LITMIR.BIZ

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did you find him?”

      “You’re supposed to be asleep,” I told her. I glanced at the cat weaving through her legs. “You, too, furball.”

      “With a handsome, unknown dude like Ed in the house? No way. I want details.”

      So I recounted my evening yet again, finishing, “I thought my heart would break for him. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have someone you loved murdered.”

      For once Lucy was dumbstruck. She stared at me, emotions flitting across her face. Finally she said, “I can’t decide whether I’m more appalled at what you went through or more excited that Ed was there so you didn’t go through it alone.”

      “Gray.” I pitched my one remaining sandal into the closet. I pulled my T-shirt over my head and tossed it at the hamper.

      “Whatever. You know who I mean.” Lucy looked thoughtful. “I wonder what it’s like to be named after a color.”

      I pulled on my sleep boxers and top and headed for the bathroom to brush my teeth. Lucy followed and said, “At least his mother’s maiden name wasn’t magenta or chartreuse. It’d be hard on a guy being named Chartreuse.”

      I paused in the middle of brushing and just looked at my housemate.

      “Well, it would.”

      I mumbled through the foam, “I’m sure you’re right.”

      Lucy’s face crumpled suddenly. “Oh, Anna, you could have been killed. Right this very moment Meg and I could be having broken hearts over losing you.” She threw her arms around me, foam and all.

      “Easy, Luce. I’m fine.”

      “I’m not.” She gave me a hard squeeze. “Lord, thank You for keeping her safe!”

      I rinsed, turned, and gave Lucy a hug in return. One of the best things that happened to me four years ago when I began teaching at Amhearst North was that Lucy, a veteran of one year, took me under her wing.

      “Don’t stand too near Mrs. Meanix, the English teacher, when she’s excited,” she’d told me the first day in the teachers’ lounge. “She spits, sort of like a llama. And watch out for old Mr. Simmons.” We both looked at the skinny old man who taught math and should have retired ten years ago. “He’s got roving hands.” When all I could do was sputter, Lucy nodded vehemently, her eyes dancing. “I kid you not. And whatever you do, don’t smile until after Thanksgiving.”

      “What?”

      “My father’s advice,” Lucy said. “He’s a teacher, too, though in New Jersey. ‘Remember you are not their friend, Lucy,’” she mimicked in a deep voice. “‘You are their teacher. Don’t smile till after Thanksgiving. Don’t send your discipline problems to the office. Take care of them yourself. And whatever you do, don’t take off one day every month like so many women.’”

      Lucy turned big brown eyes to me. “I’m afraid to get sick except on weekends, but I don’t want to get sick then because I’ll miss all the singles’ stuff at church. So I have a policy never to get sick.” She grinned. “You have to come to church with Meg and me. You’ll love it.”

      Lucy introduced me to Meg. The three of us clicked, and soon I found myself living with them, enjoying the third bedroom and as unwilling to get sick on weekends as Lucy and Meg. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t thank the Lord for these special friendships.

      But tonight I was more than ready for solitude and a good sleep. I knew Lucy would be happy to stay and talk until all hours, so I shooed her with a flick of my hand and a smile on my face. “I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, girl, so good night.”

      Lucy paused in my bedroom doorway. “Be sure you dream of Ed.”

      Right. Last time I dreamed of a man, he left me. Boom. Gone. Pain. Still, there was something about Ed. Gray.

      I eyed my bed and the black furry boneless creature filling half of it. “Luce, you forgot Tipsy.”

      I put a hand under the cat and pushed. “Off, buddy.” Moving not an inch, he turned his great head and showed me his fangs. I pushed harder.

      The cat smiled, I’m positive, as Lucy gathered all twenty pounds of him close.

      Moments later, snuggled under the floral print Martha Stewart sheets and summer blanket from Kmart, I found I couldn’t sleep. Every creak of the house, every chug of the refrigerator’s motor, every snore that came from Meaghan’s room, every hum of the air-conditioning system going on or off made me go rigid.

      He’s not here, my practical self assured me.

      How do you know that? my irrational self countered.

      He doesn’t know who you are or where to find you.

      But he saw me. How spooky is that?

      Very. Now go to sleep!

      I wish.

      The whole situation was preposterous. I was an art teacher, for goodness sakes, the original good girl. I painted on the side, and not even all that well if the truth be told, though I’d never admit it to my father. I sewed curtains and drapes for people for extra cash. I made fabric pictures—“fabric mosaics” Lucy called them—for the fun of it. I spent more time at church than I did at the mall. Any previous dealings with bad guys were absolutely nonexistent, any run-ins with law-enforcement authorities almost nonexistent. Almost.

      Once I’d called in a child abuse report about one of my students. Once I’d gotten a ticket I couldn’t afford because of my penchant for being heavy-footed. Once when I’d glanced at my watch and seen I was going to be late for a date, I’d accidentally walked out of a store with a pair of gloves in my hand. I’d rushed right back in to pay for them, probably passing the store detective coming after me to arrest me.

      I’d committed one of my two serious offenses when I was six years old. I lifted a chocolate bar at a Wawa mini-mart. When I climbed into the car eating it, Dad marched me right back to the store and made me apologize. He paid for the candy, then made me work off the price by helping him with his annual garage cleaning. He made certain the task took all day.

      You’d think that between the mortification and the sore muscles over the chocolate-bar incident I’d have learned my lesson, but I guess I’m just slow. Once, as a teen, I kept too much change at Kmart, using the undeserved five dollars to buy a colorful scarf. I still had the scarf, but I had yet to wear it. I kept it to remind myself of the fine line between evil and good, guilt and grace. I’d returned the five dollars as soon as I’d gotten my next babysitting job.

      That was about as close as I ever came to lawbreaking and lawbreakers, Skip Schumann excepted, if mouthiness and disrespect were breaking the law. Evil people, really bad guys, couldn’t usually be bothered with ordinary goody-goody people like me. They thought we weren’t any fun, and we sort of thought the same about them. We went our separate ways.

      Until tonight.

      I squeezed my eyes shut again and tried to get comfortable in my very comfortable bed. Lucy sneezed, Meaghan snored and I sat bolt upright, trying to see through the darkness. I told myself over and over that it was only Luce and Meg, but my nerves, busy jitterbugging up and down my spine, didn’t seem to grasp that truth.

      Light. I needed light. If he came after me, I wanted to see him, rather than be taken unawares. I reached for my bedside lamp. As soon as I snapped it on, all the shadows dissipated, and all my fears quieted. Just seeing that everything was normal made all the difference. With a sigh that was a combination of relief and fatigue, I slid down and pulled up the covers. I was asleep in seconds.

      

      I was up at eight the next morning, down at the police station by nine, and down in my basement workshop by ten. Lucy and Meg left to run errands, and I sewed. If I was lucky, I’d have almost everything done today. The rug should be down by then, assuming the cops were finished, and I could

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