Objects of My Affection (23 page)

“Let me see that for a sec, will you?”

I hand the book over and check my watch. It's not yet nine o'clock. Marva will still have time to cancel the services of Organize Me!, those lowlife interlopers.

Daniel slides to the floor, back against a box, and starts reading Marva's notes. I'm eager to get going, but it's only fair to give him time to look at the book if that's what he wants. I wouldn't have it if it weren't for him.

“Anything interesting?” I ask, gathering up my medieval skirts and taking a seat on the floor next to Daniel.

“It's strange. I figured these notes would be on the stories or the illustrations.”

“They're not? Then what is it?”

“At first glance I thought it seemed to be a diary of sorts—I was so excited. To have a chance to read the deepest, most private thoughts of Marva Meier Rios would be unbelievable. But this is … it's a bunch of lists. Or random ideas.”

I peer down the page he has open and read aloud what's scrawled down the side of the page. “ ‘Couch vs. bed. Bed's been done a million times—trite. Couch, might roll off. Don't want floor. Awkward.' Ew, do you suppose she's debating the best place to have sex?” That's nothing I want to picture.

“Beats me.” He flips a few pages and reads, “ ‘Need to get purple pantsuit altered. Have the blond girl handle. Fits oddly when lying down.'”

“She doesn't even know my name? I'm the blond girl to her?”

He absently pats my knee, absorbed in the book. “Maybe she wrote that when you first started.”

“I've seen the pantsuit she's referring to. She tried on outfits for me once. I can't imagine why she bothered since she never goes anywhere.”

“How can she? You haven't gotten her only pantsuit altered.” He flips to the back inside cover. “Now this is interesting …”

Before I can ask what, I hear the click of a door, followed by the
overhead light flipping on. A jolt of terror runs through me. I start to fly to my feet but Daniel's arms grab on to me, and he pulls me so we're scooted behind a wall of boxes. I hear a woman's voice from the other side of the room. “Jeez, it's freezing in here.”

A man answers, “I turned off the heat before we left. Didn't expect you'd make me come back here on a Friday night. I'll go kick it on.”

“Thanks, hon.”

I'm panicked that, even as still as I am, I'm trumpeting my whereabouts. Daniel's mouth is right at my ear. “Hide your face. While he's gone, we should make a run for it.”

I mouth my words back to him,
She's still here.

Daniel shrugs. Guess he figures we can outrun her. We quietly gather up our clothing, and we each get our car keys in our hands. He pulls the hood of the
Rocky
robe up, and I cover my face with the book. Then we leap to our feet and run to the window.

The woman gives a shout of surprise, but by that time I've already snatched up my muddy shoes and Daniel's shoving my skirts out behind me through the window. It's not raining anymore so I jump over my umbrella rather than take the time to mess with it.

“That must be Kathy, the owner!” Daniel huffs as we race around the building to our cars. “She's not following. I heard her calling for her husband.” She must have been terrified to confront Daniel and me by herself, looking menacing as we must have in our robe and long dress.

I throw myself into the car, fumbling with the keys. My breath is coming in jagged bursts. I start it up and pull out. Daniel is behind me as I tear out of the parking lot, hang a right onto the first street, and start driving randomly, to put as much distance as I can between my car and the warehouse.

Daniel flashes his brights at me after we've been driving for a few minutes, and I pull over into a gas station. When we get out of our cars, he's laughing. “Holy crap, can you believe that? I almost had a heart attack!”

“You and me both.” I lean against my door, finally letting relief flood in. “You think she recognized you?”

“They've never seen me; that was the problem. It's all been on the phone. I didn't feel like spending the night at Cook County while they figured out we're their clients. I hear that those strip searches aren't as much fun as they sound.”

“Mission accomplished. Now I need to return the book to Marva, and you and I are back in business.”

“Give it to me first. I want to take another look.”

I grab the book out of my car. “Not too long. It needs to be in her hands before she figures out life is more pleasant without me around.”

“No, it isn't,” he says, not glancing up from the book.

All right. That's enough of Daniel's being nice to me. I endured seven months of grieving that he left me, and now he wants to get sentimental on the very day I have moved on to someone else. Instead of addressing what he said—which would only dignify it and, worse, encourage more—I say, “You looking for anything in particular?”

“I've figured out why she was so worried about this book. Look.” He opens to the back inside cover, where she's squeezed a list in tiny letters.

HOW

Gun

Pro
: Efficient. Have one. Not typical for a woman, so more powerful a statement.

Con
: Messy.

Pills

Pro
: Like old times. No pain. Fun for a while.

Con
: Risk of vomiting or if don't take enough, possible vegetative state.

Hanging

Pro
: Visually exciting. Could get workers to set up noose (call it art project).

Con
: Not sure am the hanging type.

Asphyxiation

Pro
: Bag over head.

Con
: Bag over head.

Gas

Pro
: No pain. No mess.

Con
: Don't have car or garage. (Borrow blond girl's car?)

“Oh, for goodness' sake,” I say. “How hard is the name Lucy to remember?”

“You're missing the point.”

“Which is … ?”

“Think about it. All these notes—they're about getting her affairs in order. She has such a tight deadline for you to get the house cleaned. And a list of pros and cons for ways to die? It's obvious. Marva is planning to kill herself.”

Marva? Commit suicide? My first instinct is to deny it, but that's only because suicide is nothing I'd ever do. It's hard to imagine anyone considering it, especially with such calm preparation. As soon as Daniel points it out, though, it all makes sense. It certainly does finally answer the question about why she's cleaning out her house when she's never wanted to before.

“That's horrible,” I say.

“About as horrible as it gets.” Daniel snaps the book shut. “Let me keep this for a while. Study it. I'll bet there's something we can do to stop her. The more we know about her plans, the better chance we have.”

I can barely register what Daniel is saying, although it appears he's already formulating a plan of action. I'm still mired in the awfulness of it. Even as mean as Marva's been to me, I sure don't want to see her dead. Yet I am torn between finding it terribly sad, and downright infuriating. She has a
son.
Even if she doesn't want to live for herself, how could she do it to him?

“This whole thing makes me ill,” I say after a while, reluctantly, but prompted by seeing Daniel tuck the book under his arm a bit too
possessively for my comfort. “But it doesn't erase the fact that I need that book. It's the only way I'll get my job back.”

“So you're just going to pretend you don't know?”

He's looking at me in disgust. It's déjà vu, Daniel judging me because I'm not dealing with a problem the exact way he would.

“Look, I can't do anything about it right now. And I certainly can't do anything if I'm not working for her anymore. So I'll return the book. Marva is not going to kill herself tonight, or even this week. She has things to do. For starters, clearing out her house.”

“That brings up a whole other problem. If she's going to kill herself as soon as her house is in order, then you can't do it, Luce. She can't be allowed to finish the job.”

“If it's not me, it'll be somebody else. And, yes, it bothers me that I'll be a party to Marva committing suicide, but it's her decision to make. Not mine.”

“She's a creative genius. And someone you've gotten to know. It seems to me it ought to be worth a little effort on your part to save her life.”

“I never said I didn't care. It's just nothing I am willing to deal with this very minute.”

“It never is.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Forget it. Here, take the book. Get your job back and don't say a word. Pretend everything is fine and it will be, right? That's how it works?”

I grab the book and storm back to my car. “It's easy to be a hero when you're not the one whose livelihood is on the line. If I'm going to do anything, seems to me it'd help if I had a damned
job.
If I was in a position to
talk
to her instead of out on the streets.”

I'm furiously opening my door when Daniel says, “Wait. I'm sorry. You're right.”

The apology seems sincere enough that I pause.

He leans against his car. “It's not always easy. You. Me. Working together.”

Tell me about it. “I never asked you to come tonight. I'm lucky you did—I'd have never broken in on my own. Even with the book, there's no guarantee she'll take me back. But the sooner I get it there, the better my chances are. As we stand here arguing, the clock is ticking.”

Daniel nods, but then we spend another few minutes deciding the best way for me to proceed with Marva. I'm calm and confident by the time I pull away. As much as Daniel's hurt me in the past, I'm left with the annoying reminder of how when he and I were together on something (which is how it was for a long time before it wasn't), it was really, really good.

The best way to honor someone who's passed on is not by keeping their belongings, it's by keeping their memory alive in the way you live your life.

—Organizing expert Claudia Marx, as quoted in
Things Are Not People

I
s that my dress?” Marva doesn't seem so much angry as curious as to why I'd be wearing one of her costumes. She's in the mudroom—which means she'd have seen me if I'd snuck into the bungalow to change clothes. I was forced to gather my courage, along with my skirts, and march directly up to her.

“Here,” I say, handing her the book. “
Grimm's Fairy Tales.
Although I'm a fool to have bothered. It's not worth anything. There's writing all over it.”

That was part of the strategy I mapped out with Daniel: admit I'd seen the writing, but act as though I didn't look closely. Fool Marva
into believing her secret's safe. Otherwise, she might be tempted to hide the evidence, and I want to be able to study her notes in the book later when I have more time.

She nestles it protectively in the crook of her arm. “Some things are of value, even if they aren't worth money. You'd be wise to understand that lesson.”

“Then I'm delighted it's again in your possession. I'll see you in the morning.” I say it boldly, as if we'd agreed that surrendering the book guaranteed me my job. (That's also per advice from Daniel: “Asking for the job gives her the power. Take it as your right.”) I'll admit, the idea of playing a power game with Marva seems absurd. If this were Vegas, all money would be on her. “I'd prefer to start on the second floor if your knees are up to climbing the stairs. That's all for now. Good night.”

She doesn't protest—plus she doesn't pull out a gun and shoot me—both of which I take as positive signs.

“By the way,” I say before leaving, with as placid an expression as I can muster, “if you get a call about a break-in at the warehouse that may have occurred this evening, there's no need for concern. Only a few items were taken … of little to no value. All but one will be returned.”

To my surprise, Marva throws back her head and erupts into a bark of laughter. I've never heard her laugh before—not heartily like this. “Princess,” she says, her expression so lit up that I don't even mind the derisive nickname, “I didn't think you had it in you.”

H
ello?” My mom sounds breathless as she answers her phone.

“Am I calling too early?” Although it was all I could do to blow up the mattress last night before passing out asleep on it, I woke before dawn. First, I treated myself to a lovely flashback of making out with Niko, the delicious heat and weight of his body against mine as we kissed. But then my bickering with Daniel stole into the picture, followed by the idea of Marva's potential suicide—the last of which
obliterated any daydreams I might have wanted to entertain myself with.