Karen Bender - Refund - Stories

“Why?” he said to the air.

“A child is here.”

“I don’t know any child.”

“Her name is Aurora.”

He stared at the speaker.

“Yes,” he said. “I know her.”

When they reached his house, Lenny stepped out of his limo. His home was made of pale marble, and clear white wavelets from the swimming pool shimmered on its empty walls. Black palms, bathed in blue light, swayed in the warm wind. The bushes in his gardens had been trimmed to the shapes of elephants, giraffes, bears, and they made a silent, regal procession through the darkness. He stood for a moment, in the quiet he had made, before he went inside.

The girl stood at the top of the stairs. He would not have been aware of her but for the ferocity with which she stood there, as though she had dreamed herself in this position for years. She was gripping the railing, staring at him. Her face was dim, but he could see her fingernails holding the rail — they were an absurdly bright gold. She ran down the stairs so fast he thought she might fall.

“Hello,” she said.

His legs felt as insubstantial as water. He looked at Aurora. He believed she had to be about twelve years old. Her face had the hard, polite quality of someone who had been scheming quietly and fervently for a long time. Her auburn hair reached halfway down her back. She had Lola’s eyebrows, two arched Us that gave her an alert, surprised expression. She had Charlene’s navy blue eyes. They were the color of steel and moved around restlessly, but they had a hard gaze when they settled on something. He knew because they were also his eyes.

“Hello,” he said. He offered his hand. She grabbed it. He still wore the Bluetooth headset he usually wore so as not to miss any calls.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I was sent.”

“By who?”

“My mother.”

She handed him a letter. The letterhead said:

BUENA VISTA REHABILITATION CLINIC

Your secrets are ours .

Dad—

I am here for the next three months .

Take care of Aurora .

She likes chocolate .

I’m so tired .

Charlene’s signature resembled a tiny knot.

The letter’s tone was so polite he knew that she had been trying to please someone watching her as she wrote it.

“Is this where your mother is?”

She nodded and stepped carefully toward the enormous living room windows. “This was in a magazine,” she said.

“ House and Garden ,” he said.

She nodded. “It’s bigger in real life.”

He wanted to stop her. She was standing against the window, pressing her fingers against the glass. He saw her make a breath on the glass, a pale oval, and the intimacy of the action made him want to walk away.

Two large suitcases sat in the foyer. He gestured to them and said, “Carlos can take them up for you.”

Aurora rushed up to one and grabbed the handle. “No!” she said. “I want to do this one myself.”

The bag was not actually a suitcase, but a large green canvas sack. It bulged, oddly, with unidentifiable objects.

“You can’t carry that yourself,” he said.

She looked pleased, as if she’d predicted he would say this. “Then you help me.”

He could not even remember the last time he’d carried anyone’s bag, including his own. “Rosita, call Carlos,” said Lenny.

“No,” said Aurora. “You.”

Rosita brought him a dolly, and he pushed the bag into the elevator. The girl walked beside him, fiercely gripping the bag handle. The elevator rose to the second floor. When they got to the guest room, he stopped.

“You can stay here,” he said.

She walked in, dragged the bag into a corner. “Thank you,” she said.

“Good night now,” he said.

Her eyelids twitched. “I’m not sleepy.”

He began to back away. “Hey, look,” he said. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to entertain yourself. You know.” He lifted his hands helplessly. “Sweeps. Nielsens. I don’t have time for babysitting. Rosita,” he said. “Aurora will be visiting us. Bring her hot chocolate.”

Aurora stepped back and stared at the floor. She looked as though she had fallen from the sky.

He felt he should say something more to her, but did not know what.

“Rosita, put some whipped cream on her hot chocolate,” he said, and he fled.

LENNY WOKE WITH A SHUDDER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. HE sat, his heart marching, in his bed. Then he got up and went to the kitchen. He sat in the blue midnight and drank a glass of milk.

He heard footsteps — peering through the doorway, he saw Aurora in the foyer. The girl was walking barefoot, in her pajamas, through the enormous room. She made almost no sound and moved through the darkness in a careful, fevered way. She went up to the statues, lamps, couches and touched them tenderly. She walked quickly, from room to room.

He fled back into his room. He was shaken, furious, wondering if he should wake Rosita, call the police. The girl was walking through his home. Now it seemed that anything could happen — the clock could walk off, the curtain could burst into flames. He lay awake for a long time.

HE WOKE UP AT SIX, FAR EARLIER THAN HE BELIEVED THE GIRL would be up. After he made his way down the stairs, he realized that his headset was gone. He had left it on the kitchen table after his midnight glass of milk, and its absence made him feel anxious, excluded from the news of the day. He ran to Rosita and asked her to look for it. He would give himself twenty-five minutes for breakfast. About ten minutes into his food, Aurora walked in. She stood, a little tentatively, in the doorway; her face was carefully blank.

“Hello, Grandfather,” she said. She said this title loudly, as though they both should know what it meant.

“Hello.”

Her face was heavy with exhaustion. She sat at the other end of the table. Before she did this, she moved a large crystal urn of flowers to the floor.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I want to be able to see you when we talk.”

He eyed her and ate a forkful of eggs. Rosita placed a croissant before her. Aurora was staring at him, drumming her fingers on the tablecloth.

“I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“How does it feel to be syndicated in forty-three countries?”

“Forty-four. Somalia just signed on.”

“Forty-four.”

“Very good.”

“Your first episode of Anything for Money had the biggest television audience ever.”

“That is true.”

“How did you get Ringo Starr to do a guest spot?”

“He asked to come on.” He looked up. “Is this an interview?”

“I’ve read 127 articles about you. In all the major magazines. More on the Internet. On the authorized sites.” She went through four slices of bacon. “Is it true that you only stock water in the back of the set so that contestants will get hungry and meaner?”

“No.” He lifted the paper in front of his face. “Anything you need, ask Rosita.”

“I would like an office.”

He lowered the paper. “For what purpose?”

“The production of my feature film.”

He folded the paper.

“I am currently in preproduction.”

“You are twelve years old,” he said.

“I know,” she said, as though that were a compliment. “I have read many books on the subject. I am writing a script. If you want to know the title, I can—”

He marched out of the dining room; she followed. He was not used to waiting for another person, and he could sense her trailing behind him, trying to catch up.

He pushed open two doors embossed with a gold pattern identical to the doors of Il Duomo in Florence. The room overlooked the rose gardens.