“Hey, hey, hey,” he said. “It’s all right. I’m here. Everything will be all right. The cavalry has arrived.”
I laughed and looked up at him. That was just what he would say.
But then he popped like a bubble and was gone.
“Papa!” I screamed. “Papa, where are you?”
I ran through all of the downstairs rooms and then hurried back upstairs. When I looked into his and Mama’s bedroom, I saw him lying there just as he was in the funeral parlor. I put my hands on my temples and screamed and screamed until . . . I woke up, gasping.
It was nearly midnight. After a few moments, I was calm again, realizing I had been dreaming. I fell back onto my pillow and looked up at the dark ceiling. I vaguely thought about not having eaten anything, but I really didn’t have any appetite. The best thing to do, I told myself, was try to get back to sleep, get up as early as I could, and hurry back to the hospital.
It was something easier thought of than done. Everything came rushing back at me, but I was too tired to cry anymore. Reliving the day finally tired me out again, and I did fall asleep. I woke up with a start, having slept longer than I intended, and then I rushed about, picking up my clothes, dressing, having a glass of juice and a piece of toast with jam because I knew Mama would be upset if I didn’t eat anything first. It was probably going to be her first question when she saw me, I thought. I washed and dried my glass and dish, then I started for the front door.
Before I reached it, the buzzer sounded, and I stopped like someone instantly frozen. My dream returned. Was Papa out there? The buzzer went off again and again. With my legs trembling, I stepped forward and opened the door. Roxy was standing there in a jacket and hood. She was in jeans and a pair of nearly knee-high black boots.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Don’t be an ass,” she said, stepping in and closing the door behind her. She didn’t look at me, however. She stood gazing at the entry and the hallway. “I never even dreamed I would be back in this house.”
I folded my arms over my breasts and leaned against the wall.
She glanced at me and lowered her hood. “I came around last night and pressed the buzzer for almost ten minutes.”
“I didn’t hear it,” I said, and thought that probably was responsible for my dream about Papa.
“You have any coffee?”
“I didn’t make any, but we have it. Why?”
“I’m knocking on doors in the neighborhood taking a poll. Why do you think?”
She walked to the kitchen.
“She always kept her kitchen immaculate. I was afraid to eat anything, worried I’d drop a crumb or something.”
“She’s not like that.”
“Maybe now,” she said.
“Why didn’t you meet me yesterday?” I demanded.
She ignored me and looked into the closets. “Amazing,” she said. “Everything is exactly where it was when I was here.” She turned to me. “I remember every little detail of this place, because the general insisted on everything in his life being organized. Did he bounce quarters off your sheets to see if you made your bed properly?”
“Stop it, and stop calling him the general.”
She stared at me a moment and then hooked up the coffeepot and began to prepare the coffee. She spoke as she worked. “Unfortunately, my life isn’t all that much freer now. I simply have a different general running things, and just like here, there’s little or no room for any opposition or refusals. You get your orders, and you follow them or else.”
“What orders? What are you talking about?”
She turned after she had the coffee started. “The people I work for don’t want to hear about sick mothers, dead fathers, and destitute sisters.”
“I’m not destitute.” I sat at the kitchenette.
She took out the coffee cups and saucers and then the milk. “What do you have to eat? Any buns, bagels, muffins?”
“There are muffins in that big bowl,” I said, nodding at it.
She took two out and put them on a dish. Then she looked into the refrigerator again. “I should have some juice.”