Page 39 of Pas de Don't
New York City roaches she could handle. Rats parading along subway platforms proudly dragging entire slices of pizza behind them were no big deal. But a giant hairy spider casually perched on her toaster, ready to pounce any moment, waiting to kill her in her sleep?
Hell. No.
What was she supposed to do about this? Did Australians keep some kind of giant bug spray in their houses? Should she call 911, or whatever number Australians called when they called 911? She had looked it up before she came, but her brain had been temporarily wiped blank by panic. Without thinking, and without moving anything except her eyes and her right thumb, she swiped through her phone and called the only person she could think of who could help.
He picked up on the first ring. “Hello? Heather?”
“Marcus,” she whispered. Any loud noises or sudden movements and she was going to die right here in this chic little kitchen.
“Hello? Hello? I can’t hear you. Uh, Heather, did you mean to call me?”
“Marcus,” she managed to say, a little louder this time. “Come over. Right now. I need your help.”
Heather’s words echoed in his head as he climbed out of the taxi as quickly as his ankle would allow. His phone had rung just as he’d left the restaurant after a hasty meal with Alice and Will. They’d split the famous lamb shanks, but he hadn’t enjoyed them like he usually did. His unfinished conversation with Heather—and the look on her face as she’d rushed away—ate at him. After Alice returned to their table, she’d spent the whole meal throwing him suspicious, curious looks, as if she knew she’d interrupted something important.
Which, of course, she had. After a week of wanting to be close to Heather again, he had finally gotten time alone with her. She’dbeen confiding in him, telling him things he was willing to bet she wouldn’t tell just anyone. Then Alice showed up and the moment evaporated.
“Right now. I need your help.”He’d called her back as soon as he was in the car, anxious to know what had happened to make her voice breathy and desperate like that, but she hadn’t answered. Was she hurt? Shit, what if she’d injured herself and couldn’t dance? What if someone had broken into the house?
He walked up her front steps faster than he should have and rapped on the door. It opened instantly, and there she was, still in her sweater dress and earrings, her plait a little looser now, her big brown eyes wide. “What’s wrong?” he asked, a little winded. “What happened?”
For a moment Heather simply stood in the entryway, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. She looked terrified. Marcus looked her up and down and was relieved to find she wasn’t hurt.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I shouldn’t have called you. But I didn’t know who else to call.”
“It’s fine, I’m glad you did. What happened? Are you okay?”
“Spider,” she said, still whispering.
“What?”
“There’s a spider,” she said, a little louder, waving one hand behind her. “In the kitchen. It’s huge and just sitting there waiting to kill me, and I watched it crawl from the toaster to the counter, and—” she broke off and shuddered with her entire body.
Marcus stared as he processed this information, then let out a relieved laugh. She watched him in disbelief as he stepped into the house and closed the door behind him.
“Shh!”
“Heather, it’s a spider, it can’t hear us,” he said at a normal volume. “Show me where it is.”
“It was in the kitchen a few minutes ago, but I’ve been hiding here, so I don’t know where it is now.” She glanced up at the ceiling, as if she expected to find it dangling above her.
Marcus rested his cane against the door, then walked into the kitchen and looked around. Crouched on the counter was a fairly large huntsman spider. It wasn’t the biggest he’d ever seen, though in fairness to Heather, it was probably the biggestshe’dever seen. But it was definitely not going to kill her.
“It’s just a huntsman,” he called, “they’re harmless.”
He heard her scoff, and he poked his head out into the hallway.
“I was worried you had a redback or a funnelweb or something; those could really do you in.”
“How is naming other deadly creatures helpful right now?” she hissed.
“Okay, okay, sorry,” he said, suppressing a smile. She didn’t sound that scared of the spider anymore, just annoyed with him. “I promise you, this is not a deadly creature. This guy’s more afraid of you than you are of him.”
“That’s bears,” she retorted, crossing her arms tight across her chest.
“Yeah, but bears can actually kill you. A huntsman can’t. Look, I’ll show you. Can you get me a plastic container and a piece of cardboard?”
She nodded, then tiptoed past him into the kitchen, edging along the wall and keeping her eyes averted from the spider. She pulled a takeaway container and a piece of junk mail out of the recycling bin and held them out to him.
