Chapter 3

When Sharon left the house without a warning or a note, I assumed it was related to the bills she'd left opened on my desk. But even if I'd guessed right, I had no idea where to go looking for her. It was too soon to call the cops...

It was as I waited miserably for her to return that I realized with a start that it was Mom's birthday. The thought of losing Sharon after losing Mom, of being completely alone in the world without her, was physically painful. Waiting for her to come home was the longest five hours I'd ever spent.

Sitting alone in our silent little house, I eventually heard footsteps approaching the front door. I peered into the darkness outside, and could make out two people nearing. I stepped back from the window to keep them from catching me peeping. As they drew close I could see it was Sharon, walking with a man I hadn't seen before.

As they came up the steps, he put his arm around her waist. I could see her flinch slightly when she felt it, and my heart began accelerating in preparation for beating him to death with my bare hands.

When I heard her keys jangle, I moved to stand behind the front door. I could hear them talking.

"Really, it's not necessary," the man said soothingly. I tensed even more as I waited to hear Sharon's tone of voice in her reply.

I relaxed slightly as she replied, seemingly calm. "It'll only take a minute. The place is just a complete mess right now."

Her key slid into the lock and she stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind her. She gave a little start when I was revealed lurking behind the closing door. She put a finger to her lips to stop me from speaking, to delay my asking what was going on.

When she took off her coat to hang it in the closet, I noticed what she was wearing: a fairly low cut blouse and light weight skirt, which together showed off her ample chest and long legs. She was wearing that in Syracuse, in winter?

She motioned for me to follow her into the kitchen; then she rounded on me with a serious look on her face. It was the look she gave whenever she adopted her 'older than you' sibling role. I wasn't buying into that at the moment. Her lips had a bluish tint from the cold.

"Where have you been, and who the hell is that guy on the porch!" I demanded.

She crossed her arms over her chest but still replied calmly. "I didn't know I needed a pass from you to leave the house."

"Damn it, you don't and you know it. But you could've left a note or something. If I disappeared on you like that you'd be flipping out too! And it's Mom's birthday for God's sake!"

She shrugged, feigning indifference. "It's no big deal. I just realized I hadn't been out on a date since ... forever!"

"Who is that guy out there?" I repeated.

"He's just someone I met," she said evasively.

"Where'd you meet him?"

"Downtown." Now there was no eye contact.

"Where downtown?"

"None of your business! He's a nice guy!"

"Where downtown?" I repeated. She glared at me defiantly before an answering.

"Fine, if you must know it was in a café called The Night Owl. It was a perfectly safe place. And he's a nice guy!" she repeated defensively.

My eyes must have bugged out of my head. The Night Owl was a well-known hangout on First Avenue, an area that was known as a place for various criminal activities, including prostitution.

"Are you out of your mind?" I hissed. Then I clamped a hand over my mouth, horrified at what I'd said.

She looked stunned for a moment, but then quickly looked even more determined. I had used a forbidden phrase; we both knew what had taken our mother from us. Her face turned light pink as she made a visible effort to remain calm.

"I invited him here. He's a nice guy," she repeated defiantly. She uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her hips. "So ... you need to make yourself scarce. I want to spend time alone with him, and I don't want you interrogating him." She paused before saying pointedly, "We could've gone to his place, you know."

I gasped at the implied threat. We hadn't argued like this since our mom's death, but I still pressed on. It was my turn to cross my arms.

"Well, I'm not leaving."

"I'm not asking you to leave the house, Mark," she replied in exasperation. "I just want you to go upstairs while he's here."

I didn't like it. I didn't like it one little bit. She re-crossed her arms, waiting for my next challenge.

"Fine!" I said eventually. "But I'll be listening up there. You just yell and I'll be down in a second."

"I'll be fine," she said, beginning to calm down. She stepped forward and almost hugged me before stepping back as she always did, nervously smoothing her hair with her fingers. "I know you're just looking out for me."

I sighed. "I'll always look out for you, sis, you know that. I love you."

She smiled in surprise, then in affection. "I know you do, Mark. I ... I love you too."

She walked with me to the stairs, and I heard the sound of a soft kiss in the air near my cheek. She watched me all the way up.

Instead of going to my room, I turned off the light at the top of the stairs and sat on the floor. I scooted far enough back from the top step that I couldn't be seen from below, while still being able to peek over the stairs. I could see into the living room below through the posts of the banister, and I'd discovered long ago that if I stayed low in the darkness I couldn't be seen from below.

I watched as Sharon went to the door and let in her visitor.

"Sorry, that took longer than I expected," she said, and I could swear that she glanced reproachfully at the stairs. She obviously knew I would be watching.

"It's okay, really. You have a lovely home." His voice was smooth and syrupy. Like the wolf talking to Goldilocks.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked. I heard a faint tremor in her voice that I didn't like.

"No, thank you. I don't want to be an imposition. I just want this night to be ... special; for both of us."

My breath hitched. What did that mean?

"Well, if you don't mind I think I'd like a glass of wine."

"In that case, maybe a small glass for me too, if you don't mind?"

They passed beneath my hiding place on the way from the living room to the kitchen. I didn't get a real good look at the guy, but he looked pretty old; forty maybe?

I could hear the squeaky hinge of the cupboard door over the refrigerator. That cupboard had always been the liquor cabinet, since it was the hardest place in the kitchen for kids to get into.

"May I open that for you?" her guest offered. I hoped they would go back to the living room soon. I couldn't see into the kitchen.

I heard Sharon's murmured assent, and a few moments later I could hear the sound of wine being poured into glasses.

"What should we drink to?" the man asked.

Silence.

"Well, to new friends then," the man offered, followed by the faint sound of glasses touching.

A few moments later they emerged from the kitchen, the man in front leading Sharon by her right hand while her left hand clutched a very full glass of wine to her chest. He led her to the couch that faced towards my hideout, where he waited for her to sit; then he sat down next to her, close enough for their thighs to be touching.

Sharon took a large gulp of wine, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She leaned forward and placed her glass on the coffee table. Tremors in her hand rattled the base of the glass on the table for a moment, until it became flush with the surface and it was safe for her to let go.