Paulie and I were in the Millers’ kitchen when Mrs. Miller came down the stairs.
“Hello, girls,” Mrs. Miller said.
“Hello, Mrs. Miller,” I said. I nodded and gave her a smile.
I was leaning against the doorway with my arms crossed under my chest. Paulie was planted on the kitchen counter next to the sink, feet bare and dangling. She held a jar of peanut butter in her left hand and a spoon in her right. Mrs. Miller came closer, so I turned my body to face her, and my back sank into the wall, which was cold and rough even through my t-shirt.
“Breakfast, is it?” Mrs. Miller asked. She tilted her head towards Paulie’s snack.
“Seems like it,” Paulie said.
Mrs. Miller raised her eyebrows and began walking across the room to the sink. Paulie hopped off the countertop, taking a few steps back. Mrs. Miller turned the faucet on, picked up the bar of soap from its soap dish, and rubbed it in her hands until they became sudsy. Paulie and I exchanged glances, and I pointed to the space on the counter where Paulie had just set the peanut-butter spoon. Paulie turned, observed the spoon, and looked back at me, eyes wide.
She started towards it, hand outstretched, but Mrs. Miller picked it up and tossed it in the sink, where it rang out beneath the smooth sound of the running faucet.
“That’s quite alright, Paulie. I’ll handle it.”
“Thanks,” Paulie said. She stepped back farther until she was next to me on the wall. I nudged her with my elbow.
The faucet ceased, finally. Mrs. Miller patted her hands dry against her skirt.
“Late on rent again, ladies,” Mrs. Miller said.
“We’re sorry, Mrs. Miller,” I said. “Just need a couple of days is all. Bill Carrigan still owes me a bit of money from a week or so ago. Babysitting cash. I’ll call him today and handle it.”
“Hmm. Babysitting, is it?” she said. “I think we both know the problem is a bit more severe than that, don’t we?”
“What?”
“A bit more serious than a bit of babysitting cash, wouldn’t you say?”
Paulie sniffled. She grabbed a tissue from the box above the fridge and began blowing her nose.
“We’ve got some things in the works, Mrs. Miller,” Paulie said, voice muffled. She lowered her hand and smiled, nodding her head earnestly. She curled the tissue tight in her fist, and Mrs. Miller looked away.
“Fine,” she said. “But we don’t want to make this a habit.”
Mrs. Miller walked past us and through the door to the living room, where she would sit and read for the afternoon. Her plush armchair faced outward towards the street, and often, when Paulie and I returned home, even late in the evening, we would meet her gaze through the slats in the blinds. Her eyes would linger for a moment, wide and blue against the darkness of the night, before the blinds snapped shut and she disappeared up the stairs.
Later that night, I met Bill for dinner.
Paulie dressed me in a white blouse and a short pink skirt, which was puffy and made of tulle, like it was meant for a child. I told Paulie I wasn’t sure if it would work.
“It’s immature, Paul,” I said.
She smoothed the tulle down around my hips with her hands and took a step back. I stood tall and awkward inside the Millers’ guest-bedroom mirror. Paulie sat down on the bed, arms crossed.
“Not when it’s on you,” she said with a nod. “He’ll like it.”
I left the Millers’ house out the back door and walked around the block to the street corner where Bill agreed to meet. Leaning against a telephone pole, I watched for Bill’s red station wagon. When it pulled up, I bent down and waved through the window, but Bill’s expression was blank, his hands curled in his lap.
“Hey,” I said, opening the car door.
“Hey.”
I climbed in and buckled my seatbelt. Bill started the car. The sun was setting and had fallen to the space just under the car’s small sun visor, so I shifted my body and covered my eyes with my hand. Squinting, I turned to look at Bill. He wore a plaid shirt and brown corduroy pants. The bottom half of his face was flooded with light, and I examined the lines on his upper lip, coming from the corners of his nose, which were deep and aged him severely. His hands gripped the steering wheel tight—knuckles sharp beneath his nearly translucent skin.
“What?” he said, looking over at me.
“Nothing.” I turned my body towards the window.
We arrived at the restaurant. It was nestled beneath a barbershop, and the steps down off the street were steep and often slippery, so I held onto the railing and concentrated on my footing. The hostess seated us at a table in the far back. It was small, meant only for two, and dimly lit by a single, hanging lightbulb, which sat too low, just above eye level.
Bill took a seat and so did I. He shifted around, pulled out his glasses from their case in his back pocket, and set them at the end of his nose. Tilting his face down, he examined the menu.
“What are you going to get? he asked.
“Not sure yet,” I said. The menu was the same as always and so was Bill.
The waitress came and went. I touched his knee under the table, and he brushed my hand away. I picked at my dinner.
“What’s going on?” I said.
Bill sighed. “Helen knows.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“To be honest, I thought she did already.”
“Well, she didn’t. Or maybe she did. Doesn’t matter when she knew but she does now.”
“Hmm,” I said. I took a sip of water, looking at him over the rim of my glass. Bill avoided my eyes.
“So what does this mean?” I said.
Bill tapped on the table with his pointer finger. “I think you know what it means.” He shook his head and then held it in his hands. “Obviously you know what it means.”
“I’m late on rent,” I said.
“I’ll take care of it,” Bill said. “But this is the last time. You’d benefit from being on your own. Financially, I mean.”
“Oh.” I nodded my head slowly and laughed.
“What?”
“I’d benefit from it?”
Bill made a face. “I think so,” he said.
“You’re just saying that to make yourself feel better.”
“Ha. Maybe so.”
I sat up straighter in my chair, stretching my neck, so Bill's head was covered by the fullness of the singular lightbulb. A pair of shoulders and a lightbulb head. I wanted to giggle but didn’t and, instead, took a gulp of water, put my elbows on the table, and there rested my chin.
“Well, that’s that,” I said. “But I thought you liked the arrangement.”
Bill laughed. “I think you got more out of it.”
“No way.” I tapped my fingers on the edge of the table, fast, and looked up at the ceiling. “We should go somewhere,” I said.
“Together?”
“Yes, together. Far away. Away from the Millers’ house.”
“Ah, the Millers. That’s what’s got you down, right? Holed up in the Millers’ house all day. Old, crazy Mrs. Miller,” he said.
“Don’t talk about her like that. Only I get to talk about her like that.”
“Sure.”
I looked around the restaurant, which was dark and nearly empty. Our waitress must’ve been in the kitchen somewhere because I couldn’t find her. Bill had returned his attention to his plate and was eating furiously.
I felt suddenly out of place and very aware of my pink skirt, which wasn’t right after all. I touched it with my fingers and let the coarse fabric tug across my skin, then looked up.
“Anyway,” Bill said, finally. “We couldn’t go anywhere most of all because of Paulie. You’d never leave her. You, Paulie, and the Millers against the world. Ha ha.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a joke.”
“Right.”
Bill dropped me back off at the Millers’ house later that evening. He parked his car near the end of the block and turned the headlights off.
“Goodbye,” I said. I opened the door and looked back at him plainly, one leg already out of the car.
“Good luck,” he said. I nodded my head and began to move when Bill grabbed my arm. “Let me give you some cash. For your rent.”
“Sure, thanks.”
Still holding onto my arm, Bill looked me in the eye somberly. This sudden sentimentality disturbed me, and I shook away from his grasp. He conceded the moment and finally reached across me to the glove compartment, from which he presented an unsealed envelope. I took it and stepped out onto the curb.
The night air was prickly against my skin, for my legs were bare and I’d forgotten my jacket. As I approached the Millers’ house, I looked up to the far side of the downstairs window and felt a pang in my chest when the blinds were already shut and Mrs. Miller gone. I searched for the house-key in my purse, and upon finding it, began to struggle tirelessly with the front door. My fingers were weak and foolish against the lock, and I feared suddenly that the house wouldn’t open at all, that I would be stuck out in the dark by myself. I pressed my forehead against the door’s cool, wet glass, took a breath, and gave the lock another tug.
It released with a shriek. I turned on the light switch, and walked to the kitchen, where I found Mrs. Miller’s small yellow grocery list and a blue pen. Rent for this month and the next, I wrote. I set it on the counter and laid the envelope beneath it.
Up the stairs I went to the Millers’ guest bedroom, where Paulie would be sleeping. I opened the door slowly and undressed. I unbuttoned my blouse and pulled my skirt beneath my hips, so it fell in a puddle around my ankles.
When I climbed into bed, I reached for Paulie’s hand, which was warm and delicate to the touch.
“Is that you?” Paulie asked.
“Yes,” I said, and I closed my eyes.