Page 23 of A Week Away
His mother charges him room and board, but his aunt pays his car insurance. The kid was getting some very mixed signals—which could explain why he was desperate to have a father. He unlocked the door on the passenger side, and said, “Get in.”
I climbed in. The seats were red-and-white vinyl that looked like they’d never been sat on. I glanced over at the driver’s side and saw that the car had a push-button transmission. Cass climbed in and unlocked the anti-theft bar that held the steering wheel in position. He dropped the bar in the backseat.
I put on my safety belt. There was no shoulder strap, so if there was an accident I’d likely have significant whiplash. He put the key in the ignition and the engine burst into life. Pushing a gear, he pulled out of the parking spot and we were on our way.
We stopped at the cashier’s booth and Cass paid the fee with a credit card. He’d given me the impression it was his mother’s card, but I was starting to get the feeling that the name on the account wasn’t related to either of them. A few minutes later we were heading west on one freeway, then quickly heading north on another. It was in the low fifties with dark clouds above us, and I had no idea where I was.
Not long afterward, we were in a neighborhood straight out ofLeave It to Beaver.We pulled into the driveway of a two-story house with white painted brick on the first floor and matching clapboard on the second. The lawn was neat and the house surrounded with hydrangeas sending out last-gasp blossoms.
I followed Cass up to the front door. He got out a key and we walked in. We were in a small foyer with stairs on the far side and doors going into a living room, and opposite that a dining room. It was a more formal house than I’d been expecting.
“What do you want to do first?” Cass asked.
“Well, I’d like to take a shower.”
The kid looked disappointed, so I said, “We’re going need to talk to some people, I’d like a shower before we do that. You should probably take one, too. How many bathrooms do you have?”
“There’s a half bath down off the kitchen and regular bathroom upstairs.”
“So just one shower?”
“There’s a bathroom with a shower off my mother’s room, but we can’t go in there.”
Which meant it was exactly where I wanted to go.
“Do you want to shower first or do you want me to?”
“You can do it first. It’s upstairs. The door’s right there at the top of the stairs.”
“Okay.”
When I reached the top of the stairs, I noted one door to my right, two doors to my left and a door in front of me. I walked into the bathroom. It was large, with a bathtub and separate shower on the right side of the room, and a toilet and sink on the left. I guessed that the mother’s room was the single door, and that her bathroom was on the other side of the wall from this bathtub and shower. I’d need to know that in a few minutes.
At first glance, the bathroom looked fairly ordinary: pink and gray with fuzzy rugs and seat covers. But then I looked closer. It was filthy. The toilet needed a good scrubbing, as did the sink, which was caked with toothpaste. I’d been thinking about rinsing out my shirt and boxer briefs but decided I’d be better off trying to stop and buy some new ones—plus I needed some kind of coat.
I opened the medicine cabinet—because that’s who I am—and checked it out. There were some shaving supplies that went with the stray whiskers around the sink, a spray for jock itch, an unfinished prescription for antibiotics, allergy pills and a lot of Band-Aids.
The bright spot was the linen closet, which was largely empty but did hold one clean towel. I left the towel on the shelf, because I thought it might be the cleanest place in the bathroom, turned the shower on, and took off my clothes. When the water was warm enough I climbed in.
Did this disgusting bathroom mean anything? If they could afford a house like this, why didn’t they have a cleaner? Or why didn’t his mother clean the room? Sexist, I know, but most mothers would. Did she spend a lot of time screaming at him to clean up after himself and he just ignored her? Or did she not even bother?
Luckily, the water got hot. I turned around and let it run over the spot where I’d had surgery. The heat felt good. I’d taken all the aspirin; I needed to get more.
I should search the house. The comment he made about not going into his mother’s room concerned me. If he wanted me to find his father’s killer, he was going to have to do this my way. He didn’t seem inclined to do that, though.
When I got out of the shower, I took the towel out of the linen closet and used it. Then I put my clothes back on. They didn’t smell so great, but I’d hopefully make it to a store that afternoon. Then I opened the door as quietly as I could.
From downstairs, I heard music. Then a moment later talking. It took a moment, but I realized Cass was watching cable TV. MTV to be specific. Not that I knew much about it. We’d had cable at the house on Second, but I didn’t spend a lot of time watching MTV. Videos weren’t my thing.
Creeping down the hallway, I opened each of the two doors. One was Cass’s bedroom, which was messy and about as clean as the bathroom. There was a twin-sized bed, a dresser with a broken drawer and a desk. The desk was even more cluttered than the rest of the room. There was a pretty recent PC—I couldn’t tell you much more than it looked new. And a laser printer; that I knew because we had one at The Freedom Agenda. On top of the printer was a Sony PlayStation. There was a stack of game cartridges piled next to the entangled electronics. The room smelled strongly of teenaged boy, so I decided not to stay long. I shut the door quietly.
The other room was what he’d described as the junk room. It seemed an accurate description. The room had an unmade twin bed pushed up against one wall, surrounded by stacks of boxes, folding chairs, bags filled with who knows what, an exercise bike, an abandoned Atari gameplayer and stacks of Harlequin romance novels. Since this was the room I was meant to stay in I didn’t dig too deep, there would be time for that later.
I went back out to the top of the stairs and called down, “Your turn.” I waited. A bit later the TV was turned off and Cass appeared at the bottom of the stairs. When he got closer, I said, “I peeked into the junk room. If you tell me where the sheets are, I’ll make the bed.”
“In the closet on the shelf,” he said, as though that should have been obvious.
I went into the room and found them. I began making the bed, though mostly I was listening. I heard him go down to his room, then come back to the bathroom. A minute or so later, the shower came on. I left the junk room and quietly walked back to his mother’s room. I opened the door.
