I pause halfway down the hall, listening. I can hear Alfonso breathing softly and the tick of the grandfather clock downstairs. The fridge hums. My heart pounds.
I round the corner, about to head to the stairs that lead to the attic when I run smack into Derio.
I gasp, my scream strangled in my throat as his hand goes for my biceps, holding me firmly.
“Amber,” Derio whispers. “It’s me.”
I lean back, away from his body. He’s wearing his underwear. Black. Tight. That’s it. Nothing else. The ridges of his muscles stand out in the shadows of the lantern light and I hope I can pass off my gawking as fright because, let’s face it, I’m a bit scared, too.
“You hear it?” he asks, not seeming to care that he’s practically naked in front of me. I guess it’s really no different from when he was wearing his Speedo at the beach, but this feels far, far more intimate and I’m so close to him; I’m practically at licking distance. I’d always wondered if he was a boxers, briefs, or boxer briefs guy, and I should have figured it would be something on par with that Speedo of his.
“Yes,” I whisper, tearing my eyes away from his firm abs and the hard lines of his hips before my gaze goes any lower. “I thought it was you up there.”
He shakes his head. “No. I was sleeping and it woke me up.”
“So,” I say, glancing up at the ceiling. “Are you going to go up there?”
He gives me a wry smile. “To be honest, I would rather not.”
“Are you scared?” I tease softly. Then there is another thump and both of us stop smiling.
He gives me a determined look and holds his hand out for the lantern. “May I?”
I give it to him, though I don’t want to be left in the dark either. I know I could turn on the hall lights but the children have been extra tired lately with all the stress of Felisa leaving and I don’t want to risk disturbing them, even though I have no idea how they can sleep through all this commotion anyway. There’s never anything louder than a bunch of people in the middle of the night trying to be quiet.
Derio reaches up and pulls down the trapdoor and the stairs as quietly as he can. Which is to say, not quietly at all.
“Shhh,” I tell him even though it’s pointless. We both pause, listening to see if the twins are up or if whatever is in the attic is making noise again.
Silence.
He gives me a nod and then heads up the stairs. I’m sad that he’s taking the light because it’s completely preventing me from checking out his round ass as he climbs upward.
That’s it, Amber, I tell myself, focus on his bouncy ass, not on the fact that he might be murdered by the ghost in the attic.
“What do you see?” I whisper, leaning forward on the stairs and trying to peer up. I can see his body glowing in the light and the shadows on the attic walls behind him.
“I don’t know,” he says uncertainly. He slowly walks forward and out of my view, like he sees something and is approaching it with caution.
I gulp and start climbing the stairs after him. I’m just poking my head above the floor and thinking of every single Paranormal Activity movie I’ve seen when Derio cries out, “Merda!”
It’s followed by a god-awful, inhuman scream that I don’t think comes from Derio. Suddenly, the lantern drops and he’s running toward me and something black and angry is flinging itself at him in a whirl of fur and teeth and claws.
“Go!” Derio yells at me and I practically fall down the stairs just as I hear a loud hiss as something leaps past me. I stop, holding on to the railing, and watch a black cat barrel down the stairs to the first floor.
“Oh my God!” I exclaim. “What the hell was that?”
“What is it?” Alfonso asks sleepily, rubbing his eyes and coming out of his room. He flicks on the hall light, illuminating us.
With my hand to my chest I look at Derio, who looks both hot and ridiculous as he comes down the stairs in his underwear, with his messed-up hair and bewildered expression on his face.
“A cat was living in our attic,” he says, trying to catch his breath, the whites of his eyes shining. “I have no idea how he got in.” He smiles at us. “I guess we have to try and get him to leave.”
“Oh boy,” Alfonso says excitedly. “I’ll get my gun.”
Before I have a chance to ask, he returns with a squirt gun in hand. Annabella is at our side, too, now. I look at Derio and shrug.
And so the four of us spend a good thirty minutes running around the house trying to catch this cat. Alfonso has his squirt gun, Annabella has a hairbrush, and I wave spatulas around like some crazy cook who wants to make cat for dinner. Eventually we’re able to drive the finicky feline out the open doors. It’s only as the cat runs off into the gardens that Annabella says, “Oh, that is Nero.”
“Nero?” Derio repeats.
“Yes, Felisa would give him milk sometimes.”
Derio and I exchange a look. These kids were a few saucers away from having a pet cat?
After all the excitement dies down it takes a while to get the kids back into bed and asleep. I can’t blame them. Even though I have to be up early to make breakfast and take them to school, it’s two a.m. and I’m not tired at all.
“Would you like a, how do you say, nightcap?” Derio asks me as I’m about to walk up the stairs and back to my room after putting a few glasses away in the dishwasher; taking a cue from the cat, I gave warm milk to the twins in hopes it would make them sleepy. It worked.