"When I was a child. I thought as a child. I understood as a child. Steven. Now that I am a woman. I have p
ut away childish things."
Howard roared.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Steven cried, his face twisted in a grimace of frustration.
"It's from the Bible, a paraphrase," Howard explained. "It means it's time to grow up. Steven. Very good. Cinnamon."
She nodded. but with a look that said, "I don't need your compliments."
"You're all a bunch of deadheads," Steven declared, disgusted, and stood and left the dining room.
"Hey, you didn't stay to do your share of cleanup," Howard called after him.
"Let him go. Howard. It's better," Cinnamon advised, her eyes taking on that narrow glint that said. "Don't disagree or else."
Howard nodded.
"Right," he said. "Okay, let's get to it." "You're making a mistake," Rose told him.
"We're making a mistake," he corrected, with his smile as punctuation.
Quietly, we went about our duties and then all walked upstairs. It was practically a funeral
procession. We met in my room before we met with Howard at nine.
"We'll get in and out of there as quickly as we can." Cinnamon began. "Don't do too much talking and certainly don't start her on her music," she told Ice. "Maybe he'll get bored with it and that will be that,"
"I feel like we're betraying her in some way," Rose muttered, "exposing her to him. I mean."
Ice nodded.
"It might be worse for her if we don't," Cinnamon suggested.
As the clock's hands drew closer and closer toward nine. I felt my stomach burning inside as if the ends of my nerve wires were sparking. The others looked just as tense. Nothing anyone said or did could take away the anxiety. Almost as soon as the bic, hand kissed the twelve, there was a gentle rap on my door. We looked at each other, and then Cinnamon opened the door.
Howard was there, in a black turtleneck and black pants. "What do you think this is, a spy mission?" she teased.
"In a way, I suppose it is. Always dress for the part you're about to play in life," he said.
"Give us a break, will you. Howard? Let up on the theatrics for just a few hours. Girls."
We followed her out and slipped down the corridor as quietly as possible past Steven's closed door, to the stairway leading up to the costume room. No one spoke. Howard led the way. At night the small corridor looked even more gloomy and desolate, the small light barely casting a shadow on the wall. Howard opened the costume room door as quietly as he could. It squeaked nevertheless, and although it was not a very loud sound, to us it seemed like a fire alarm.
When the door was completely open, we waited a moment to see if anyone-- Ms. Fairchild, especially-- had heard anything. There were no sounds coming from below. The house held its breath as tightly as we held ours. Howard smiled, nodded, and continued into the room.
We filed past the costumes and reached the door. Howard lifted the dresses away from it and turned the key in the lock to open the first door. He looked at Cinnamon, who shook her head as one final appeal to him to retreat. Smirking. Howard opened the second door, which took us into the living room of Gerta's apartment. Howard closed the door behind us and we all stood for a moment. Gerta wasn't in the living room.
"That's her bedroom?" he asked, nodding at the door.
"Yes," Cinnamon said. "She might be asleep."
He moved slowly, quietly to the door, looked in, and then turned to us and shook his head.
"What?" Cinnamon asked in a loud whisper.
"She's not there," he said, and we all moved up beside him and looked at the empty bed.