“ ’Night, Lorelei,” he said so softly it was almost mouthed.
I opened the door and entered. He stood there looking in at me as if he couldn’t turn away until I closed it. I smiled at him, but when my eyes lifted just a little, I was sure I saw someone standing across the street in the shadow cast by a large maple tree. The silhouette was darker, maybe formed out of the shadows themselves. It looked like the man in the Underground dance club. I was tempted to step out again and approach him, confront him and show him defiance. As if he sensed it, he pulled back into the darkness and was gone.
Liam looked a little confused at the way I had been staring past him. He turned to look. When he turned back, I shook my head and closed the door. I certainly wouldn’t say anything to him about it, but I didn’t go to the stairway. I went to one of the front windows instead and watched until he got into his car, backed up, and drove safely away.
I shouldn’t have agreed to the date, I thought almost immediately. It was too soon. I wasn’t sure. I walked up, thinking that I might call him first thing in the morning and come up with an excuse to cancel. However, when I got into my room, calmed down, and prepared for bed, I had second thoughts about my second thoughts. Was that man really out there? Was I imagining it? Perhaps it was just the shape of branches that suggested
someone, but no one was there. Maybe the man who approached Julia at the bar was really someone whose mother Julia had helped in the ER. Was my paranoia running rampant? I had to control it. How could I hope to have any sort of life if I didn’t try?
Naturally, I didn’t get much sleep. So many visions from my youth recurred and interchanged with what I had seen or imagined now. Twice I woke up because I thought someone was standing in the shadows looking down at me. I could feel my body harden, my muscles tense up. In moments, like a ghostly shadow, it disappeared. I fell into a deep sleep just before morning and slept much later than I had until then. I was sleeping so late, in fact, that Jim took it upon himself to knock gently on my door to ask if I was all right. He woke me. When I looked at the clock, I sat up quickly.
“What?” I called.
“Are you okay? Everyone was just wondering. We all had breakfast and—”
“I’m fine. I’m not hungry. Tell them not to worry about me,” I called. I could feel him continuing to stand there, probably trying to think of something else to say. A wave of impatience and intolerance washed over me. I rose, threw the coverlet around myself, and jerked open the door. “What?” I asked. He stepped back, surprised.
“Nothing, I . . . just . . . worried.”
“I’m fine, Jim. Thank you for your concern. I’ll be down soon.”
He nodded, looked shyly at me again, and then hurried away. I showered, dressed, and went downstairs. Mrs. Winston and Mrs. McGruder were still in the dining room. Both looked up when I stepped in.
“Everything all right, dear?” Mrs. Winston asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
“We kept some hot oatmeal on the stove for you,” Mrs. McGruder said.
“I just need some coffee, if that’s still available.”
“Oh, of course it is, but you should put something in your stomach,” she said, and went into the kitchen.
Mrs. Winston looked at me askance when I sat at the table. “I happened to be up late last night and glanced out my window when I heard a car pull into my driveway. I couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t my great-niece, Julia, who brought you home. Wasn’t that Liam?”
“Yes,” I said.
She nodded, grimacing as though she had figured out the entire plan. “Did Julia take you out in order to . . . what do you young people say . . . set you up with Liam?”
“No,” I said, smiling. “We happened to meet him where we were.”
“Happened?” she said, still skeptical.
“Julia assured me that wasn’t her intention.”
She said “um” with closed lips and skeptical eyes. Mrs. McGruder brought in my coffee and a small bowl of oatmeal.
“Just in case,” she said.
“It’s true, Amelia. We just happened to meet, and he offered to take me home,” I said. I thought it was best not to mention Julia’s drinking too much.
The two women looked at each other.
“I don’t mean to be discouraging, dear,” Mrs. Winston said, “and I hate talking down my own flesh and blood, but my great-nephew doesn’t have an admirable track record with young women.”
“Yes, I know about all that.”
“You do?” Mrs. McGruder said, her eyebrows looking as if they had just woken up on her face.