She busied herself at work. It was laundry day, thankfully, since the clothes on Uma’s back had been worn and worn again. But how to wash her single pair of jeans while still covering herself provided a brief conundrum. She eventually opted for a big towel around her waist—which would have worked out fine if they hadn’t gotten a visitor.
When she first walked down the rickety wooden stairs to the basement, arms filled with the overflowing laundry basket and head full of overly specific directions on what not to wash with what, Uma had two thoughts: How on earth did Ms. Lloyd manage these stairs in her condition? And more importantly, how did the stairs survive the woman’s considerable weight?
The basement was weird, paneled in dark wood with a bar at the far end of the room. It smelled of old, moldy carpeting and stale smoke. Buck heads, probably hunting trophies, adorned the far wall. She hardly dared look at the glassy eyes staring at her in blank, creepy vigilance. It was dirty and dank, with an underlying nastiness that had Uma running back up as soon as she’d gotten the load in, towel clutched around her hips, back itching with the sensation that someone or something followed close behind.
At the top of the stairs, Uma hesitated at the door. There were voices on the other side.
“It’s fine. She’ll do,” Ms. Lloyd hissed, and Uma leaned on the basement door, straining her ears.
“You sure? You know you don’t have to do this. If you need me to, I can—”
What? Do what, exactly?She pushed her ear hard against the door, and it swung out with a crash, interrupting the conversation and sending blood rushing to Uma’s cheeks.
“Oh, well, look at that! Here she is!” Ms. Lloyd chirped.
Uma’s heart hitched up to warp speed when she saw the enormous silhouette standing in the front door.Oh no. This is it. He’s here. Joey, here to drag—
The figure shifted, and perception caught up to reality. It wasn’t him…not even close. Joey’d never been so tall or wide or calmly imposing. Self-consciously charming and perpetually wired about summed up Joey, not like this…this…monolith. Calm. Steady. A rock.
Her mental camera snapped a reluctant picture, wanting to memorialize this man’s tranquility and bottle it, an antidote to her own messed-up life.
As she focused on the shift in reality, Ms. Lloyd and Ivan focused onher: curious, waiting for something—apparently a response to some question.
“Ive came to see you,dear. Aren’t you going to say hello?” What? To see her? And where the hell had thatdearcome from?
“Um. Hello, Ivan.”
“You can call me Ive.” God, she’d forgotten how intimidating he was. Not just his size, but his presence.
“Sorry. Ive.”
“’S okay. Just came by to see how you’d settled in.”
Uma had also forgotten how slow and deep his voice sounded.
She responded, oddly mesmerized. “Great. Yeah, good. Everything’s just perfect.” She snuck a look at his face to catch his eyes riveted to the worn floral terry knotted at her waist.
“New trend?” he asked.
“Laundry day.”
“Ah.”
Ms. Lloyd wore a little pursed-lipped expression that managed to look both satisfied at Uma’s predicament and irritated that she’d taken to wearing her bath towels.
“Well, don’t just stand there, Ive, honey. Come inside.” Ms. Lloyd pulled him in and locked the door, four and then five times. Always five. “Did you bring theGazette?”
“Oh, darn it,” Ivan responded, sounding wooden. His gaze slid to Uma, then back. “They were all out again.”
“Hmph. I might have to call old Shady Grady myself and ask him to hold back a copy for me next time. Couldn’t possibly be selling out, since the darn thing’s a rag, anyway. Not a real journalist in the bunch. And they never did seem to get my ad right.”
“Yep. Always somethin’, isn’t it?” Ivan looked decidedly shifty. “So, you settled in all right, Uma?”
“Yes. Great. Thanks for checking in.” The towel around Uma’s waist made a bid for freedom. She barely managed to snag it before her shamefully threadbare granny panties became fodder for Ms. Lloyd’s ridicule.
“Pleasure.” Ivan’s eyes rose to the TV bolted to the living room wall, only touching on Uma’s struggle briefly before skittering away again. “How’s the TV workin’ out?”
“Oh, Ive, honey, it’s changed my life! I can’t begin to thank you enough.” Ms. Lloyd was effusive, as lively as Uma had ever seen her.
