Free Never Trust a Callboy by Birgit Kluger Page B

good side, I think exhausted: she didn’t come to discuss Nana's young lover with me, a nd given the manner in which we just parted it’ll be a while before we talk again.
    ––––––––
    T here was a noise. I wake up with a jolt, listen, then I hear it again. A key turning quietly in the lock, but it can’t open the door, because I changed the locks. Sweat runs down my body even though it's not hot. I know that Ron is also here, because I heard him when he came home this evening. By then, I had already entrenched myself in the guest room. Although I was determined never again to spend a night in this house, I stayed. After the confrontation with my mother, I didn’t have the energy to go back to the hotel.
    But now I wish I was far away. There is someone trying to enter the house. The murderer?
    I have to get up. I have to see what is going on. Although I'd rather do nothing, pull the blanket over my head and hide, or call Ron, he should deal with intruders and killers. But I don't trust him.
    Downstairs, everything is dark. Only the street lamps cast a faint light in the hallway so that I can see that the door is still closed. A look in the other direction shows that the shutters on the patio door are down. Everything looks as it should. Maybe I imagined the whole thing.
    Nevertheless I sit down on the stairs. I only need to turn my head a little to see either door. Better to play it safe.

17
    "A re you crazy?" It’s Ron, and it's bright. Apparently I slept the rest of the night on the stairs. Lately, I find myself sleeping in the most unlikely places. I’m starting to wonder why I ever needed tablets.
    I slowly open my eyes. Ron is standing over me looking angry.
    "Burglars. I thought I heard burglars at the door."
    "Burglars? If in fact someone had tried to break in the alarm would have gone off." He eyes me with a penetrating look.
    "I... I was scared." Tears well up in my eyes. Without meaning to, I start crying. When did I turn into such a crybaby?
    "You're completely hysterical." Ron recoils as if I had a contagious disease. A weeping woman is pretty much the last thing he wants to deal with. Instead, he walks along the hallway, opens the front door and looks outside. Then he examines the door frame. "It's alright," he announces. "You just imagined it."
    Still somewhat shaky, I nod. I like this presumption better than that the killer came back to get me out of the way.
    "Why are you here? I thought you left me?" Ron has now returned from his inspection of the door and is standing with his arms crossed looking down on me again.
    "The house is half mine. So I can stay here as often as I want to," I say defiantly. I will not be intimidated so easily. If he continues, I won’t move out.
    Maybe I should throw a few lavish parties instead. Ron hates noise, chaos and drunks. As this thought occurs to me I have to smile, which Ron promptly comments on: "I don't know what you find so funny in this situation." His tone could freeze the Sahara and bring on the next ice age. Ron as a weapon against climate change. Again I have to smile. I can see from his face that I'm getting on his nerves. Good!
    "Maybe I realize you did me a favor," I counter. Without waiting for his reply, I push past him, grab my car keys and leave him alone with his thoughts.
    ––––––––
    T he door to the ice rink opens with a silent creak. The back door, because the normal entrance is locked. I had forgotten that the hall is closed over the summer. I enter quietly. I’m not quite comfortable, I feel like an intruder. I suppose I am.
    It's been a long time since I was last here. I examine the surface of the ice thoughtfully, it once meant the world to me. I'm not sure why I’ve returned, I've been avoiding the place for many years. Actually I planned to go back to the hotel, but the prospect of being cooped up in my suite so early in the day depressed me. Instead, I followed the familiar path to the ice rink. I used to come