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The door opens. Vera hasn’t dressed up for him because she didn’t know he was coming, but she looks perfectly okay in her white slacks and shell top. She looks sober, too… but of course she looked sober the last time he was here.
“Oh my. It’s Jerome, right?”
“Yes. Jerome Robinson.”
“I don’t remember much about the last time you were here, but I remember the doctor saying ‘That kid saved your life.’?”
He doesn’t offer his elbow but puts out his hand. She shakes it firmly.
“I see by your face that you’re not here with good news, Jerome.”
“No, ma’am. I’m not. I came because I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else.”
“Because we have a connection, don’t we?” She sounds perfectly calm, but her face is waxy pale. “Like it or not, we do.”
“Yes, ma’am, I guess that’s true.”
“No bad news on the stoop. Come in. And call me Vera, for God’s sake.”
He comes in. She closes the door. The air conditioner is still laboring. The living room is still a bit shabby but neat and clean.
“In case you’re wondering, I’m sober. I don’t know how long that will last, but I have resumed going to meetings. Three so far. And I went to my sponsor, prepared to grovel. I found it wasn’t necessary, which was a great relief. Is he dead? Is Peter dead?”
“Yes. I’m very, very sorry, Vera.”
“Was it about sex? Some twisted sex thing?”
“No.”
“Who killed him?”
“An old couple. Rodney and Emily Harris. They killed four others that we know of. You’ll be informed by the police. You can tell them I was here first. Say I wanted to be the one, because… well…”
“Because you saved my life. Because we have that connection.” Still perfectly calm, but her eyes have filled with tears. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
She reaches behind herself, finds the arm of the chair in front of the television, and sits down. Only it’s more of a fall.
Jerome kneels in front of her like a suitor about to propose marriage. He takes her hands, which are dead cold. None of this was planned, he’s just winging it. Did she say they had a connection? It’s true. He knows that much. He feels that much. His voice is steady, and thank God for that.
“The Harrises were insane. Stuff will come out about what they did, bad stuff, but you need to know one thing.” It’s time for the lie, and it might not even be a lie, because he doesn’t know. “It was quick. Whatever happened to his body… whatever they did… happened afterward. He was gone by then.”
“To wherever we go.”
“Yes. To wherever we go.”
“He didn’t suffer?”
“No.”
Her hands tighten on his. “Do you swear to that?”
“Yes.”
“May your mother die and go to hell if you’re lying?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
