Page 63 of The Housekeeper

Chapter Twenty-six

I drove tomy parents’ house first thing the next morning.

I parked in their driveway, checking my watch as I climbed out of the car. It was just after eight o’clock, but my father had always been an early riser, and I was pretty sure he’d be up. I’d tell him that I had some confidential, work-related issues to discuss with him before heading into the office, and hope for a few minutes alone in which to confide my concerns about Elyse.

I rang the bell, and waited, my eyes scanning the street, noticing that some of the trees were starting to change color. Already? I marveled. September was closing in, and fall was hovering, making its presence known. Soon it would be Halloween, and then Christmas, I thought, picturing the street with its elaborate, constantly shifting array of holiday decorations, watching the year disappear before it had even begun. Next week, Sam would be starting third grade and Daphne would be entering junior kindergarten.

Soon they’d be heading off to college, I thought, laughing at how quickly my mind could vault from the present reality into the realm of the absurd. Was that what I’d done with Elyse? Had I jumped to a bunch of ill-conceived conclusions? Would there be a perfectly logical explanation for everything?

“Guess I’m about to find out,” I said, about to ring the bell again when I remembered my key. “Hello?” I called as I entered the front hall. Was it possible my father was still asleep? “Dad? Hello?” I remembered the last time I’d entered the house unannounced, the displeasure on my father’s face when I’d discovered him and Elyse watching a movie while my mother lay sleeping upstairs in her own waste.Call first next time,he’d instructed angrily.

“I should have called,” I said to the empty hall. But phoning first would have tipped them off to the possibility that something was wrong, and my intention had been to surprise them. “Dad?” I called again. “Elyse?”

It was then that I heard it, a low moan that seemed to be emanating from the walls themselves. The moan sank to the floor, slithering along the hardwood planks to where I stood. It wrapped itself around my ankles, then coiled around my thighs and torso until it reached my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs even as it filled my head.

My eyes shot to the stairway. I saw what appeared to be a bundle of clothing lying on the floor near my mother’s bedroom. At first I assumed that it must be a pile of dirty laundry Elyse had left there. I told myself that Elyse and my father were undoubtedly in with my mother right now, Elyse changing her bedsheets while my father fed her breakfast.

But then it moved.

And moaned.

And I knew.

“Mom?” I shouted, racing up the stairs. “Oh, my God! Mom!”

She was lying on the floor, halfway between the elevator and the stairs. Her whole body was shaking, her face contorted by a combination of pain and rage. “Tracy,” she cried, grabbing my hand as I reached for her, her nails digging into my flesh.

“It’s Jodi, Mom,” I corrected gently, recognizing this was not the time for hurt feelings. “What happened?” My eyes shottoward the bedrooms at the end of the hall as I tried unsuccessfully to lift her up. But it was impossible. She was like a dead weight in my arms. “How did you get here? Where’s Dad?”

“I’ve been calling him for hours,” my mother said, each word a struggle to get out. “He doesn’t answer. I got out of bed. I fell.”

“I don’t understand. Where is he?” I laid her back down, struggled to my feet.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be right back,” I said, hurling myself toward my father’s closed bedroom door. “Dad!” I shouted, opening it and flipping on the overhead light.

The room was empty.

His bed hadn’t been slept in.

What does it mean?I wondered, already knowing it could mean only one thing. “Oh, God,” I said, returning to my mother’s side.

“He’s with her,” my mother said. This time there was no mistaking her words, no struggle for clarity on either her part or mine.

“Oh, God,” I said again.

Which was when I heard the footsteps racing up the stairs from the bottom floor.

“What the hell is going on here?” my father yelled as he wrestled with his bathrobe, trying to throw it over his T-shirt and boxer shorts. His feet were bare, his hair an unruly mass. He reached the front hall, and stopped, staring up at my mother and me on the floor above his head.

“What is it, Vic?” Elyse asked, coming into view behind him. She was wearing a long blue negligee, her bare toes peeking out from beneath its silk folds. Her mouth opened when she saw me, but no sound emerged.

“What are you doing here?” my father demanded.

“What am I doing here?” I repeated. “I think the more urgent question is what the hell are you doing down there?”

“You have no business just barging in,” he said, ignoring my question. On the offensive, as always.