Page 95 of The Housekeeper

“Thank God. I almost had a heart attack. Look at this,” she said, holding up a pair of black dress pants. “Can you believe it? They’re Saint Laurent.”

I smiled, picturing our mother in those pants, remembering when she was healthy enough to wear them. “Please don’t try them on,” I said. But it was already too late. The Chanel skirt lay on the floor. The Saint Laurent pants were halfway up her hips.

“If only she had any Victoria Beckham.”

“Tracy, enough! We have to get out of here.”

“Oh, all right. I don’t see anything else that I want anyway.” She grabbed her winter jacket and the clothes she was taking, but instead of heading for the stairs, she crossed directly across the hall into our father’s room.

“Tracy, for God’s sake…”

“I told you that Elyse was sleeping up here now,” she said, ignoring my warning as she tossed the clothes she was holding on to my father’s bed and opened the closet. “Just a quick peek. The jewelry’s got to be somewhere. Oh, my God. Look! A green silk shirt! What are you—clairvoyant or something?”

“It was Mom’s,” I said, feeling vaguely ill at the sight of Elyse’s clothes hanging next to my father’s.

“And now it looks like it’s Elyse’s,” Tracy said. “Can’t very well takethatwithout her knowing. And the rest of this stuff’s a little old lady-ish, even for you. No offense meant.”

“None taken. Now can we please leave?”

“Just a minute.” She crossed to the dresser and opened its top drawer. “Oh, my God.”

“What is it?”

“I think I’m gonna be sick!”

“Why? What’s in there?”

Tracy spun toward me. In her hands was a black lace corset, complete with dangling garters.

“Wow,” I said. Then again, when no other words would come. “Wow.”

“That’s not all. I’m pretty sure I saw a pair of black fishnet stockings.”

“Don’t tell me that.”

“Who do you think wears them?” Tracy asked. “Elyse or Dad?”

And suddenly we were both doubled over, shrieking with laughter. Great belly laughs that traveled from the bottoms of our feet to the tops of our heads.

“Oh, God. For sure I’m going to be sick,” she hollered between hoots.

“I don’t think I can stand up straight,” I cried, my arms around my waist as I tried pushing myself back into an upright position. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so hard. I was literally gasping for air.

It was between gasps that I heard it.

“Ssh!” I said, the laughter freezing in my throat.

“What?”

“I heard a car door slam.”

“Are you sure? You were wrong last time.”

“I’m sure.” I didn’t bother reminding her that she was the one who thought she’d heard something before. “What do we do?”

Tracy grabbed her jacket from the bed and put it on, stuffing the clothes she’d taken inside it. “Wait,” she said, although I hadn’t moved. “It can’t be them. Dad’s car’s in the garage, remember?”

“Right.”

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