know if we have anything about the furnace?”

She shook her head and bit her lip. “No. I don't know. Bonnie gave us that entire accordion file of stuff, warranties and receipts and all that. I'd imagine if there was something, it would be in there.”

“Dammit, Ginny, the furnace guy needs to know this stuff.”

She frowned at his tone. “He can't figure out what's wrong on his own? I mean, isn't that supposed to be what he does? Figure out what's wrong?”

“He says he needs a ductwork schematic so he can compare it to the rooms that aren't getting hot air. He thinks we might have a blockage somewhere.” Sean cocked his head and leaned out of the doorway to listen. “I think he's hollering for me, let me go check.”

“What kind of blockage?” she asked with a grimace, thinking of the sounds in the walls and imagining some sort of nest.

But Sean was already gone, leaving her among the mess of boxes he'd made when he started tearing things apart. If he'd just looked at the labels, she thought with a sigh, bending to put back a handful of manila envelopes filled with tax returns. But of course he hadn't. He'd expected her to magically hand him what he needed, and when she couldn't, he'd gone willy-nilly trying to find it. And couldn't be bothered to clean any of it up, either, she thought as she put the lid back on the file box.

It didn't solve the mystery of where the box had gone, though. She couldn't even remember seeing it, to be honest, but then why would she have looked for it? The real estate agent had presented them with an enormous, in Ginny's opinion, amount of trash related to the house. Ginny never looked at instruction manuals for any appliances she ever bought, so the chances of her ever reading through those for ones she'd inherited was equally as unlikely.

The repairman had been there for an hour already. Ginny tried not to think about the cost as she went downstairs to the kitchen to finish the brownies she'd been baking before Sean interrupted her for the wild-goose hunt for the schematics. The company charged by the hour, plus for parts, so even if he couldn't find and fix the problem, they were still going to be out some cash.

“Let me just pull it out of the air,” she muttered, stirring the batter. Beating it, actually, though the recipe didn't call for such abuse. She slowed her motion, moving the thick, gooey liquid with the wooden spoon.

The kitchen, as usual, was blistering. She tasted sweat on her upper lip. She poured the batter into a baking pan and settled it in the oven, then set the timer. It took her only a few minutes to clean the mess she'd made, and she finished just as Sean and the repairman came up the basement stairs.

Grunting.

Why were they grunting?

Ginny leaned out the kitchen doorway, astounded at the sight of her husband and some stranger wrestling with a table that looked too big to get around the sharp corner. In the way of men, they huffed and puffed commands at each other. “Turn it…tilt it…tip it…yeah, that's it.” It sort of sounded dirty, which might've made her giggle if she weren't so astonished.

“What the…what are you doing?”

“Take it down the hall,” Sean said to the repairman. With a grin over his shoulder at her, he said, “I got you a dining room table.”

“From the basement?” Unable to make the angle in this direction, the men had taken the table down the hall and through the living room, but Ginny ducked into the dining room through the other doorway. “Sean?”

They settled the table in the middle of the room, under the stained-glass light fixture. Her husband looked at her proudly while the repairman-cum-furniture hauler dusted his hands on his coveralls. Ginny could only stare.

“That's a nice piece,” the repairman said. “Looks like cherry.”

Sean, still grinning like he'd brought her a diamond ring wrapped in a rainbow shat from a unicorn, slapped a hand on it. “Totally solid. Look at it. It was down in a corner, under a tarp.”

“I remember seeing it when we looked at the house.” It was
not
one of the pieces Ginny'd asked to keep. She bit her tongue in the presence of the repairman, who looked like he might be easily scandalized by a string of inventive invectives.

“Thanks for the help,” Sean told him.

The other guy nodded. “No problem. So, like I was saying, the rooms that are too hot are going to stay too hot so long as you've got your thermostat set so high. That's the furnace doing what it's meant to do.”

Sean stepped aside to let the guy pass, heading for the front door, and Ginny peeked around the doorway to watch them. “We set the thermostat so high to keep the other rooms, the cold rooms, at least bearable.”

“I hear ya, fella. I hear ya. But these old houses, you know, sometimes the heat just goes right out the windows. Through chinks in the insulation, whatever. But I tuned it up and reset the system. You've got a good unit there.” The repairman paused at the front door to look at Sean. “It would've been better if I knew who installed it or had a better idea about where some of those ducts went, if they installed all new ducts or if they used the old ones, or maybe piggybacked…whatever. I mean, some of those ducts look like they're not even functioning to me, like maybe they were put in with the old unit or something. If I could tell if they put in new ducts with the new unit, that would help. But you should see an improvement anyway.”

“Thanks.” Sean shook the guy's hand and closed the door behind him, then turned to the thermostat and fiddled with it before looking down the hall at her. “Hey. He says it should be fixed.”

“I hope so.” The smell of brownies had begun to permeate the air. She'd been careful not to lick the batter, no matter how tempting it had been, because of the raw eggs. Her stomach rumbled now.

“If it doesn't, we'll have him come back out,” Sean said. “Hey. Brownies?”

“They'll be done in a few minutes.”

“We can eat them on our new table.”

She looked at the new-old dining room table, which was both exactly and nothing like what she'd wanted. “It's filthy.”

“You don't like it? I thought you'd love it. You wanted an antique table, you said.”

She had mentioned it, yes. After they'd bought the fainting couch she'd looked at a few of the dining room sets in the same antique shop. They'd been sleek, Art Deco, with designs of inlaid wood and matching buffets that had beautiful and ornate drawer handles. Nothing like this square, sharp-edged, utilitarian wooden monstrosity. This table wasn't an antique, really. It was just…old. And well used, she thought, noticing the carved initials along one short side.
CMM.
Someone had been naughty.

“From the basement, Sean? Really?”

He looked at it. “You can polish it up, it'll be great. But if you don't like it—”

“No,” she interrupted him. “No. It's fine. We need a dining room table, and this way I can take my time looking for something. Someday.”

Until then, they could use this table, even if it was ugly. Even if it wasn't what she wanted. She could make the best of things.

He settled his hands on her hips to pull her close for a kiss. “Have I told you how awesome you are?”

He had, many times, which only made her feel worse about hating the table he'd so obviously been happy to bring her. Ginny pushed onto her tiptoes, just a little, to kiss him back. “Hmm. Because I ply you with sweets?”

“You'll make me fat.”

“Then I won't have to worry about any sexy, young chicks chasing after you,” she teased, patting his flat, hard stomach. Sean never had to work out.

He looked at her seriously. “You never have to worry about that, Ginny.”

She'd meant it only as a joke, but his reply was so solemn it set her back. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him again. “I love you.”

He nodded, eyes searching hers. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” she told him, uneasy with the intensity of his expression. “Of course.”

“Good,” Sean said. “Let's eat brownies.”

Chapter Nineteen

The smell. It was repulsive. Thick and cloying, the unmistakable stink of rot.

Ginny sniffed the air, then again. “Ugh. God. Sean, you need to check the glue traps.”

“I did, yesterday. Nothing.” He rattled the paper instructions for the TV stand with a growl. “Insert rod A into slot B. What the hell? There is no slot B.”

Ginny sniffed again, walking slowly around the living room, which was still cluttered with a few boxes, even though it felt like they'd been unpacking forever. Sean had decided this was the weekend to put together the new television stand he'd insisted they needed for the new flat screen. He'd been cursing at it for the past hour and a half.

“Can't you smell that?”

He sifted through a bag of small metal parts and plucked out a screw, then cursed some more when it didn't fit into the right hole. “No. Smell what?”

“I smell it.” She sniffed again, nosing along the wall and over the vent. “I can't believe you can't smell it. Something died in the walls, Sean. I'm sure of it.”

“I thought you told me the exterminator said mice wouldn't smell that bad.”

“I know what he said, but I'm telling you, I smell something disgusting. It's…” She leaned over the vent blowing warm air that was nowhere near hot, and grimaced. She pulled her sweatshirt sleeve over her fingers and held it over her mouth and nose. “It's stronger when the heat's on.”

“Could be something in the ductwork.” Sean shrugged, clearly unconcerned as he struggled with the TV stand's legs. “God dammit. Why do they have to make these things so hard to build.”

“We could've paid someone to put it together in the store,” she reminded him, and wished she hadn't when she saw the set of his shoulders.

“They wanted to charge a hundred bucks for set-up and delivery.”

“I know they did.” But if they'd done that, they could now be watching a movie together or doing something else instead of this.

“I can do it anyway.”

She sighed. “I know you can.”

The smell, thank God, had faded. Or she'd become immune to the stench. Either way, she could breathe with the filter of her sweatshirt. She watched him for a few more minutes, but knew better than to offer her help.

The next time the heat kicked on, though, the smell was back. She coughed from it, and Sean gave her a curious look. Ginny waved a hand in front of her face.

“You really don't smell that?”

Sean stood and took a long, deep breath. “Yeah. I smell something. It's faint, though.”

“Please check those glue boards again. I'm sure something's dead on one!”

He sighed. “Sure, babe. Can I finish this first?”

Her look must've been answer enough, because Sean let out another sigh and hung his head. Without another word, he left the living room. She heard the slow tread of his feet on the stairs, in the hall, and finally into the nursery. She heard the creak of the cubbyhole door opening. More footsteps in the hall, then in their bedroom. She couldn't hear the cubbyhole door in their closet opening or closing. He came down a few minutes later with empty hands.

“I told you. Nothing. I mean, the guy said he didn't see any signs of anything, right?”

“I still hear things,” Ginny said stubbornly. “In the walls. I told you.”

Sean sighed and came closer, rubbing her upper arms to soothe her. “I'm sure you do…”

“I just heard it the other night,” she pointed out. She did not add that she'd heard it while she was wakeful, unable to sleep, and he was snoring away.

He hugged her, stroking her hair. His shirt was damp. He smelled of sweat; she had to turn her head.

“All I can say is, I checked the traps. He said he'd be back to check the bait boxes. Right?”

“Yes.”

“So,” Sean said, “the next time he comes, ask him if he can smell it.”

“Fine,” she said, though it wasn't fine at all.

He worked in silence while she flipped through a couple of magazines. When he'd finished, he stood and waved at it. “All done.”

“Looks good.”

Shit, now they'd been reduced to single syllables. Ginny sighed. “You want some help hooking up the TV and stuff?”

“No. I got it.”

She went to the kitchen while he worked and made him an ice-cream sundae as a peace offering. She took it to him in the living room, then stood and shivered while he ate it. He offered her some, but she shook her head.

“I'm freezing.” Ginny rubbed her arms and went to the vent in the floor, feeling a waft of lukewarm air. “The kitchen's sweltering. I don't get it.”

Sean sighed and handed her the empty ice-cream bowl. “I'll call the repairman again tomorrow. Okay?”

Ginny looked at the bowl, then at him. “Yeah. That would be great.”

Sometimes, he did get it. Sean got to his feet and hugged her, acting like he didn't notice that she'd turned her face when he tried to kiss her. “Can't have my honey being cold, can I?”

“It's just that it should work,” Ginny said. “It's supposed to be an almost-brand-new system, right? We just had the guy out here to check it out. It should just work.”

“Lots of things should just work, but they don't.” Sean looked at the TV stand.

Ginny knew that was certainly true. Marriage was one of them. Or maybe it was the other way around; marriage shouldn't work but did.

She looked toward the kitchen, then the bowl. “You want anything else?”

Sean, engrossed in his task, just grunted.

Ginny took the bowl into the kitchen and put it into the dishwasher. She stretched, slowly, droplets of sweat pearling on her forehead. The kitchen was still so stinking hot. The clock on the microwave blinked from their last power outage, and as she set it to the correct time, she noticed two things. The first, that it was getting late and she was getting tired. Second, Noodles had not yet been fed.

The reason she hadn't noticed was because the cat, who normally made her demands well known with a variety of vocal yowlings, had not seen fit to demand Ginny's services as head can opener. This was definitely not normal, but not entirely unheard of. Noodles could be cranky and sometimes suspicious, and Ginny was convinced the cat could also hold a grudge. If being shooed off Ginny's pillow this morning had sufficiently put her little pink nose out of joint, it was possible she was still hiding upstairs, even at the expense of her empty belly.

Opening the can would bring her running, at least it usually did. Not this time. Ginny opened the can and scraped the gloopy, stinky contents into a bowl and set it on the special mat by the back door. No Noodles.

“Noodles!
Ssss, ssss, sss!
”

No cat. In the sweltering kitchen, Ginny licked the sweat from her lip and fought off a wave of unease. She went through the dining room to the living room, where Sean still fought with the TV stand. She didn't bother asking him if he'd seen the cat. She went past him, into the front hall, up the stairs, into the bedroom. She got on her hands and knees and looked under the bed.

Nothing.

Ginny sat up, her breath coming a little too short in her lungs. She closed her eyes, trying to remember the last time she'd seen Noodles. This morning. The cat had been making herself at home, not just on Ginny's side of the bed, but on her pillow, and Ginny had clapped her hands and shouted to chase her away. She hadn't seen her since.

“Shit. Shit, shit…” Ginny rubbed her face, got up and went downstairs.

“Sean. Have you seen Noodles?”

He looked up at her, the building instructions crumpled in his fist. “Huh? No.”

Ginny sat slowly on the couch, which was still nowhere near where she wanted it to be. “She's missing.”

“What do you mean, missing?” Sean wasn't paying attention to her, his focus still on the TV stand, which now at least looked as though it could hold the TV. “I'm sure she's around. Did you call her?”

“Yes. Of course. I opened her food, she didn't come running. I'm worried she got out of the house, maybe when I went out to get the mail.”

“I'm sure she'll turn up.” Sean turned back to fussing with cords and wires.

This answer didn't suit Ginny, who went through the house, calling the cat's name over and over with an increasing amount of desperation. Ginny looked in every closet, every crawl space, under every piece of furniture, behind every door. No Noodles. She opened the front door and called out into the night, thinking that if the cat had run out, she'd be more than eager to run back inside to her safe, warm house, but the only answer was a car passing by, splashing up a puddle from the day's earlier rain.

“She's gone,” she told Sean in the living room, where he'd finally finished his project. “I can't find her anywhere.”

He looked up with a frown. “She'll turn up. Even if she ran outside—”

“I called for her outside. She didn't come.”

“Someone will find her.” Sean looked at the TV, then at her. She could see the struggle on his face, the desire to finish getting his new toy set up and the knowledge he should somehow comfort her.

At least he thought he should. Ginny wasn't interested in being comforted. She backed up a step when it looked like her husband meant to come and hold her. She wanted to find her cat. Not be woo-wooed and petted.

“She'll come home,” Sean said. “If she's outside, someone will find her, or she'll come home.”

The floor vibrated beneath Ginny's bare toes as the furnace kicked on. The curtains blew gently. Ginny took a breath, her hormone-enhanced sense of smell working hard. The faint scent of rot swirled around her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth and nose.

“What if she's not outside?”

“Then she's fine,” Sean soothed. He moved toward her but the cords tangled on his foot, and the television leashed him in place.

“No, no. I mean, what if she's in the house, but…trapped somewhere? Don't you smell that?” Ginny cried, shuddering. “Christ, Sean. Tell me you smell it.”

He took a long, deep breath. “I smell it. But it's hardly anything, honey. It's a mouse, like the guy said. Got stuck in the walls. It's not Noodles.”

Sean dropped the cords. This time, Ginny didn't move away when he came to hold her. She pressed herself against him, her eyes closed, as he rubbed her back. Her belly made a bigger distance between them than she was used to, really noticeable for the first time.

“We'll find her. I promise.”

She knew he couldn't promise anything of the sort, but she let him anyway.