Page 93 of The Quiet Tenant

“I’ll figure something out.”

There’s a brief silence. Nothing to add.

I begin to untie his scarf, but he stops me with a raised hand. “I’ll get it back another day.”

There’s no time to ask if he’s sure, to assure him I won’t be outsidelong. A wave goodbye and he disappears from the alley, his duffel clicking at his side.

Back in the restaurant, Yuwanda grabs me on my way to the bar.

“Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

She nudges me. Playful, happy, in a way that eludes me.

I should mirror her, be more like her. There is so much I have to learn.

I nudge her back. She gets a smile out of me, even as I tell her to stop it.

CHAPTER 62

The woman in the house

Outside, a door opens and snaps shut. He’s out of the truck.

You haven’t moved this fast in five years. A final glance to make sure everything is back where you found it. Switch the light off, then carelessly, recklessly bound up the stairs. Turn the button at the back of the doorknob. Shut the door behind you, make sure it’s locked. Curl up on the couch just as the keyhole starts rattling. OpenLoves Music, Loves to Danceat a random page.

He steps in.I was reading, just reading. Definitely not snooping. I definitely wasn’t about to plunge my hands into your chest cavity and pull out your beating heart.

He hangs the key to his truck by the door, surveys the room. You hold your breath so he won’t notice your rib cage expanding and collapsing, your body recuperating from your sprint up the stairs.

A frown.What? What is it?He looks you up and down.Shit.You forgot to take a look at yourself on the way back up. You were so focused on leaving the basement in pristine condition that you neglected to check for red blotches on your skin, a telltale smear of dust on your forehead.

Shitshitshitshitshit.

“She upstairs?” he asks. You tell him yes. In a low voice, like you’re on the same team and his daughter is the outsider, you add: “She spent most of the afternoon down here, but she went to her room a little while ago.”

His eyes dart around the living room. There is a heaviness to him, like gravity is keeping him tethered to the ground more firmly than usual.

He takes a step toward the door under the staircase.

Something has happened. He needs to go downstairs. He needs silence, a place that belongs only to him. He needs the space you invaded just minutes ago.

He can’t go. Not yet. It’s too soon. If he goes, he’ll know. He’ll see your ghost in the room, your shadow on the walls.

“I can help with dinner,” you say.

He looks at you like he’s forgotten what dinner means, then comes back to reality.

Tonight’s prep work consists only in reheating two cans of chili. No cornbread, no butter. He calls for Cecilia. She skips the TV and settles in to eat quietly, diligently, like she knows this is one of those nights she needs to stay out of his way.

This man, shaken, unnerved. Something has happened that he didn’t plan for. The world slipped out of his control, and now he’s wrestling it back, adjusting his grip.

—

LATER, WHEN HEslides into your room, he’s somber. You kick your hoodie under the bed, pray he doesn’t notice the safety pin still tucked in your pocket, next to his daughter’s pen. Tomorrow, when he’s gone, you will hide them in the chest of drawers. He has never looked there, and you have to believe he’s not about to start.

If he does, you will lie. You will say you don’t know anything about the chest of drawers or the things it might be concealing.

He doesn’t notice. This man has things to worry about other than the secrets lurking in your pockets. Tonight, his hands linger around your neck. He’s all nails and teeth and bones, all tough parts digging into your flesh. A soldier going to war. A man with something to prove.

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