Fear itself

7

Monday had been a lonely day for Missy. Simon had given Tasha, her attendant, the week off, then spent all morning in the locked basement. And after lunch, instead of taking her to the park as he’d promised, he’d installed her in her bedroom with her favorite Audrey Hepburn videos (Charade, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Wait Until Dark), a snack tray, and strict instructions not to leave the room unless she had to use the toilet.

Then he was kind of distant all through dinner and hardly paid any attention to her. It was a good dinner, though: hamburgs, Tater Tots, applesauce, and Little Debbie snack cakes for dessert-she gobbled down three before he even noticed, and he didn’t make her eat any green veggies. Plus Simon cooked it for her himself, which made it extra good.

After dinner Simon sent Missy back upstairs, then went down into the basement, and didn’t come back up until halfway through The Original Ten O’Clock News. Missy never missed The Original Ten O’Clock News-she had a major crush on Dennis Richmond, the handsome black anchorman. Once Simon took her to the telethon and she met him in person and gave him a dollar for those poor children in their wheelchairs.

But even after Simon came up from the basement, he didn’t pay any attention to Missy-just went into his room and closed the door. Missy kept expecting him to come kiss her good night, but he didn’t. She fell asleep with the light and the TV on but woke up in the dark with the TV off-she’d been awakened by the ringing of the telephone. From across the hall she heard Simon talking. She got out of bed and knocked on the door of the master suite. No answer-she opened it anyway, crossed the bedroom, and stuck her head into Simon’s little office. He was at the computer.

“Who called?” A stranger would have heard Hoo-haw, but as always, Simon had no trouble understanding Missy.

“Dorie. She said to say hi to you.”

Missy decided to tease him a little. “Talking to your girlfriend. Simon’s got a girlfriend.”

“Missy, I’m in no mood for your nonsense. Now, go back to bed before I get serious.”

Uh-oh. When Simon said “serious,” he meant “mad.” When Simon was mad, sometimes he did things he was sorry for later. But the sorry didn’t help much if you were the one he did the things to. “I love you?” she whispered cautiously.

“I love you, too,” said Simon, turning his back to the door. It wasn’t as though he’d had that great a day, either. That’s what comes from trying to do too much too fast, he told himself. The total darkness, then that stunt with the liver-greedy, Simon, greedy. And now, what with Dorie Bell stirring things up, it would have to end sooner than he had planned. For Wayne and Dorie both.

Still, spilt milk and all that. And perhaps when Wayne knew the end was coming…

Simon could feel his pulse quickening at the thought. Yes, that’s it, he told himself, that’s what we’re in this for. Then he realized Missy was still standing forlornly in the doorway. He spun his chair around again. “Hey, sis, what do you say, how ’bout pancakes for breakfast?”

“Peachy keen,” replied Missy, picturing the Mrs. Butterworth’s bottle, which always made her giggle. “I love pancakes.”

“I know you do. Now, go to bed-I have to go back down to the basement.”

“I don’t like the basement. It’s scary.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why you mustn’t go down there, not ever.”

“You do,” she said intelligibly. She could manage her oo sounds pretty well. And as Simon knew, her speech difficulties stemmed from the way the congenital Down’s flattening of the palate forced Missy’s tongue to protrude, and were not indicative of her level of comprehension.

“I have to,” he said.

“Ha hunh,” she replied, waving a chubby hand.

Have fun. Simon found himself wondering, as he slipped on his new D-303, single-tube, dual-eye, night-vision goggles with built-in two-stage infrared illuminator, whether somehow Missy didn’t understand a lot more than even he gave her credit for.