The house waited for me, silent and dim, perfectly clean.

Angel hadn't been out to the house in a while. She looked around, a curious expression on her narrow face. She moved down the hall with her quiet grace, looking from side to side like a cat exploring unfamiliar territory.

"Geez," she said finally, "I want to kick the walls just to make a scuff mark. How can you live like this?"

"I don't know how to live any other way," I said. And it was the first time that way struck me as odd. I stood in the middle of the long hall that runs from the front door and past the stairs down to a closet door, looked to the left into the formal living room, and I felt weirdly isolated. I stood, in my orange knit dress, feeling the coolness of the house, the shadows cast by the bright morning sun streaming in the windows, the sudden lack of contrast when clouds floated across the sun. I felt time passing.

"Do you ever have company?" she asked.

"No. At least, very seldom. But you know," I said, pondering this idea through, "that's not actually my fault. People don't come to see me. Even when I say, ‘Come by and see me,' they don't."

"You need to move back into town," Angel said, her voice flat and definite.

I gaped at her. "Like that would be easy! Like moving isn't incredibly stressful!"

She cocked her head, her blond braid trailing to one side.

"Is living like this relaxing? This place is a tomb."

I stared at her, shocked.

She was absolutely right.

It was the second revelatory moment I'd had in two days.

"I would help," she offered. "I could bring Joan's playpen and set it up, and she'd be good for a while."

"But this house," I said, feeling my tears spring up. "I was so happy here. Martin bought it for me."

"You think Martin would like you being here by yourself? You think Martin would ever live in a place this... dead?"

That cut me to the quick. Martin had surrounded himself with energy, with projects, with life. I felt instantly that I had failed him, yet again.

"You didn't die with Martin," Angel said brutally.

I gasped in surprise at the way her thought chimed in on what I was thinking. "This house has so many memories," I said feebly.

"You have the memories inside you. This house is stifling you. It's too big, it's out of the way, and it's... unwelcoming."

"Enough," I said.

Wisely, Angel did keep silent. We went to the kitchen, and I got out two glasses and filled them with ice while Angel got the pitcher of tea out of the refrigerator. Angel poured, and I put a package of Sweet ‘N Low in mine.

In a desperate way, it hurt to even consider leaving this house. I had sure had enough hurting. But, with very little inner debate, I found I was thinking that Angel was right.

To effect such a change seemed incredibly daunting. I began to break it down into steps.

I would have to find a house in town. That would be easy, with a mother in real estate.

I'd have to have everything in this house packed and ready to move. I could afford to have that done for me.

I would have to sell this house. Well, part of keeping the house perfect was having its contents pared down to the minimum. This house was ready to show, as it was. With all the improvements I'd made, I had no doubt it would find a buyer sooner or later.

I'd have to pay someone to move all the furniture and boxes to the new house. So, the biggest exertion would be unpacking in the new house.

When I'd first met Angel and Shelby, they'd been hired by Martin to help bring this house to renovated life. They'd helped make the move into the house as smooth and painless as such a major upheaval could be. Now, Angel was offering to help me move out of the house. Somehow, tying the two events together made me cry. In the past year, I'd become used to sudden outbreaks of tears, but it startled Angel. I had to wave a reassuring hand at her, to let her know I was going to be all right. She eyed me doubtfully, but she relaxed when she realized she didn't have to figure out how to comfort me.

She indicated the phone and raised her eyebrows, and I nodded. Shelby now had his own office at Pan-Am Agra, and she was busy relating the events of the morning to him as I strolled out of the room and across the hall into the den to get a Kleenex. I kicked off my sandals, put my ice-tinkling glass on the small table by my current book. I folded my legs under me as I settled in the large leather armchair that had been Martin's favorite. I hadn't slept well the night before, and the day so far had been exhausting. When the air-conditioning came on again, with its relaxing drone, it seemed only natural to lay my head against the wing of the chair and close my eyes.

Chapter Seven

There was a hand holding mine. It felt comfortable; long, thin, fingers twined through my short ones. I opened my eyes to see Robin in front of me, sitting on the ottoman that matched the chair.

"Was I snoring?" I asked.

"No, actually. Just sitting there like you were resting your eyes for a minute."

I pushed my glasses up with one finger. "Where's An-gel?"

"She's out spraying a wasp nest. What an energetic woman. If I were left alone in this house, I'd head for the bookshelves." The shelves I'd had put in all up and down the hall were my favorite feature, too.

"Angel's not much one for reading," I said. "You're welcome to go to the shelves if you want. How come you're here? I'm glad you are," I added hastily, not wanting to be rude, "but I'm kind of surprised Arthur let you come."

"Luckily for me, I had an alibi for this morning."

"Oh?"

"First, I ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant at the same time as at least ten other people. It's quite the local watering hole, huh? Then, I was on the phone with my agent for thirty minutes. We were talking about this film, and the contract for my next two books. Then, after I got to the set, Joel grabbed me to discuss some dialogue changes. So I think I'm pretty well covered."

"That's lucky for you. So Arthur said you could come out here?"

"No, I just came out here on my own." There was a pause, not an uncomfortable one.

"Angel was telling me I should move," I said.

"How do you feel about that?"

"I was thinking I was staying here because I had been happy here." I was still a little simple from my nap.

"And now you think?"

"I think Angel is maybe right." I wiggled straight in the chair, untwisted my legs. I was too old to fall asleep in such a position without paying a penalty. "I loved this house the moment I saw it, and I've loved living in it. And I've spent a mint on it. But now it just feels... empty." I made a face. "Like I'm not even here any more."

"Would you live somewhere else?"

"You mean, leave Lawrenceton?" I'd wondered what would happen if Martin got transferred, so this wasn't a new idea. "Not likely. Not if I don't have to."

"So you'd look for another house in town?"

"Yes." Come to think of it, it was true that I could live anywhere in the world I wanted. I could live in England. I could travel to Italy. But that idea of moving out of my normal orbit scared the heck out of me. I was okay, right here in Lawrenceton. I knew who I was, here. And the time might be coming when my mother would need me; she never had, but it was always possible.

I'd always had the feeling I was a frill, rather than a necessity, for my mother.

Robin was looking thoughtful, but not as traumatized as I'd expected.

"Do you feel very bad?" I asked, trying to keep my voice small and level. After all, his former companion had just been murdered, and she'd spent the night with someone else before that, to boot. A punch in the stomach and a kick in the privates, all at the same time.