Mr. Vronsky’s efforts had left him shaking, which she could have warned him about if he’d asked. She helped him into the living room so he could watch his favorite television show. She sat beside him on the sofa and apologized for losing her temper. Even though he’d provoked her, she swore it wouldn’t happen again. She was fond of him, she said. He needed her and she needed him.
“Without me, you’d have to go into a nursing home. How would you like that?”
“I want to stay here.”
“Of course you do and I’ll do everything I can to help you. But no complaints. You must never talk to anyone about me.”
“I won’t.”
“That young woman who comes over. You know who I mean?”
The old man nodded, not meeting her gaze.
“If you complain to her-if you communicate in any way-Tiny will hurt her badly and the fault will be yours. Do you understand?”
“I won’t say anything,” he whispered.
“That’s a good boy,” she said. “Now that you have me, you’ll never be lonely again.”
He seemed grateful and humble in the wake of her kindness. When his show was over, as a reward for his good behavior, she fondled him in a way that would help him relax. Afterward, he was docile and she sensed the bond that was building between them. Their physical relationship was new, but she’d bided her time, easing him into it day by day. He’d been raised a gentleman and he’d never admit what she did to him.
She’d been smart to get rid of the volunteer from Meals on Wheels. She didn’t like leaving the back door unlocked, and she loathed Mrs. Dell, with her fancy salon hairdo and pricey mink coat. She was totally absorbed in her do-gooder image of herself. If Solana was present when she arrived with the meals, she might offer a pleasantry, but there was no conversation between them, and the woman seldom thought to ask about the old man. Solana had put a halt to the service nonetheless. There was always the chance that she might notice something and report it to someone else.
Monday morning, Solana gave the old man a double dose of his “medicine.” He’d sleep for two solid hours, which would give her plenty of time to drive to Colgate and back. She needed to get home to see what Tiny was up to. She couldn’t quite count on him to stay put. She thought she’d bring him back to the house again so she’d have help getting Gus in and out of the shower when he woke. As long as she kept a close eye on the old man, it was probably a smart move to let him have visitors now and again. Before she left, she unplugged the phone in his room and stood by the bed, watching him. As soon as his breathing was deep and regular, she put on her coat and picked up her purse and car keys.
As she was turning the thumb lock, she heard the muffled slam of a car door and she stopped in her tracks. An engine started up. She stepped over to the window and stood to one side with her back to the wall. From that angle, she had a truncated view of the street, but she wouldn’t be visible to anyone outside. When the blue Mustang passed, she saw Kinsey lean forward, craning as though to get one more look at the house. What was so interesting?
For the second time, Solana turned and surveyed the room. Her gaze brushed past the desk and came back. There was something different. She crossed the room and stood there, studying the cubbyholes, trying to figure out what had changed. She pulled out the packet of bankbooks and suffered a painful stab of surprise. Someone had taken off the rubber band and removed the passbook for one of the savings accounts. In addition, the checkbook seemed thinner, and when she opened it she realized the register was gone. Oh dear god. Her gaze returned to the window. Two people had been in the house during the past week-Mr. Pitts and the infuriating Kinsey Millhone. One of them had done this, but how had they managed it and when?
As she unlocked the door to her apartment, she knew the place was empty. The television set was dark. The kitchen counters were littered with the dregs of his meals over the past few days. She moved down the short hall to Tiny’s room and flipped on the overhead light. She was a neat person by nature and she was always appalled by his slovenly ways. She’d badgered him incessantly as a boy, forcing him to tidy his room before she allowed him to do anything else. By the time he reached his teens, he outweighed her by 150 pounds and all the nagging in the world had no effect. He’d sit and look at her with those big cow eyes, but what she said and what she did had no power to move him. She could beat on him all day long, but it only made him laugh. Next to him, she was small and ineffectual. She’d given up her attempts to change or control him. The best she could hope for now was to confine his messes to the home front. Unfortunately, now that she was spending most of her time with the old man, Tiny felt free to live any way he pleased. She checked the bathroom they shared and was annoyed at the sight of his bloody handprints. Sometimes he liked to punch and cut, and he wasn’t always good at cleaning up after himself.
She went into her room and spent a few minutes picking up the panty hose, underwear, and discarded clothing strewn on the floor. Some of the flashier garments she hadn’t had occasion to wear in years. Having tidied up, she gathered the articles she wanted to take with her to the old man’s house. She was beginning to like it there and she was determined to stay. She’d put the machinery in motion, as she had twice before in her search for permanence. She wanted to set down roots. She wanted to feel free, without having to look over her shoulder to see if the law was catching up with her. She was tired of living like a gypsy, always on the move. She had a fleeting fantasy of life without anyone getting in her way. Mr. Vronsky was tiresome, but he had his uses-for now, at any rate. Her current problem was rounding up Tiny, her Tonto, who usually didn’t go far by day. If he disappeared after supper, there was no point in wondering where he’d gone or what he was up to.
She locked the apartment and returned to her car, prepared to circle the neighborhood in search of him. There was a service station with an auto-repair garage where he liked to hang out. Something about the smell of hot metal and grease appealed to him. Also the car wash next door. He liked watching the dirty vehicles go in the one end and come out the other end, clean and dripping with water. He could stand for an hour, looking at the swinging lengths of canvas that swished against the sides and over the tops of the cars. He loved the twisted worms of soap that shot out on the tires and the hot wax spray that made the finish shiny. For a while, she hoped he’d get a job there, wiping the beads of moisture from cars at the end of the run. That was something he could do. Tiny thought about life in concrete terms: what was happening right now, what was set in front of him, what he wanted to eat, what warranted a scolding, what netted him a swat. His view of the world was flat and uncomplicated. He was a man with no curiosity and no personal insight. He had no ambition and no urge to do anything except fritter away his time watching television at home, and then doing whatever he did when he went out. Better not to pursue that issue, she thought.
Solana drove the streets slowly and kept a sharp eye out for the bulk of him. He’d be wearing his denim jacket. He’d have his black watch cap pulled down around his ears. No sign of him at the service station. No sign of him at the car wash. She finally spotted him coming out of the corner minimart. She’d passed the mom-and-pop market before, but he must have been inside, buying cigarettes and candy bars with the money she’d left for him. She slowed to a stop and honked. He lumbered over to the car and got in on the passenger’s side, slamming the door. He was smoking a cigarette and chewing gum. What a bumpkin he was.