“It ain’t the times, and you know it. If anyone came and offered you a job, you’d drop dead, you’d be so scared.” As though addressing a roomful of spectators, she indicated Tom with an extended palm and said, “I tell him to go upstairs and get the rent money and he claims it wouldn’t be charitable.” She whirled on Tom and yelled, “Where do you come off with that charity routine? You’re just too goddamn lazy to climb a couple flights of stairs.”
“Now look, sweetheart—”
Lola cut in with another burst of condemnation, spicing it with oaths and four-letter words. The walls of the parlor seemed to vibrate with the force of her loud harangue. Kerrigan knew from past experience that it would go on like this for the better part of the night. He walked out of the parlor and moved slowly down the narrow hallway leading to the small bedroom he shared with Frank. But all at once he stopped. He was looking at the door of another room. It was an empty room and no one lived in it now and he wondered what caused him to stare at the door.
He tried to drag his eyes away from the door, but even while making the effort he was putting his hand on the knob. He opened the door very slowly and went in and flicked the wall switch that lit the single bulb in the ceiling. He closed the door behind him and stood looking at the walls and the floor, the bed and the chair, the small dresser and tiny table. He was thinking of the girl who had lived here, the girl who’d been dead for seven months.
Without sound he spoke her name. Catherine, he said. And then he was frowning, annoyed with himself. It didn’t make sense to sustain the sorrow. All right, she’d been his sister, his own flesh and blood, she’d been a fine sweet tenderhearted creature, but now she was gone and there was no way to bring her back. He tried to shrug it off and walk out of the room. But something held him there. It was almost as though he were waiting to hear a voice.
Then suddenly he heard it, but it wasn’t a voice. It was the door. He turned slowly and saw Frank coming into the room.
They looked at each other. Frank’s mouth was twitching. The eyes were very shiny, the arms hanging stiffly and the hands slanted out at an odd angle with the fingers stretched rigid. Then Frank was staring at the wall behind Kerrigan’s head and saying quietly, “What goes on here?”
Kerrigan didn’t reply.
“I’m asking you something,” Frank said. “Whatcha doing in this room?”
“Nothing.”