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I find it hard to believe Thomas Moore struggles with anything.
‘He loves it!’
Emily and I glance up at Mary, who’s leaning over the balustrade while Mike prances down the stairs in his new collar, acting like he’s the King of Sheba himself.
On the last step he pauses, one foot out, as if striking a pose.
Smiling, Emily catches my eye. ‘Pets are handled with love and affection. Things Thomas doesn’t know much about.’ Emily leans over, her French manicure scratching behind Mike’s ears. ‘But he pays attention to those who matter to him. To the people and things he cares about.’
I stare at the Lego set remembering Mary talking about astronauts and princesses this morning over pancakes. He must’ve been listening.
‘So while he still grumbles and glares when he’s unsure of how to act around those he cares about—’ Emily hands me the bag in her hands, an amused smile making her youthful once more ‘—I have a feeling you’ll help him figure it out.’
20
THOMAS
Most of the lights are off in the house by the time I get home. Just the ones on a timer remain lit, allowing me to get to my room without tripping in the dark.
Alice and Mary must be asleep by now.
A flare of disappointment hits me as I climb the stairs, making me pause at the landing. Shaking it off, I continue down the hallway, pausing outside Mary’s door and chance a peek inside.
Just to make sure everyone is where they’re supposed to be. Just to make sure there aren’t anymore surprises like there were today.
Pushing the door open, the dim hallway light falls across the bedroom. Mary is right where she is supposed to be, in bed. She’s on her side facing the door, the covers pulled up so high all I can is her nose and forehead. Curled up at her side is the demon cat, his eyes glowing yellow in the dark.
But who I don’t see is Alice.
If Mike is here, then Alice must be in the other guest room. Creeping in my own home, I push open the next door. But instead of Alice and a bunch of useless cat toys, I find my mother. She’s flat on her back, snoring with a silk sleep mask covering her eyes. If only the society ladies could see her now.
With the fourth bedroom made into my office, I’m left with my bedroom.
My steps quicken going up to the next floor. My heart beat a little faster. I refuse to think on why.
But when I enter my bedroom, the bed is empty.
More disappointment. No, annoyance. That’s what it is. How can I regain control if I don’t know where the people testing it are?
Tugging my tie loose, I head to the closet and flick on the light. Then just as quickly flick it off.
I give myself a few seconds to let my eyes adjust back to the dark before stepping further inside. The light from the window is just enough to outline Alice’s sleeping form, curled up on the chaise longue. The one the interior designer said would lend an air of elegance to the wardrobe even though I thought it completely nonfunctional.
I remember thinking who needs a place to lay down in a closet? Now I have my answer – Alice.
She’s wearing an old T-shirt. This one not mine if the small holes around the shoulder seams are any indication. New pajamas must not have been on the shopping list today. But glancing around, almost everything else was.
The formerly unused ‘her’ side of my bedroom’s his-and-her closet is full of clothes. Even in the dark, the worn, older ones I recognize from Alice’s own wardrobe, easily discernible against the new designer purchases. That and the dim light reflecting off all the dangling price tags.
Backtracking out, I grab something to change into before I close the door and do something I loathe doing – laying my bespoke Henry Poole suit over the side chair in the bedroom rather than hanging it back up in its designated spot between the gray houndstooth Huntsman and gunmetal gray Tom Ford – before crossing over to the bathroom.
Minutes later, standing in a steaming shower, I’m annoyed yet again. Because even the heat fails to alleviate the stress of my chaotic day. Not when my mind is focused on Alice, sound asleep in my closet with her bare shoulder peeking out from the neck of her T-shirt. Close enough to possess my every thought, but not close enough to do anything about my body’s reaction to it.
Going to bed hard and hot is not conducive to a good night’s sleep.
* * *
Someone is watching me.
