what Aaron’s told me, or what Aaron will tell me, I think I’m smart enough to get through to that thing, and to reason with it, and maybe that’s exactly the kind of pride it expects to find in everyone who ever sees it. Maybe it counts on that.
“Now, if you haven’t felt that, well, then, you’re smarter and stronger than I am, by a long, long way. I never really talked to a ghost or a spirit, or whatever he is. And boy, I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity, not even knowing what I know, and knowing what he did to Aaron.”
She nodded. “Yeah, you’ve covered it all right. And maybe it does play on that, the vanity in some of us that we won’t run the way the others did. But there’s something else between me and this thing. It touched me. And it left me feeling raped. I didn’t like it.”
They sat there in silence for a moment. He was looking at her, and she could all but hear the wheels turning in his head.
He stood up and reached for the jewel case, sliding it across the smooth surface of the table. He opened it and looked at the emerald.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Touch it.”
“It doesn’t look like the drawing I made of it,” he whispered. “I was imagining it when I made the drawing, not remembering it.” He shook his head. He seemed about to close the lid of the box again; then he removed his glove, and laid his fingers on the stone.
In silence she waited. But she could tell by his face that he was disappointed and anxious. When he sighed and closed the box, she didn’t press him.
“I got an image of you,” he said, “of your putting it around your neck. I saw myself standing in front of you.” He put the glove back on, carefully.
“That’s when you came in.”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I didn’t even notice that you were wearing it.”
“It was dark.”
“I saw only you.”
“What does that matter?” she shrugged. “I took it off and put it back in the case.”
“I don’t know.”
“Just now, when you touched it. Did you see anything else?”
He shook his head. “Only that you love me,” he said in a small voice. “You really do.”
“You only have to touch me to discover that,” she said.
He smiled, but the smile was sad, and confused. He shoved his hands in his pockets, as if he were trying to get rid of them, and he bowed his head. She waited for a long moment, hating to see him miserable.
“Come on, let’s go,” she said. “This place is getting to you worse than me. Let’s go back to the hotel.”
He nodded. “I need a glass of water,” he said. “Do you think there’s some cold water in this house? I’m dry and I’m hot.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t even know if there’s a kitchen. Maybe there’s a well with a moss-covered bucket. Maybe there’s a magic spring.”
He laughed softly. “Come on, let’s find some water.”
She got up and followed him out of the rear door of the dining room. Some sort of butler’s pantry, it was, with a little sink in it, and high glassed cabinets filled with china. He took his time passing through. He seemed to be measuring the thickness of the walls with his hands.
“Back here,” he said, passing through the next door. He pushed in an old black wall button. A dingy overhead bulb flashed on, weak and dismal, revealing a long split-level room, the upper portion a sterile workplace, and the lower, two steps down, a small breakfast room with a fireplace.
A long series of glass doors revealed the overgrown yard outside. It seemed the song of the frogs was louder here, clearer. The dark outline of an immense tree obscured the northern corner of the view completely.
The rooms themselves were very clean and very streamlined in an old-fashioned way. Very efficient.
The built-in refrigerator covered half the inside wall, with a great heavy door like the doors of walk-in vaults in restaurants.
“Don’t tell me if there’s a body in there, I don’t want to know,” she said wearily.
“No, just food,” he said smiling, “and ice water.” He took out the clear glass bottle. “Let me tell you about the South. There’s always a bottle of ice water.” He rummaged in one of the cabinets over the corner sink, and caught up two jelly glasses with his right hand and set them down