One visit from a well-meaning neighbor dashed a whole passel of modest but selfish desires. I was glad that her grandmother was okay, but Ellen’s wanting to leave right away meant there would be no home-cooked meal, no catching up on TV, no quiet night in a cozy bed. But I was determined, at least, to get myself showered and shaved.
“The upstairs bathroom is nicer,” said Ellen. “You’ll find towels in the closet in the hall. And if you look inside the master bedroom, I think Grams hung onto most of Grampa’s old clothes. He kept fairly slim. Some of his stuff might actually fit you.”
“Does this mean we’re not going to TJMaxx?”
“Well, you need something to wear in the meantime, don’t you?”
“True.”
Urszula stepped out of the laundry room holding up a cotton floral print dress.
“Can I have … this one? It has pockets.”
“Um … sure,” said Ellen, with some hesitance in her voice. “That looks like one of her favorites, but … go ahead. You need some better clothes, too.”
Urszula proceeded to whip off her baggy sweat suit right in front of us, revealing her pale, undeveloped but wiry. She wore no underwear.
I just shook my head and started up the stairs. As I unzipped my hoodie, the clump of leaves and twigs in my pocket began to writhe. I really had to resist the urge to slap at it. It climbed out, shaping itself back into something much like a bat as it ascended my shoulder. It took flight, zipping around the room, exploring every corner and window.
Ellen screamed and grabbed a broom. “Oh my God! It’s back.”
“It’s okay. This one’s mine; I’m pretty sure.”
“What is this creature?” said Urszula, now practically swimming in the voluminous fabric of her dress.
“It’s just the leftovers from a spell that refuses to fade. A piece of my will.”
“That’s … Billy?” said Ellen. “Where’s he been all this time?”
“Oh, he’s been around,” I said. “He shadowed us all the way up from Philly.”
“Really?” said Ellen, putting the broom down. “He’s like a … a faithful dog. How sweet.”
***
The shower was glorious. Scalding hot water and plenty of pressure. I had to shampoo twice to get all the crap out of my hair. I couldn’t believe some of the stuff that littered the floor of the tub. Bits of spider web. Little pine cones. Dead bugs.
I turned that bathroom into an aromatherapy sauna with all of those flowery shampoos. I shaved with some five-bladed pink monstrosity of a razor and it was a real challenge maneuvering that bulky thing around the tighter contours of my face. I might have missed a patch or two below my nose, but I wasn’t fussy. I just wanted to remove enough of my scraggly whiskers to avoid scaring young children.
When I was done, I wrapped a towel around my middle and skipped out down the hall and into the master bedroom. It felt weird standing practically naked in a stranger’s bedroom, opening drawers at random and finding things like girdles and garters and voluminous skivvies.
Turned out, Grandpa had his own bureau—a massive stack of chests with drawers, the dark wood scarred and cracked, corners reinforced with ornate plates of stamped metal. He seemed to have an endless supply of long johns and thermal undershirts. I snagged a pair of boxers with a ruined elastic and found another drawer packed with green-gray Dickie’s work pants and an astounding array of flannel shirts.
