“Oh, you,” she said with a giggle as she listed to one side.
Huh. Her one glass of wine must’ve hit her hard, because her cheeks were rosy, too.
“Almost forgot. I also brought chocolate. Truffles, anyone?”
He had brought wine and chocolate. Definitely an android—designed by a woman, at that.
The universe was sorely tempting me, and now I didn’t have the marriage thing as a barrier. The most galling part of all was that Salcedo, a mere babe in the woods, had been right, while I had been wrong. I could hang my hat on two things: One, the fact that he was lying about his identity. Two, that I couldn’t afford to pay Havisham fifty bucks.
Even worse, my intuition suggested he had a really good reason for pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
Probably because my intuition would like to get laid.
“I never turn down chocolate,” Mrs. Q said, jarring me back to the present. My foot tapped underneath the table as a way to soften my impatience about the fact she was still with us. I had questions that needed to be answered. Wasn’t it almost time for freakingWheel of Fortune?
“Sometimes,” Malone said, as he chose one with a caramel center, “the brain needs sugar to function.”
“Truer words were never spoken.” I selected a dark-chocolate truffle, and we each savored our mini desserts.
“What is it that you do, Mr. Malone?” Mrs. Q asked. “I hate that I’ve been living upstairs this whole time but don’t know anything about you. I used to know all the neighbors.”
“Just call me Malone,” he said. “Mr. Malone is my father.”
Mrs. Q collapsed into giggles disproportionate to the scale of the joke. Malone held up the bottle to top off her glass, but she put a sinewy hand over it and shook her head. He angled the bottle toward me, and I nodded to indicate he could pour away.
“As for what I do? That’s classified, and if I told you, I’m afraid I’d have to kill you.” He softened the sentence with a lopsided smile, and I had to mentally tip my hat at his deft use of humor to evade the question.
He wouldn’t be so lucky with me once I got him alone.
I was about to lay the groundwork for my inquisition, the threat to my life notwithstanding, when Mrs. Q’s expression changed abruptly. She belched, then put a hand over her mouth.
“Goodness, Stella, darling, could you help me upstairs? The room is spinning.”
“Absolutely.” I frowned. She couldn’t be feeling well if she’d just asked for help.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Q?” asked Malone, his brow furrowed with concern. I loved that he’d picked up her nickname just from listening to me address her.
“I’m doing a little too well,” she said, her words ever so slightly slurred. “This has been so much fun, and I hope you won’t hold it against me that I’m such a lightweight. I’m afraid being old and taking eleventy billion medications means you become a party pooper.”
“Not at all,” Malone said. “It’ll give me a chance to do the dishes.”
And he does dishes. Of course he does dishes. The universe hates me.
With me to steady her, Mrs. Q climbed the steps quicker than her usual pace, but it was still a slow-motion struggle. Once we reached the top of the stairs, it took her three tries to get the key in the lock because she kept swaying. The whole experience reminded me of college. I’d often been the “responsible one” who got her friends home and safely tucked into bed.
Once we were finally inside, Mrs. Q said, “Oh, Stella, I’m so sorry I harshed your mella ... er, mellow.” She giggled at her own rhyme. “I know better than to have a glass of wine. Bad enough with some of my medication, but I must’ve forgotten to eat lunch today and—”
She belched loudly.
I tensed, ready to race her to the bathroom, but she leaned back into the couch, where she’d plopped, and looked relieved rather than green. At least I wouldn’t have to hold her hair since she kept it cut short?
“Would you like for me to help you to bed?” I asked.
“That would be lovely,” she said with a slur as I helped her to her feet. “And then I’m going to need you to grab a stack of Bibles from the bookshelf over there and swear upon them that you won’t tell my children that their mother got inebriated. Especially not on one glass of wine. And you can’t tell them I skipped lunch, either. I didn’t do it on purpose. Sometimes the days run into each other. Hours run into each other. It’s dreadfully dull being old and alone, Stella.”
By the time she finished this cautionary tale, we’d reached her bedroom at the end of the hall.
“But you,” she said, while trying to point at me but actually pointing more toward the closet behind me. “You should go back down there andkiss that nice young man. Wine, chocolate, and he’s doing the dishes? He’s a handsome one. And funny. That’s a keeper if I’ve ever seen one.”
