change the reasons she shouldn’t want him to touch her. None of what she was feeling was his fault, and she needed to stop blaming him.
“You don’t have to apologize. Let’s just chalk it up to a rough day at the office and leave it at that.” He offered a smile in exchange for the apology he could see was hard for her to give. “Go ahead and open the door so I can be assured you’re safe. That’s all.”
She gave him a tentative smile back. He really was being too nice to her. Had she been in his shoes she would have certainly cursed herself out about three hours ago. Instead, he stood waiting patiently for her to go into her apartment before he would leave her.
How many dates had dropped her off at the curb after securing her half of the cab fare? Too many to count.
Putting her key into the door, she pushed it open and was about to turn and say goodnight when a loud crash came from inside the apartment. She stilled.
From behind Khalil asked, “You have company?”
She turned to him, then back to try to see into the dark living room of her apartment. “No, I shouldn’t have. I live alone.” She’d begun to whisper, her heart beating faster at the thought that there was, in fact, someone in her house.
Khalil grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the side. “Wait here, I’ll check it out.”
There was that quiet command in his voice again. She wasn’t sure but she didn’t think she liked it. This was her house. If anybody was going to go in and check things out it would be her. “Oh no, this is my place. If somebody’s in there stealing my stuff, I want to be the one to bust his head!” Instinctively she moved to the umbrella stand by the door and lifted her souvenir Yankees bat into her hand.
Was she out of her mind? Did she have any idea how dangerous it was to walk up on a burglar? Especially in New York? The bulb from the hallway provided enough light so that he could still faintly see her as she headed towards the kitchen. In one stride he was beside her. With an arm around her waist, he turned her so that she was again behind him and he proceeded towards the kitchen, blocking her as she continued to try to get in front. At the doorway they both slowed, leaned over and peeked inside.
Khalil was confused.
Reka was relieved. “Grammy?”
The refrigerator door was ajar, a very plump, flower-clad posterior protruding from its center. Humming echoed through the small kitchen, and Khalil struggled to hold a smile at bay. At the sound of Reka’s voice, he straightened and allowed her passage.
“Grammy? Is that you?”
The humming stopped abruptly and the flowered bottom turned to face them. The cherubic face was red at the cheeks, probably from her prolonged visit inside the refrigerator. In one hand full of rings she held a platter of lunch meat. Stuffed under the other arm was a box of saltine crackers.
“There you are. I was calling for you but you didn’t answer. Do you have any jelly?” the woman, who looked to be in her seventies, asked.
Reka let her bat slide to the floor as she closed the distance between them. “Grammy, what are you doing here? How did you get here?”
Reka couldn’t believe her eyes. What was her eighty-year-old grandmother doing in her kitchen at eight o’clock at night when she lived in a retirement center all the way across town?
“I took a cab. How do you think I got here? Now come over here and find the jelly. I don’t know why you and your mother insist on keeping it in the refrigerator anyhow. It belongs in the pantry.”
Reka moved to the refrigerator, retrieved the jelly and closed the door. Grammy had already moved her round body to the counter, where she deposited the other items and began to make herself a cracker sandwich. Again Reka said, “Grammy, I don’t understand what you’re doing here.”
Slapping a piece of bologna onto her cracker, then opening the jar of jelly, Grammy took a deep breath, then turned to face her
Learning to Kill: Stories