Night Film

115

It was a fluke. But then, life is.

It was a few days after my night out with Hopper and Nora, when I’d just started recovering from my hangover. I was cleaning my office. I let Septimus out of his cage, so he might fly around for a little exercise. I yanked the leather couch away from the wall and noticed, wedged along the floor, the three black-and-white reversing candles Cleo had given us.

I’d forgotten all about them. They must have fallen there, unseen, when the room was ransacked.

We’d barely burned them, preoccupied with everything else. But why not finish the job? I set them on a plate and lit all three. Hours later, when I was on the couch with a scotch and The Wall Street Journal, I glanced up and saw they’d burned down to nothing, just a sliver of white wax. The first and then the second extinguished, as if waiting for my full attention, the wicks flaring orange for a moment before going out. The third held on, the flame twisting as if refusing to let go, to die, but then it went dark, too.

I realized my cell was ringing.

“Hello?” I answered, not bothering to check the caller ID. My accountant was due to call back to inform me my life savings was on its last leg and it was time to either apply for a new teaching position or consider another investigation, one that actually paid money.

“Scott? It’s Cynthia.”

Fear instantly gripped me. “Is Sam all right?”

“Yes. She’s wonderful. Well, no, actually, that’s not true.” She took a deep breath. “Is this a good time to talk?”

“What’s the matter?”

She sounded upset. “I’m sorry. Not returning your calls. I thought it was the right thing to do. But she’s inconsolable. Scott this, Scott that. Crying. I can’t take it.” Cynthia herself seemed on the verge of tears. “Does this Saturday work for you to spend some time with her?”

“Saturday works.”

She sniffed. “Maybe she can stay the night.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good. How are you, by the way?”

“I’m great now. How are you?”

“Good.” She laughed gently. “So, Saturday, then? Jeannie’s back. She’s recovered from mono.”

“Saturday.”

We hung up. I was unable to take my eyes off those candles.

They were smoking rather innocently, three long gray threads embroidering the air.