Housewarming

by Jennifer Bowen

  Family needs renovations done

  Please call for details

  It was short and to the point, but she wondered if she should add more. She had never posted online before, so was unsure what people usually wrote. She was looking through ads like hers when a woman asked, “Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here for a second?”

  Kara looked up, seeing a blonde about her age.

  “Or, are you waiting for someone?” The woman smiled pleasantly, sliding her sunglasses up onto the crown of her short hair. She swung slightly forward the bulging tote bag that was over her other shoulder. “This is really heavy and I don’t have much room to set it down.” She glanced around the room, indicating it was packed and the chances of having her property trampled was highly probable.

  “Oh, sure,” Kara replied, pulling her purse to her side of the table. “I’m just waiting for my order.”

  The woman looked relieved, sinking onto a chair and sitting her bag on the one beside her. “I should’ve thought better about coming at this time.”

  Kara laughed. “Oh, I know. This is my first time here, but I should’ve known coming here on a Saturday at lunchtime was a mistake.”

  “Oh? Are you visiting, or did you just move here?”

  “We just moved here, this week, actually. My husband and our two kids.”

  “Oh, cool. Welcome. I’m Shannon Smith.”

  “Hi. Kara Tameson.”

  “How are you liking Gracie Town so far?”

  “Gracie Town? Is that what you call it?”

  “Well, it separates the tourists from the locals, I guess,” Shannon chuckled. “If you call it Grace Township, it’s a dead giveaway you’re not from around here.”

  “Gracie Town. That’s really cute.”

  “So, whereabouts do you live? Are you in town?”

  “We’re on Seter Lane.”

  “Seter?” Shannon pulled her head back in thought.

  “Do you know it? It’s up the street and around the corner.”

  “Oh, okay, yeah, I know Seter. It’s a long country road, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “It’s pretty out there. You really see the hills going that way.”

  “Do you live in town?”

  “I’m on the opposite side, just inside town limits. I’ve lived here all my life. A lot of the people who live here work in Cosgrove, but I was lucky to get a job at a small accounting firm in town. I could literally walk to work if I wanted to.” Shannon laughed. “But I don’t want to. The firm is so close to here too, it’s embarrassing I still drive on lunch breaks.”

  “We came from Cosgrove. I’ve lived there all my life.”

  “Ah, so this is a change for you, small town living.”

  “Yeah. I don’t even think I’ve been to a small town. But I like it so far.”

  “Good. Did you guys go all out then? Did you buy a farmhouse?”

  “No, no. That would be crazy. No, we’re in a new-build. I wouldn’t be able to live on a farm. No thanks.”

  “A new-build, nice. I didn’t think Seter had anything new out there. I just remember it being older homes and farmland.”

  “That’s how most of it is. We might have the only new-build.”

  “That’s smart. Saves you money in the long run with not having to worry about things breaking down for years.”

  “Oh, I wish.” Kara laughed. “Actually, I’m literally sitting here posting a want ad for a handyman. The house it new, but it’s not completely finished. There are a couple rooms that weren’t fully built. So, with having gotten the house for a reasonable deal, we ended up having an immediate renovation on our hands.”

  “Wow. So, you’re looking for someone?” Shannon asked with some excitement. “My boyfriend, Tom, is in construction. He’ll need something for when he’s between jobs.”

  “Really? Let me give you my husband, John’s cell number. He can give Tom all the details.” A teen at the counter called Kara’s name then. “My order’s ready. I’ll see you later. It was nice meeting you.”

  “See you.” Shannon grinned. “Welcome to Gracie Town.”

  ***

  While Lilah napped, the other Tamesons ate the takeout Kara had brought home from the café. Lunch was quick, with John anxious to continue yardwork. Jack moped around the house, complaining of boredom, so after a while, Kara sent him outside to help his father. In the great room, she dropped displaced toys into a laundry basket. She scooped up another armful of stuffed animals and released them into the basket, then bent to retrieve a stray action figure from behind the couch. Coming back up, her eyes caught movement out the window, something dark shifting out of view.

  She knelt on the couch, looking, but saw nothing, just an empty backyard. She heard the buzz of the weed trimmer, knowing it was John out there working. It must’ve been him passing into the side yard, she thought, dropping the toy man into the basket.

  “Mommy?”

  She turned around to find Lilah standing in the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. Kara asked, “Hey, Lilahbean! Sleep good?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Good.” The nightmares only seemed to haunt her at night, a small reprieve. Kara gestured to the toys in the laundry basket. “Look at this mess, Lilah.”

  “Mommy, I’m hungy.”

  “ ‘Hungry’.”

  “Hungry.”

  “If you take toys out of your room, you need to put them back as soon as you’re done playing. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Kara sighed. “Okay, let’s get you lunch.”

  Lilah hopped onto a chair at the kitchen table.

  Kara pushed the laundry basket against the cushions and straightened. She halted, her eyes having landed on the playroom door. Sunlight spilled through the doorway, which was exposed a few inches.

  “Who opened that door?” She pushed the door open. “Did you come in here?” She stepped over the plywood threshold and surveyed the drywall and wood planks, propped against the framed walls. Nails were scattered everywhere. Sawdust coated much of the floor.

  “No. Not me.”

  “Did Jack? Did you see him come in here?” How had she not noticed earlier the door was open? She looked out the three bare windows that gaped at the woods and the Foremans’ tree-nestled sun porch.

  “No.”

  “No one goes in this room, okay? It’s dangerous.”

  Lilah nodded vigorously, understanding.

  Her eyes on the trees, Kara noticed something white waving in the woods. She leaned closer, but before she could make sense of what she saw, a blue jay came into view, stealing her attention. She watched it hop along the ground for a moment before it fluttered to a branch and then finally flew away. She pressed her face close to the window pane, looking for it, scanning the trees and what of the ground she could make out. Her eyes flicked over branches, but the bird was gone. She took in the same area again slowly, one last time. Nothing stirred; even the leaves had drooped, coming to a stand-still. She wrinkled her brow and left the room, shutting the door.

  * * *

  John moved to the backyard, the sun beating down on him; there was no breeze to speak of and the air was sticky. He worked the electric string trimmer, cutting neglected weeds along the perimeter of the house, alternating swipes at the sweat tickling his brow.

  It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to yardwork. Apartment living had softened him and had given him more time to do things he enjoyed, but he really didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. He had grown up in rural Iowa where country roads and fields dotted with animals was the normal scenery. Not for the first time, he thought about the new house with pride. He released the trimmer’s trigger and leaned back to gaze up at the stucco exterior and over the rear rounded windows that, like the front of the house, were edged in uneven, decorative brick. That and the chocolate shutters gave the house a sense of old-world charm. Grace Township was quite an upgrade from his childhood town, but that feeling of country living he had
felt as a kid hovered here too. He hadn’t realized before he had missed it.

  He pushed back his damp hair and toed the stubborn weeds sprouting around the rear corner of the house. He made to push down on the trigger again when he heard scuffling. It came from the woods. His eyes darted over the trees, his finger straying from the trigger. He skimmed the trees until he spotted something white. It looked like a flag, which stirred his curiosity. The little breeze shifted, stalling out completely, as he stepped into the contrasting coolness of the woods. He held the trimmer ahead of him like a shield. He moved deeper, engulfed by alders, ashes, and maples that were spaced just far enough apart to allow him room to pass unscathed by thorny berry bushes sprouting haphazardly all around.

  Twenty feet in, he was at the white banner that had lured him. Up close, he saw it was just a strip of white fabric, the length of a typical scarf, tied tightly around one of the lower branches of an ash. He stroked the dingy material, his fingers trailing to its frayed edges. He looked up at the towering tree, thirty feet from roots to canopy. A bird from a neighboring ash chirped and nearby, a squirrel tussled with a pile of dried leaves left behind from last autumn.

  John’s eyes drifted back to the scarf; he wondered if it was a boundary marker. The Foremans’ property line started somewhere close to where he was, so that was possible. Or, he supposed, it could’ve been something mindless, someone simply tying a length of fabric around a tree. Looking at it closer, he saw it was held by a simple knot; a child could’ve tied it. As he reached out to touch it, something smacked the trees above.

  Thwack!

  He squatted, holding the trimmer in front of his face.

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  Dark wings and a round, feathered body skirted down to the ground with a thump.

  John jumped away. It took him a moment to realize it was a turkey vulture. Twigs and leaves pooled around it on the ground. If John hadn’t known any better, he could’ve sworn it had shaken its withered head in bewilderment. He watched in stunned silence as it got up and waddled out of the congestion of trees. Seconds later, the vulture found enough open ground and took off, soaring until it disappeared beyond the treetops.

  Jack brooded. He sat hunched-over on the top step of the deck. It was hot as heck, and there he was, being forced to do yardwork. He had looked for his dad in the front yard, but he hadn’t seen him. The last thing he wanted to do was pull weeds. He watched the pool water ripple steadily, wishing he could go swimming instead.

  After a while, he felt eyes on him. His skin prickled with gooseflesh.

  Something stared at him.

  He rolled his eyes to the right, and his body jerked when he saw her. A doe stood at the edge of the woods, her ears standing at attention, her almond-shaped eyes focused on him. Jack couldn’t remember seeing a deer in person. He rose slowly and stepped down from the stairs, his eyes locked on hers. Stealthily, he moved over the grass, heading for her. She eyed him a few more seconds before leaping away.

  “Darn!” He watched her prance to the opposite side of the yard, quickly vanishing into the woods.

  “Jack?” His dad appeared then, staggering out of the trees, a few yards from where the doe had escaped to. John held the trimmer ahead of him with one hand lowered like it was a leashed dog. He shook his head, as if clearing it. “Are you here to help?”

  “Dad! You just missed a deer!”

  “Oh yeah? Where was it?”

  Jack pointed to where they now stood. “He was right here and he was watching me. But then it ran off over that way.”

  “Wow, that’s cool. I just saw a big bird in the woods.” John grimaced, seeing in his mind the turkey vulture that had rattled him just moments before. Forcing away the image, he said, “Come on, I need your help bagging weeds.”

  Jack scowled, following him to the front yard. He watched John shake open a large paper bag. “Why are we throwing away weeds?”

  John stood the bag up near the corner of the house and handed Jack a pair of oversized work gloves. “Because if you keep the weeds on the grass, you’ll end up with more weeds. The weeds’ seeds—”

  “Weeds’ seeds,” Jack chuckled.

  “—will make more weeds and then you won’t have any grass…” John’s words drifted, his eyes going to the sky. The clouds had thickened and were darkening to the west. He looked back at his scowling step-son and said, “Okay, have at it. Just grab what you can and toss it in the bag. The goal is to get all the cut weeds off the ground.”

  “What about the bushes?”

  John glanced at the wiry thornbushes he hadn’t yet yanked. They sprouted at the far corner of the house and near the front sidewalk. Not knowing why the builder hadn’t ripped them out, he wondered if they flowered in the fall.

  “Just be careful if you pick any weeds by them…Never mind, I’ll get the ones near them. You get the other ones.”

  Jack made a face and squatted down, doing as instructed. His work gloves were too big, so dirt and pebbles snaked in, crumbling down into his palms. The work wasn’t hard, but he felt suddenly uncomfortable; the temperature had dipped and mugginess still clung to the air. The wind had picked up and flicked his hair.

  This sucks is what Jack wanted to say, but he didn’t because he knew his parents didn’t like that word. They told him it was the same as cussing, even though kids at his old school had said it all the time. They had even said it in front of the playground monitors and never got in trouble.

  Suck.

  So far there weren’t many plusses living in the country, not if it meant spending the end of summer break doing yardwork in some boring small town where the only neighbors were the old people next door. It sucked.

  John spotted a clump of weeds he had missed and picked up the trimmer. He aimed it at the spiky beasts and pressed the trigger, but it was silent; the battery was dead. He grabbed a shovel and dug into the ground, unearthing the leafy mess. After tossing a few shovelfuls into the communal paper bag, he dragged an arm across his sweaty forehead. A chorus of birds chattered somewhere nearby. He paused, his eyes going to the trees lining the driveway. The birds changed tone as if they were agitated, bickering. A gust of wind rushed over John and a shadow draped over the lawn, making him look up. The sky was night to the west.

  He quickened his pace. “How’s it going, Jack?”

  “Fine.”

  John gathered handfuls of weedy stalks around the thornbush nearest the sidewalk and looked over at him. The boy slumped nearby, picking up a single stalk. “Jack, hurry it up. There’s a storm coming.”

  Jack picked up pace—slightly—and plucked another stalk, which he dropped casually into the bag. Distant thunder rolled.

  “Okay, let’s do one more handful before we start cleaning up,” John said, grabbing two more bunches. He watched as Jack dropped another stalk into the bag, losing some of its leaves where they slipped down onto the grass. Sighing, John told him he could go inside. Jack sprinted through the front door, the wind helping him slam it behind him.

  Thunder rumbled closer. John folded the top of the bag and picked up the shovel. He stepped onto the sidewalk, spotting a family of weeds growing mercilessly below another thornbush. He set down the bag and awkwardly dug, trying to wedge the shovel in under the stubborn branches. Juice sprayed as he hacked into them, splintering the stalks, but their roots were strong. He pulled out the shovel and pressed it in at a new angle, jumping onto its step. The roots didn’t break.

  Thunder cracked long and slow, ominous, as he turned over the shovel and scraped at the dirt. He dropped the shovel, ignoring the raindrop that plopped onto the nape of his neck. Kneeling on the ground, leaning close to the bush, he smoothed a gloved hand over the root. Thunder growled, making him look up at the sky; darkness blanketed over him. He made to go, giving one last pat on the thick root when he noticed a length of ivory uncovered beside it. Intrigued, he ignored the thornbush as it scratched his arms as he dug his fingers into the ground, uncovering the cy
lindrical object. Unlike the roots beside it, he was able to unearth it easily. He wiped away some of the dirt.

  He sat back on his knees and unwound the fabric that covered it, shaking away dirt. It was a lump of clay, some sort of statue, about fifteen inches long. The fabric had been poor at protecting it, as the statue was caked in dirt as well. Thunder cracked again overhead and lightning zig-zagged across the sky. Raindrops were multiplying; soon, he would be caught in a rainstorm. He tucked the statue under his arm, grabbed the fabric, paper bag, and shovel, and hurried to store them near the stained, woolen blanket in the garage.

  Kara looked up when John walked into the master bedroom. She sat cross-legged on the bed, folding laundry. She watched him push back the curtains, looking out at the rocking storm. Lightning flashed mercilessly, thunder cracked over them, and rain drove wildly down the window panes.

  John released the curtains and sat on the MDF window bench. With the statue on his lap, he worked his thumbs and fingers, carefully massaging away the dirt.

  Kara asked, “What’s that?”

  He didn’t hear her and got up abruptly, going into the bathroom. He returned to the window bench with a wet washcloth. Carefully, he worked the cloth over the statue’s grooves. “Oh,” he said finally, sitting back and holding it out.

  It was girl and a frog, grinning, their color a dingy, yellowish ivory. The girl, standing, held a folded umbrella, its tip touching the round base, and the frog squatted beside her.

  The baby receiver on the nightstand beside Kara crackled, startling John and her. They stared at the plastic box. The green “on” light flickered and when the static died seconds later, the light glowed steady again.

  “What’s that, Daddy?”

  Kara flinched, but recovered, seeing it was Lilah who had materialized at the door, the page from a coloring book trailing from her hand.

  John replied, “I found it outside, Lilah.”

  Kara and Lilah came up to him.

  “Isn’t that cool, Sophie?” Kara murmured.

  John’s eyes flashed. “ ‘Sophie’?” He looked at Kara’s downturned face.

  Kara hadn’t noticed. She was looking at the statue, sensing an air of creepiness in the plastered jovial faces. “Where’d you get it?” she asked.