“Silas, who is that?” she asked. She pushed back her brown hat in order to see me better, and I realized that it was actually a thick thatch of hair.
“Lyra, this is my friend Camille,” Mr. Flip Phone said. Silas? His name was Silas? Then that was what I was calling him from now on, because “Stone” as a first name sounded more like the hero of an action movie and I didn’t care much for those.
Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me. “Why is she here?” she asked him.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I answered, and the man I had known only as Stone walked into the house and closed the door behind us all. I had pulled up in front of this building and had thought that the map, which had misled me about how long it would take to arrive, had also lied about reaching the destination. This was a pretty Detroit bungalow, with a big dormer on the second floor and a long front porch. It was hard to see, since the sun hadn’t yet risen, but the front yard seemed perfectly kept. We were at the wrong place.
I had looked at the sleeping man beside me and then said, “Stone! Is this your house?”
He had awakened immediately with no hint of grogginess and answered, “Yeah.” Then I’d followed him up to the front door, and here we were.
“Why are you awake?” he was asking the little girl. “Did you have a bad dream?”
She looked over his shoulder at where I stood behind them. “No,” she said, and she wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. She made a face at me!
My own face must have demonstrated my shock because next, she smiled. Then she put her head down like she was tired. By this point, it was three in the morning, and I myself was exhausted.
“Camille, make yourself at home. I’m going to put her back to bed,” Silas told me. I heard him talking as he went up a flight of stairs, his size seventeen feet thumping as they went.
I made myself at home by looking around a little. This was very cute house, and not at all what I would have pictured for him. Maybe…maybe an industrial loft with steel beams across the ceiling would have been a better setting. Or a gym, the kind with racks of giant dumbbells where he might have slept in an extra-large cot in the corner. The pretty bungalow with its dainty furniture didn’t seem right.
“Sorry,” he said as he rejoined me. “She doesn’t always sleep through the night. Come on.”
“Who is that?” I asked as I trailed behind him into the kitchen. It was probably a sunny yellow color here during the day, but it looked a little ghostly in the moonlight and he didn’t bother to flip the switch on the wall.
“Lyra’s my little sister.” He bent and took a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. “Want one?” I shook my head and he nodded. “I didn’t figure you for much of a drinker.”
“How many years apart are you?”
“She’s seven and I’m thirty-two. If you do the math right, it comes out to a hell of a lot.” He tilted back his head and half the liquid in his bottle disappeared. “We have the same dad, different moms.”
“So, the three of you live here? Your sister, your dad, and you?” It made more sense to me that this house wasn’t his.
“No, he lives elsewhere. I’m not exactly sure where he’s currently holed up.” The beer was now gone and he sat at the kitchen table. I noticed that it had only two placemats on it,ready for the next meal, and he took the chair behind one of them. “Sit,” he told me, and I did.
“What about your mothers?” I asked.
“Mine passed away about ten years ago. Lyra’s mom…” He looked up at the high ceiling, as if he was considering. “If I had to bet, I would say that she’s in Vegas. But you’re here.” He pointed at me with the empty bottle. “Option D.”
“What?”
“Option D,” he said slowly. “That was why you came over, so we could discuss my idea for helping each other out. Do you have a legal pad or something to take notes?”
We both looked at my tiny purse. “No,” I said. “Is it complicated?”
“There are some twists and turns. We should probably get this in writing because I don’t have faith in oral agreements.”
I looked at the circle of pale skin around the ring finger of my left hand. “Me neither. I can draw something up, but first tell me your idea.”
He did. “I need help with my sister because she doesn’t have any good female influences. You need help with your ex-boyfriend because he’s a grade-A, first-class turd bucket. You must have done well in school.” He paused, looking for my agreement and I did nod yes. “I do well with these.” He held up both his fists and white scars on his knuckles gleamed slightly in the moonlight. “You teach her to be smart and successful, and I’ll teach him to shut the hell up. Quid pro quo, Camille.”
“Really? That’s your idea, that I act as a mentor for your sister? You didn’t have to drag me over here in the middle of the night. I would have said yes if you’d asked at a normal time.”
“What?”
“Sure,” I said, nodding. “Of course I’ll help a little girl who needs it.”
“And I’ll help you,” Silas Stone said. “I will. I’ll take care of Dax and his song.”
