Jennifer Crusie - Maybe This Time

“Wonderful,” North said, and turned out the light.

“You going to sleep?” Andie said, putting her hand on his chest.

“You had a rough night,” he said and kissed her on the forehead.

“Not that rough,” Andie said, and pulled his mouth down to hers, kissing him hard.

“Now we’re back to normal,” North said, and Andie wrapped herself around him and thought, Now I’m home, and made love with her husband in the attic, while her family slept below.

It was close to midnight, the clock ticking loudly in the dark kitchen, the game of solitaire on the big table lit only by one steadily burning candle, when Mrs. Crumb lifted her head to listen.

“You’re back, are you?” She gathered up the cards and began to shuffle them.

How the hell did I get back here?

Mrs. Crumb stopped shuffling long enough to hold up the old church envelope that had been on the bulletin board by the phone. “I cut an extra lock of hair from your head that night you fell through the railing. You died bad. I thought I might need it if you walked.”

Jesus Christ-

“You know I don’t like that kind of language.”

Fuck you. You don’t even belong here. They threw you out.

Mrs. Crumb shrugged. “They’re never coming back. They’ll never see this place again. I got my social security to live on.”

So now I’m trapped with you? Goddammit!

Mrs. Crumb pushed the envelope toward the other side of the table. “You don’t like it, take me and make me burn it.”

The silence stretched out.

“That’s what I thought. From now on, you just remember, any time I want to, I can snuff you out like a candle.”

After a moment, the candle on the table flickered as if somebody had passed behind it.

Mrs. Crumb nodded. “That’s what I thought.” She leaned back and got the card rack from the drawer behind her and put it in front of the chair across from her.

“It’s my deal,” she said, and began to pass out the cards.