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VI MUMBLED obscenities around the pen clenched between her teeth. The computer screen went blank again, only to be replaced by gibberish. For the second time today.
There was a tap at her door. “Ten o’clock. Your shift.”
Not already. She’d barely made a dent in the files she’d ferried in from work. There were a couple demand packets to review along with adjuster recommendations for settlement. Not to mention twenty or better status reports, case reserves and the usual inter-office B.S. to go through.
“In a minute,” she lisped around the pen.
This time the rapping was louder. Hard knuckles. “Vi, ten o’clock. Get a move on.”
Sighing, she removed the pen. “I’m coming already. Don’t get your shorts in a wad.”
Silence.
Maybe just one more file.
“Vi. Now.”
“Oh, all right.” She threw one last look at the computer screen and left the room.
Ian gave her barely enough room to squeeze through the doorway into the hall. He waited, arms crossed, ready to escort her to her own personal hell.
Frustration made her middle finger itch, the thumb and three other fingers started to bend of their own accord. She reminded herself that obscene gestures got her nowhere. Clamping her rebellious fingers into a tight fist, she rapped on Daisy’s door. “It’s me, Vi. Can I come in?”
“Go away. I don’t know a Vi.”
This was turning into a nightly ritual. Even though Vi had been there nearly a week, Daisy could not, or would not, understand that Vi was there to help. She refused to call her by name, always referring to her in the third person, like she wasn’t there. And then it was usually to accuse her of some heinous crime, such as stealing her paintings, locking her in her room or making a mess. A mess, coincidentally, that only occurred when Daisy was around.
“She’ll get used to you,” Ian assured her for the hundredth time, as he rapped gently on the wooden door. “Mom, Vi’s coming in now. She’ll keep you company, just like Annabelle did.”
“Don’t need company.”
“Sure you do. And I betcha she’ll even sing to you,” he wheedled.
It was the only way Vi could get into the room. The only way the woman would accept her. Good thing she had a passable voice.
“The Daisy song?” came the muffled reply.
Vi groaned.
Not again.
“Go on,” Ian urged, as he landed an elbow to her ribs.
“I’ll sing you the Daisy song,” she promised.
The door swung open and she was admitted to the inner sanctum. “I’ll bring you a daisy a day, dear…” she sang. “I’ll bring you a daisy a day.”
It was a lovely old ballad, all about the endurance of love. The suitor vowed to bring his love a daisy a day. And after she died, he brought a daisy a day to her grave. The first time she’d heard Ian sing it to Daisy, goose bumps had prickled her arms. Full moon, PMS, the Celtic part of her soul, the Hispanic part of her soul, whatever the reason, the song always made her throat ache, her eyes mist.
Daisy climbed into bed as Vi sang, humming right along. Framed by the crisp white pillowcase, her face relaxed, the lines and worries smoothed away. Her smile was angelic, her eyes unfocused and dreamy.
Vi usually sang her to sleep, then tiptoed to the daybed tucked away in an alcove. But tonight Daisy didn’t drift off. As Vi sang, the old woman’s eyes became more focused, inquisitive almost.
“You’ve a beautiful voice, dear.”
“Thank you.”
It was the first time Daisy had acknowledged her directly, other than in wild accusations.
“Edward used to sing that song to me.” She sighed, her finger doodling across the patterned chenille bedspread. “He was tall, like Ian. Made me feel so fragile, cherished.”
“Oh. That’s…nice.”
Fragile? People only hurt you if they knew you were fragile. Cherished, now that sounded good. She’d never experienced it, but it sounded good. Safe.
“He’d watch me dance, for hours it seemed. And he’d hum that song. It was as if we were the only two people left on earth. Alone, but so close to Heaven I could almost hear the angels sing.”
“Angels. Sure. You bet. What do angels sound like? Celine Dion? Alicia Keyes maybe?”
Daisy reached out and patted her hand. Her smile was warm, her eyes sparkled. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you? It was an allegory, dear. To illustrate my point, about love being the closest thing to Heaven we can find here on earth.”
“An allegory. Sure.” What next, a discussion on the origin of the species? World politics?
“And dance. The next best thing to sex.”
Vi tried to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “You danced? Professionally?”
“I danced. Still do, when the joints allow. Not professionally of course. I met Edward in New York, when I was auditioning for the ballet. It was a wonderful time. I met Edward and knew he was the one. Everything else paled in comparison. Even dancing. We were married by the justice of the peace and left New York without even finding out if I’d made the cuts. It just wasn’t important anymore. Only being with Edward was.”
Daisy’s eyes shone. Edward must have been one helluva guy.
“How’d you give it all up? All your hopes and dreams?”
“New hopes, new dreams. Different, but better in some ways. A family, my own dance studio…”
“Did you ever regret it?”
The other woman’s eyelids drooped, her smile faded. “Only once.”
Vi wanted to shake her, make her explain. But Daisy’s eyelids fluttered shut and she snored lightly.
THE NOISE reached Vi’s ears, as if filtered through layers of cotton. It was a rattle, like a doorknob. Somewhere though the layers, she knew it was important. Something she should do about it. Burglar?
She bolted into a sitting position. The night-light in the hall illuminated the room. No burglar. Whitewashed stucco walls, big rustic beams holding up the ceiling. Ian’s house.
She glanced around the room. Not her room. Her room didn’t have colorful paintings anchored to the walls.
Daisy’s room.
She turned to check Daisy’s bed. Empty. How could that be? It seemed only a moment ago that the woman had drifted off to sleep after reminiscing about her dance studio.
Vi muttered an oath as she swung her legs over the side of the daybed, ignoring the dull throb in her temples. Her bare toes curled away from the cold tile, but she pushed through the discomfort. No time for slippers. The reflective tape was cool, eerie beneath her fingers, as she followed it toward the bathroom. The door was open.
Her breath came in deep, ragged breaths, her pulse pounded. No light. Where could the woman be?
She rounded the door frame to check.
There she was, slumped on the toilet seat, her chin resting on her chest.
Thank God.
“Daisy?” She touched the woman’s arm, then gently shook her shoulder.
No response.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I THOUGHT I’D LOST HER.”
Vi waited for the bombshell to sink in. She held her coffee cup suspended at chin level, denying herself that first luscious swallow. Hot, steamy fingers of aroma wafted upward, stinging her nose. Caffeine withdrawal seemed like a light sentence for her crime.
“Hum?”
Ian leaned against the kitchen counter, more interested in cramming a whole power bar in his mouth than her confession. He wore black nylon shorts, a white T-shirt and a gray hooded sweatshirt, his usual running uniform. The senior center bus had barely chugged down the drive, and he was ready to go.
“I said, I thought I lost her,” she bit off every word, enunciating clearly. “I got up with her at midnight, one-thirty and three. No problem. But the last time…I didn’t wake up. Didn’t even hear her until she was out the bedroom door. I’m not a real rise-and-shine kind of person—it took me a couple minutes to get going. By the time I found her, she was asleep in the bathroom.”
Ian chewed slowly. His jaw was smooth for once, his eyes alert and ready for the day. He looked years younger than the first time she’d seen him, boyish almost. Except for the frown.
“You found her. No harm done.”
“But what if I don’t next time? What then?”
“Look, you can do this. I wouldn’t trust you with her otherwise.”
“Why are you so sure you can trust me?”
“You’re smart and determined.” He hesitated for a moment. “And whether you admit it or not, you care.”
Restless energy prodded her into action. She paced the kitchen floor. “No way, you’ve got me all wrong. My career is the most important thing in the world to me. And right now it’s in danger of going down the tubes. I’m behind already and so exhausted I can’t string together a coherent thought.”
Ian shrugged. “You’ll get used to it. Just sleep in the day.”
“I can’t. That’s when I get my work done. I’ve still got a job to do, no matter what happens here.” The tightness in her chest expanded to a fist-sized knot of frustration. “I’ve got a shot at District Claims Manager. It’s big, really big.”
He hesitated, chewing slowly. “Okay, so you sleep during the day, then work at night in Daisy’s room. We’ll set up a desk.”
“You don’t understand. I get tunnel vision when I’m working. The whole place could burn down and I’d never notice. Besides, Daisy’d be a wreck—the light, rustling papers, dictation. She wouldn’t sleep a wink.”
Ian pushed away from the counter. He loomed over her, his bulk no longer benign. “So what do you want me to do? Let you off the hook? Say okay, go back to your important job in Phoenix. We’ll manage just fine. Well, you know what, we won’t manage, thanks to you. And I won’t let you off the hook. Nice try.”
He crumpled the wrapper and tossed it in the general direction of the trash can. “I’m going for a run. You do whatever you want. Just don’t leave.”
It was hard to believe this was the same guy who tended the old lady with such patience. There was a hard glint in his eyes and his voice vibrated with anger, as if he wanted to wrap those big hands around her throat and squeeze. Hard.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he slammed out the kitchen door without a backward look. She wasn’t worth the effort to strangle.
Vi set her coffee cup down on the counter and pushed it away. Then she bent over and banged her forehead against the Formica. Once, twice, three times. Not hard enough for it to hurt, but she hoped hard enough to knock some sense into her.
“What am I going to do?” she asked the empty room. As long as the walls didn’t answer, she figured she must have a shred of sanity left.
Daisy could have been lost, or seriously hurt. It had seemed simple enough. Watch Daisy sleep. She hadn’t counted on getting only a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep a night. It was starting to take a toll. Her eyes were gritty, her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.
Vi rubbed her temples as she mulled over the whole mess. She’d have to adapt, somehow. That was the key to survival. In nature, in the corporate jungle, even in this weird house. Adapt or die. But how to adapt to something she couldn’t understand and couldn’t predict? The old woman and her idiosyncrasies ruled the whole house, no matter what time of day. Like yesterday. Only a few glorious moments at the computer before Daisy wandered in and accused her of all sorts of nasty things. Theft, kidnapping, murder, they were all part of Vi’s M.O., according to Daisy.
She would get used to it, Ian had said. Ha! Changing her sleep schedule was next to impossible. It was like an alarm went off somewhere the instant her head made contact with a pillow during the day. So much as a long blink and Daisy would wind up. It could be something as simple as a bath and World War III would erupt. Even the thick adobe walls couldn’t block out the yelling, the slap-slap of escaping bare feet on tile, the thud of Ian’s tread in hot pursuit. And sometimes, a dirty word or two.
Once, before she learned to lock her door, Daisy had rushed into her room. The old woman had been nearly naked, her eyes wide with fear, her breathing shallow.
Vi shook her head as she remembered the strange episode.
Daisy hadn’t said a word. Just stood there, scrawny arms wrapped across her sagging, wrinkled breasts, and shook her head frantically from side to side.
Ian had followed close behind, his breathing labored, as if he’d run an eight minute mile.
“Mom…” he’d gasped.
Daisy had feinted to the left, then dodged right.
But Ian was too quick for her. He wrapped her in a big bear hug from behind.
She bit and clawed and lashed out. “Let me go,” she screeched. The air crackled with her terror.
Ian let go.
She backed away from him and cowered in a corner.
It took several minutes for Ian to catch his breath. Vi waited, mute, unable to differentiate between perpetrator and victim.
Finally, he said, “It’s okay, Mom. No bath today. I’ll get you a nice warm washcloth to sponge yourself down with.”
“I don’t need a bath. Had one yesterday.”
“Sure you did.” His voice held more defeat than conviction. “But a warm washcloth wouldn’t hurt. You know, knock down the trail dust.”
“It’s a trick. Just like that woman.” She pointed an accusing finger in Vi’s direction. “She was sent to spy on me.”
