?Do you want to??
?Want to what??
?Sleep some more??
?I?m going to fix some tea.?
?Maybe neither one of us got enough sleep,? Nick said, stifling a yawn. ?It?s only six-twenty. We could take a little nap. Later, we can go out for breakfast. Want to do that??
?My aerobics class is at seven-thirty.?
?Better not miss the aerobics. That?s important. They let men in there? I could use that. Jumping up and down and sweatin? to the golden oldies or whatever.? He stiffened his fingers and jabbed them against the softness of his stomach. Then he did it again, harder.
She gave him a curious look and filled a pan with water and placed it on the gas burner. ?Sure you don?t want some oatmeal??
?I?m starting a diet. I need to reform myself physically, maybe get plastic surgery while I?m at it.?
Nick went upstairs and shaved and brushed his teeth and got fully dressed, putting on a tie and a white shirt, more as a statement of independence from his sexual and emotional need than as preparation to go to work at his restaurant, which didn?t open until eleven. He went back downstairs, deliberately walking through the kitchen, pulling a carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator, sucking his teeth, whistling a tune, ignoring Esther?s presence.
?Where are you going?? she said.
?Downstairs and pay some bills. While there?s still money in the bank for me to pay the bills. Tell the kids I?ll drive them to the pool later.?
?What?s with the attitude?? she asked.
?The flower beds smell like litter boxes with fish buried in them. We need to load the weed sprayer with Lysol and douche all the beds.?
?Listen to you. You see the paper? A whole family is killed, and you?re talking about how the garden smells. Count your blessings. Why the dirty mouth in your own kitchen? Show a little respect.?
Nick squeezed the heels of his hands against his temples and went down the half-flight of stairs into the glacial coldness of his office. He sat behind his desk in the darkness and planted his forehead on the desk blotter, the gold tie hanging from his throat like an ear of boiled corn, his flaccid arms like rolls of bread dough at his sides. He banged his head up and down on the blotter.
?I couldn?t help but hear y?all talking. Maybe you could take a page from the papists. Celibacy probably has its moments,? a voice said from the darkness.
?Jesus Christ!? Nick said, his head jerking up.
?Thought we should go over a few things.?
?I had the alarm on. How?d you get in?? Nick said, focusing on the man who sat in the stuffed leather chair, a pair of walking canes propped across his shoe tops.
?Through the side door yonder. I came in before y?all went to bed. Fact is, I browsed two or three of your books and took a little nap here in the chair and used your bathroom. You need to tidy up in there. I had to dig clean hand towels out of the closet.?
Nick picked up the phone receiver, the dial tone filling the room.
?I came here to save your life and the lives of your wife and children,? Preacher said. ?If I were here for another reason Well, we don?t even need to talk about that. Put the phone down and stop making an ass of yourself.?
Nick replaced the receiver in the cradle. The back of his hand looked strangely white and soft, cupped around the blackness of the receiver. ?Is it money??
?I say something on
ce, and I don?t repeat it. You?re not deaf, and you?re not lacking in intelligence. If you pretend to be either one, I?m going to leave. Then your family?s fate is on you, not me.?
Nick?s fingers were trembling on top of the desk blotter. ?It?s about Artie Rooney and the Asian girls, isn?t it? Were you the shooter? Hugo said the shooter was a religious nutcase. That?s you, right??
Preacher?s face remained impassive, his greased hair combed back neatly, his forehead shiny in the gloom. ?Rooney is going to have you and Mrs. Dolan killed, and maybe your children, too. If the shooter can get in close, he wants your wife shot in the mouth. He also plans to have me killed. That gives us a lot of commonalities. But you say the word, and I?ll be gone.?
Nick felt his mouth drying up, his eyes watering, his rectum constricting with fear and angst.
?Are you going to get emotional on me?? Preacher asked.