“So even when I was little, if I did something he didn’t like, he’d say I was the stupid kid from the stupid girl and not his. His kid wouldn’t be so dumb.”
I shook my head. I had finished my sandwich and my drink. And then I thought of something he’d like to hear. “Maybe he was right. It sounds like it’s the other way around, though. He wasn’t your father.”
“What?”
“He was too dumb to be your father. You were so much smarter than he was.”
He stared at me, and I held my breath. I could see he wasn’t sure whether he liked what I had said. I realized that I was also saying his mother was too stupid to know she didn’t bring home her own child, which I couldn’t imagine any mother doing.
However, his face broke into a wide smile, and he leaned back and laughed. Then he slapped the table.
“I shoulda known enough to tell him that. That’s a good zinger. Damn. I shoulda had you here long ago.”
“I’d have been too young,” I said. I was too young now, but I didn’t add that. Instead, I rose and took my dish and his to the sink.
He sat there finishing his beer and mumbling about the good zinger. He wished his father was still alive so he could stick it to him. “You and I would be some team,” he said. “We’d show him.”
My gaze went to the door. I was almost positive that he hadn’t locked it this time. Could I rush to it now and get up the stairs and out before he caught me? I felt stronger, having rested and eaten, but I would have to do it barefoot, taking off his slippers and running, maybe over gravel or rocks. I’d endure any pain to get away.
My heart was pounding so hard that I feared I might faint before I reached the door. I turned off the water and picked up the dish towel, keeping my eyes on the door. It wasn’t locked. In fact, it looked slightly open. I felt sure I could leap up the stairs, maybe even before he reached the door himself. I was worried again that I could get lost upstairs, not having seen any of it when he had brought me here, but the chances were good that I’d spot the front door quickly. Perhaps one of the infrequent cars would be going by on the road below. Someone would see me running frantically and stop to help me. I’d be saved.
I put the plate down, and then, just as I was about to lunge at the door, he put his arms around my waist and drew me back against his chest so he could kiss me on the top of my head. I hadn’t heard him get up. I had been too lost in my own thoughts, but now I realized that he surely would have caught me trying to escape if I had lunged for the door.
His hand opened and rose toward my face. In his palm was a woman’s watch. “This,” he said, “was my mother’s, and now it’s yours.” He gestured for me to take it, so I did. Then he plucked it from my fingers and put it on my wrist. “That’s a real tiny diamond over the twelve, you know. This watch is about thirty years old, rose gold. See how well she kept it? My father once tried to hock it, but she stopped him. She threatened him with a meat knife, and he knew she meant business, so he gave it back to her, and from then on, she kept it hidden. Besides her, only I knew where it was. She showed me in case something happened to her. She said, ‘You give it to the woman you marry.’?”
He stepped back.
“So what do you think?” he asked.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“Consider my mother gave it to you, not me. Take good care of it,” he warned. “To me, it’s priceless.”
I nodded.
“Well,” he said, slapping his hands together. “I’ll clear off the rest of the table, and we’ll go over the catalogues now, okay?”
“Yes,” I said, and returned to the table, my gaze returning to the partially open door as I sat. I should have moved faster. Now it was too late.
The watch read 1:34. Maybe I was better off not knowing the time, I thought. That way, I wouldn’t be looking at the minutes and hours and wishing they’d move faster. I couldn’t stop believing that my rescue was coming. If I did, I might as well be dead, I thought.
I opened one of the carpet catalogues and began slowly to peruse the samples.
“A tightly woven rug might work better down here,” I said, running my fingers over a sample. “It’ll be easier to keep clean. Mr. Moccasin sheds hair. We’ll need to vacuum all the time, and if the padding is thick, it will feel soft enough.”
He nodded, looking a little impressed.
“We won’t choose curtains until we choose the carpet color, of course,” I said. “Everything should coordinate. We might want to paint where there’s no paneling and rethink the colors in the bathroom.”
His eyes widened even more. “Right, right. Good. I didn’t think of that.”
“Of course, I don’t know anything about doing this yourself. Nobody in my family is handy that way.”
“Oh, I do. I’ve done it for many people.” He looked around. “The room is a good size, twenty-five by seventy. I know just how many square feet we’ll need. I’ve got all the tools. I even have knee pads for us both. We’ll work side by side. We’ll clean the subfloor first, see, to make it smooth, and then we’ll install tackless strips and the carpet pad, a good thick one like you say. I’ll do the trimming and notch the corners. I’ll glue the seams, stretch the carpet using something called a binder bar, and then do the finishing touches.”
“You do know a lot about it. Is that what you do for a living?” I asked.
“I’m an all-around tradesman. I do electrical work, too, got a license and all. And plumbing. I’ve even done some roofing lately. Didn’t think you had such a smart guy, huh?” he said, leaning back proudly.