The Traveling Vampire Show(82)

 

Drying myself, I wondered if the towel had been in the wash since the last time she’d used it. I didn’t think so. It seemed clean and fresh, but didn’t smell or feel the way towels do before they’ve been used.

 

This one had been against Slim, all over.

 

When I was done drying myself, I wrapped it around my waist and tucked a comer down to hold it in place. It jutted out quite a lot in front, so I didn’t go to the door or call out for Slim.

 

To pass a little time, I stepped over to the counter. The mirror above it was all fogged up. Even though I couldn’t see myself in the mirror, I combed my hair with a pink comb I found on the counter. Then I sprayed my armpits with Slim’s deodorant. It was Right Guard, and it’s odor reminded me of her.

 

It seemed that Slim’s special scent was made of many different aromas—her soap, her shampoo, her deodorant. Now those scents were on me. I liked having the same smell as Slim—or almost the same.

 

She had other aromas, too, at different times. Perfumes. Suntan oil. Foods she’d eaten. Sometimes, she carried outdoor scents: she smelled like wind or rain or grass or sunlight.

 

The towel was no longer sticking out, so I went to the door.

 

I expected Slim to be on the other side of it.

 

She wasn’t.

 

I stepped out and looked down the hall. Light from her open bedroom door spilled onto the carpet like a yellow fluid.

 

“Slim?” I called.

 

No answer came.

 

Not from her bedroom. Not from downstairs. Not from anywhere.

 

What if they got her?

 

The thought made me feel squirmy.

 

Maybe they were hanging around the house all along, hiding, waiting to get Slim alone....

 

She’s probably still in the garage, I told myself. Safe and sound. Waiting to take my jeans out of the washer.

 

I might as well wait in her bedroom, I thought.

 

As I walked toward the glow from her room, the towel started to come loose. I grabbed it, held it up, and kept on walking—suddenly very aware of being naked except for the towel.

 

Stepping into the light, turning toward her doorway, I suddenly imagined Slim was waiting for me in her bed. Maybe with a sheet pulled up almost to her shoulders.

 

Her shoulders bare.

 

Her face smiling.

 

That’s why she hadn’t answered when I called out; she didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-four

 

 

Wrong.

 

Slim’s bed was empty. She didn’t seem to be in her room at all.

 

“Slim?” I asked, just to make sure.

 

A fluttery feeling in my stomach, I left her room and walked to the head of the stairway.

 

“Slim!” I called out.

 

She didn’t answer.

 

So I trotted down the stairs. Straight ahead of me was the front door. I suddenly imagined it swinging open, Slim’s mother coming into the house and gaping up at me in shock, blurting out, What’re YOU doing here, young man? Where are your clothes?

 

Something had gone wrong with her overnight plans, and here she was.

 

It could happen.

 

Of course, it didn’t.

 

It’s been my experience that worst case scenarios are very rare indeed. Rare to the extent that you can almost count on them not happening.

 

But sometimes they do.

 

The moment I turned away from the front door, my terror of being caught by Slim’s mother vanished and my fears for Slim resumed.

 

The kitchen light was on. The back door stood open and the screen door was shut.

 

Earlier, Slim had entered the house this way to open the front door for me. She had also, probably, gone out this way to take my jeans to the garage.

 

I walked across the linoleum floor. It felt clean and slick under my bare feet.

 

At the screen door, I stopped and looked out.

 

The two-car garage stood at the far right comer of the lawn. Though its doors were shut, the windows of the laundry room were bright.

 

Slim has to be in there, I told myself.

 

But what if she’s not?

 

She is! She knows I’ve got no pants until she comes back with my jeans. She’s just staying with them till they’re done.

 

Probably.

 

I couldn’t stand the idea of waiting for her—not knowing for sure if she was there—so I opened the screen door and hurried down the back porch stairs.

 

Night had come. It was warm. Soft breezes blew against me, and they smelled of rain—rain that had been holding off all day but was sure to fall sooner or later.

 

Almost naked, I was glad to have the darkness. The trees and fences gave me some protection, but not enough, from the eyes of neighbors who might be looking out their windows. If I should be seen in Slim’s back yard wearing nothing but a towel ...