Page 36 of Dizzy

With that in mind, I slip into the master suite. I’ve peeked into the two other rooms on this level. Both obviously belong to the boys. Or a herd of feral raccoons going by the amount of crap on the floors.

This room is—bipolar.

The theme is “beach.” That’s what it says in block letters over the king-sized bed.This Way To the Beach. And there’s an arrow pointing what I assume is due east.

There’s a teal accent wall, teal curtains, and a teal bench with teal cushions at the end of the bed. There are huge glass vases filled with shells on both nightstands.

Then it gets weird. There’s an armoire—white wood with flip-flop decals on the side—and a wide, low dresser with a mirror. On top of the dresser are a drop cloth and a dismantled mechanism of some kind. Maybe an engine. It’s old and rusty. There’s a bottle of vinegar, baking soda, steel wool, and a bunch of rags.

And then, between the bed and the door, there are two stacks of cinderblocks with a piece of wood laid across, holding a big screen TV. Underneath are a mess of cables and game consoles. And empty beer bottles.

This must be where the magic happens.

I hear small feet pound somewhere downstairs, and I startle. Enough sightseeing. I need cash. Clothes.

I start with the drawers. In the bedside table, he’s got the usual. Lube, lighter, a screwdriver, no cash. There’s some jewelry in a tray in the dresser, but it all looks like cheap, costume shit. The armoire’s a bust. It’s mostly empty. There’s a laundry basket next to it with folded clothes. And another laundry basket resting on top with more clothes, not folded.

I check the closet. It’s stuffed full with plastic tubs and boxes labeled 12-18 months, 2T-3T. There’re also a ton of women’s dresses and skirts and blouses. The shoe cubbies are empty, though.

Creepy.

Why didn’t Dizzy’s ex take her clothes? I check out the dresser drawers. No cash. Most of these drawers are empty, but there’s still a whole bunch of yoga pants, T-shirts, and sweaters. I grab a pair of black leggings and a bright pink cable-knit sweater. The leggings are so loose I tie a knot at the waist. The sweater comes down to my knees.

It’s weird wearing a strange woman’s clothes, but it feels amazing to get out of that filthy shirt and shorts.

And honestly, how is it different from hand-me-downs? Probably ninety percent of my clothes have gone through at least Carol and Dee.

Now, if I were cash, where would I be? I go to the bed, wedge my hands under the mattress and lift.

Behind me, a throat clears.

I drop the mattress on my fingers and yelp.

Dizzy’s standing in the doorway. He fills it, wall-to-wall-to-ceiling. He’s wiping his hands with a rag.

“Lookin’ for something?”

“The way to the beach? Is it, ah, that way?” I point east.

His lip twitches. I can breathe again.

“Try again.” He tucks the rag in his pocket. His shirt’s rolled up, exposing muscular, veined forearms. What would they feel like? To wrap my hands around them? Him propped over me?

I shift, squeezing my legs together. What were we talking about? Oh. What I’m up to.

“Would you believe I tried to take a nap? Couldn’t sleep. There was something under there. A pea, maybe? I was just checkin’.”

Both corners of his lips curl up. “I keep cash in the safe. Safe’s in the basement.”

“What’s the combination?” Hey, worth a try, right?

He chuckles. “You lookin’ to run away so soon?”

“Not flat broke, I’m not.”

He makes no move to come into the room. Or leave. He’s watching me closely, his eyes darkening. Occasionally, they flick to the bed. Oh.

My body comes alive. Flutters. Prickles. Shivers. All of it.

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