The kid glanced around the central room. “Is this where you live?”
Before she could answer that this was of course where she lived—he’d just come in to use her bathroom, what did he think she was doing granting him access if she didn’t live here—the kid began to slowly turn a circle. “Whoa,” he said.
Lorna sighed. Her secret was out. She tried to imagine seeing her apartment through his eyes, the hundreds of figurines, the pink and white envelopes stacked on top of her desk.
“Look at allthese.” The kid’s voice was full of awe. He began walking around her room, checking out her extensive collection of Precious Moments figurines. “How many do you have?” he asked, his hazel eyes wide with amazement. “Are there, like, athousand?”
Her face began to heat. “No, of course not.” Quite honestly, she didn’t know. But there were a lot. Alot.
“There’s, like, hundreds!” he said, excited.
“There are not hundreds,” she protested. “Maybe two hundred. Or three. But not, like,hundreds.” She was being defensive with a child, but she hadn’t wanted him to see them to begin with. That’s what cracked doors meant—no entry. Not that it was his fault, but still. And not that he’d taken the slightest notice of her mood—he was marveling at the figurines that covered every shelf, every windowsill, every unused surface. Sometimes she rearranged them, grouping them by animal versus person, by adult versus child. But mostly she just looked at them. Mostly she pretended these were her memories.
Mostly she was just nuts, wasn’t she? Nothing said raving mad like seeing yourself through a child’s eyes.
“Why do you have so many?”
“Because I like them.”
He blinked, clearly unable to understand why anyone would like Precious Moments figurines this much. It was a legitimate question.
She felt the need to make him understand. “They’re happy moments. Get it? Look, here’s one of two kids walking two puppies. Happy, right?”
The kid looked where she indicated.
“And here’s one of a little boy like you reading a book in the grass.”
“What’s he reading?”
“I don’t know. It’s too small to tell. What about this one?” Lorna tried again, noting the hint of desperation in her voice. “This is two grandparents sitting outside their little camper with their cat. That’s kind of fun.”
“Yeah,” the kid said, nodding slowly. Lorna looked helplessly around her living area. The collection stank of hopelessness. She’d always been attracted to the figurines depicting moments of family happiness. Her grandmother had had a few, and she and Kristen used to play with them.
But... but she’d never experienced that kind of happiness herself. Not really. Except for a few years of her childhood that she’d spent here, in this house.
She felt something quake in her, sending an uncomfortable spasm up her spine. Every one of these porcelain scenes represented a life she wished she’d had. Couples and children and lovers and mothers and angels to watch over them all. Moments she believed she’d deserved. And over the years, the urge to buy more of the moments she’d wished for had been too strong to resist.
Was she a bored spendthrift? Or someone who struggled with mental health? She could go either way.
“I don’t even have this many Pokémon cards.” The kid sounded excited. “Can I touch them?” he asked, already reaching.
“Just be careful,” Lorna said. “And listen, if you’re going to hang out here, you need to let your dad know where you are. He probably has strict rules about you just walking into strangers’ apartments.”
“You’re not a stranger. You’re a neighbor.”
“Stranger,” she insisted. She picked up the State Farm envelope and a pen and turned it over on her writing desk. “Write a note to your dad and tell him you are with Miss Lott in apartment 1A.”
The kid asked no questions. He bent over the envelope and began the laborious process of jotting down a note. He bore down on the pencil like he thought he had to carve his missive into the paper. His block letters got bigger and bigger as he neared the edge of the envelope.
When he was done, he handed it to Lorna. She reviewed it.
Deer Dad miss lop said I could come to her house.
“Lott,” she corrected him. She wiggled her fingers at him. “Pencil, please.” He handed it over immediately. She wrote in the small space he’d left in the corner of the envelope:
Sir, I have asked your son to join me in apartment 1A for his safety. Miss Lott.
“Now let’s go put this on your door.” She opened her door, and she, the boy, and Agnes marched across the hall (well, Agnes trotted). Lorna shoved the envelope in the space where the door met the jamb, collected the boy’s things from the floor, and marched back.
