Housewarming

by Jennifer Bowen

  Kara watched a mother burping an infant at the next table, bringing to mind another delicate subject. “You’re probably thinking I’m a mess. Sophie’s memory box,” she began, stirring leaves of lettuce around with her fork, feeling the confession come bubbling out. “In the apartment, I kept it on the dresser in my bedroom. It’s nothing fancy, just a plain white box. Inside are a few items like her receiving blanket. She was wrapped in it and…I swear, I can still smell her when I pull it out.”

  “Oh, Kara.”

  “I’ve always thought about Sophie. I mean, I’ve never forgotten her, but I had thought of her from time to time, and it had always been more of thinking about her in passing. I had never gotten below the surface in thinking of her, if that makes sense. I mean, I had a daughter, she died, and that was that. I hadn’t actually sat and meditated or whatever. I hadn’t dwelled on her, on actually her, not since after she…But, I don’t know, maybe it was the move, but it took me a long time to unpack her box after we got here. I finally did. I thought it would make me feel better. It’s now on my dresser.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “You know how you heard me call Lilah ‘Sophie’? I don’t remember ever doing that before we moved here. Even right after Lilah was born, I never messed up and called her the wrong name.”

  “Moving’s stressful,” Shannon murmured.

  “I haven’t been sleeping well either. I’ve been having these bizarre dreams...” She was confessing secrets John didn’t even know.

  “I’ve never lost anyone close. I can’t imagine losing a child. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

  “Thanks.” Kara’s heart was heavy, but she felt a sense of relief wash over her. Finally, she had told someone and there wasn’t any worry that she’d be deemed crazy. She sipped her tea and admitted, “John doesn’t like to talk about Sophie.”

  “You can always talk to me. If you ever want someone to go to the cemetery with you…”

  The modern cemetery, not the historical tourist attraction, Kara thought rigidly. “Thanks.” Was it terrible she hadn’t gone back since the funeral? She chewed on lettuce leaves and was relieved when Shannon changed subjects, lightening the conversation, making them laugh at an embarrassing moment she had at work a year before.

  After their meal, they crossed the street so they could walk past the Collumber house. They stopped at its iron gate, centered with the front double doors. The man who placed the For Sale sign was gone. Feeling brave now that she knew it was a property on the market, Kara pushed the gate; it didn’t budge. Then she saw it was padlocked. For sale, but not ready for public viewing.

  She abandoned the fantasy of touring the house and walked with Shannon to Grace School where they parted ways. Kara picked up Lilah from pre-K and as they drove past the wilting barn, Kara’s eyes glided over it as normal. The slight tug was there (Come and see) and shadows twitched inside, but she pretended not to notice.

  “Mommy, look!” Lilah exclaimed when they had nearly reached the top of their driveway.

  Kara followed her gesture to the front porch, her jaw clenching. Oh Lord, what was there now? But looking over, there was no dead animal. In its place, were flowers.

  Kara parked in the garage and followed Lilah to the porch. Yellow mums puffed out from a terra cotta pot, set in front of the door. Kara pressed through the blooms and checked the planter, but found no card. “I don’t know who they’re from, but they’re pretty. Let’s leave them here as decoration.”

  Kara made Lilah lunch and then called John to see if he sent the flowers, but she got his voicemail. She hung up, then sought out Margaret’s text, David contacted me.

  She slipped into the office and sat down, not wanting to continue wondering about her mother’s message, but found herself trying to get into the computer to do some research. She wiggled the mouse and saw the computer was locked. After trying a handful of possible passwords, she gave up and turned to her cellphone. Leaning against the chair’s webbed backrest, she opened her phone’s Internet browser and typed in the name that felt strange to be entering, “David Reynolds.” She added “Cosgrove, Ohio” and searched. There was a couple dozen hits. Scanning the returned listings and webpages didn’t immediately point to him, though. She narrowed the search to include his age, but that didn’t yield any reliable results. She scrolled through images of Davids and men related to Davids, and when she stumbled onto a photograph of the statue David, she ended her search.

  Was it good or bad she hadn’t found anything on him? She texted her mother, Any news on David?

  She hoped that would prompt a reply. But there was no response. Her thoughts drifting, she opened a real estate app and, not knowing the exact address, typed in “Main Street, Grace Township.” She only had to scroll through a handful of properties before she saw the familiar house she laid her eyes upon every school day.

  “Circa 1790’s historical Collumber House for sale. Original hardwood floors and hand-hewn wood built-ins in this charming estate make you feel as if you’ve stepped back in time. Six bedrooms, five baths, library, and solarium make this home perfect for a large family or business…”

  Kara tapped the digital image of the house, trying to expand it, but it wouldn’t enlarge. She scrolled past the property description for additional photos, but was disappointed when she saw the agency hadn’t included more. She scrolled down and saw the familiar face of the agent who had sold them their house smiling back. Her finger hovered over the hyperlinked phone number for Desmond Howard.

  Impulsively, she tapped the hyperlink. I’ll just ask if he’s having any open houses, she thought. She would love to tour the three-story and peek inside those elegant rooms. It wasn’t odd to be curious about a historical house in virtually her neighborhood...right?

  Her phone immediately dialed and she hunched over it, staring at the screen. But after the second ring, she tapped End, her self-talk reasoning with her, it’s nuts; he’ll know you can’t buy the house. You just bought one and besides, he’s seen your financial records and knows you can’t afford it.

  She scrolled back up, looked at the price and laughed. Not quite in her price range. She tapped on the photo again. The blurred image had been taken from across the road; it didn’t quite capture the beauty of the house, but its stateliness was apparent. She studied the picture a moment longer before clicking off the phone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On Tuesday morning, as routine, Kara watched Jack get on the bus, dropped Lilah off at school, gazed at the Collumber house, drove past the barn slowly, and went about the house doing housework. After loading the dishwasher, she poured a cup of tea. She regarded the brown swill and wondered if she should limit her caffeine intake until her sleep had normalized. Stretching, she yawned, then wandered into her bedroom. She didn’t lie down, though. She was too wound up to sleep. Thank the tea for that?

  She made her bed and fussed with the tail of the comforter, patting down stubborn wrinkles. When she turned around, her eyes located the white memory box immediately. It sat on the dresser, prominently displayed in front of a bottle of lotion and a paperback. She had purposely made the effort to keep it out; look: no hiding here, no secrets to keep.

  She picked it up and sat on the window bench, twisting around to open the windows behind her. A breeze came in, moving the back of her hair gently. She turned back around, settling, and opened the familiar box balanced on her lap. She pulled out the receiving blanket, touching it like it would disintegrate from the slightest mishandling. She lifted it close to her face, but kept it inches away from her nose so she could inhale Sophie’s scent without possibly marring the material. Imagining the breeze flowing in enhanced it, she closed her eyes. She was sinking into the ground, softly moving into a pillowed floor that enveloped her and covered her wholly as if she were encased in a comforting womb. She sank further and further, releasing herself to it.

  She saw toddler Jack in the haze. He was waddling to where she sa
t on the couch. “Mommy, what is that?”

  She took his pudgy hand and pressed his pointed finger lightly against her swollen belly. Months earlier, she and John had told him in vague terms she was pregnant and he’d have a sister before the year was over, but he hadn’t commented nor shown any interest in the miracle of life happening before their eyes. But now, finally, he had noticed.

  “That’s baby Sophie.”

  “Baby Sophie?” he asked uncertainly, careful he said the name correctly.

  “Yes. Your sister is in there.”

  He flattened his hand against Kara’s cotton shirt. “Baby Sophie is in there?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “When she coming out?”

  “Oh, in about two more months. Do you want to meet her?”

  “Uh-huh,” he murmured, then jumped onto the couch beside her, the memory turning blurry.

  She sat at the bedroom windows, time getting away from her, her memories drifting until she just sat in the stillness, her mind blank. She had been sitting like that for a while when there was a bang-bang-bang at the door, snapping her back to reality. It took her a moment to realize what had disrupted the peace. When she had gathered her wits, she closed the box, set it back on the dresser, and hurried to the front door. She pulled back the toile curtain covering the sidelight, but couldn’t see who had knocked.

  She unlocked and opened the door, but there was no one there. She looked around, over the porch and front yard. She stepped down to the sidewalk, looking at the driveway, but it was empty. Her thoughts went to that second day in the house: Ding-dong Ditch. Someone had played a prank on them; maybe this was more of the same. But then she remembered kids who were old enough to play pranks were still in school.

  She turned back and started up the porch steps, looking to her right, seeing clear to the Foremans’ house. At the final step, she looked ahead at her front door and stopped short. Taped to the face of the hardwood was a sheet of torn notebook paper written in red marker:

  LEAVE!!!

  She whipped around. Her eyes darted over the yard again and this time to the top eaves of the trees. But she saw no one.

  David? The name sprang to her mind.

  Kara tore down the paper and hurried inside, slamming the door. She peeked out the office window, trying to hide from whomever might be watching. She looked again at the yard, the trees, the road.

  But the road was empty. A cardinal fluttered for a moment to the oak, but was gone seconds later. She sat down, gripping the paper, and studied the sharp letters and three exclamation points. What kind of prank was this? Was her family just chosen randomly to receive it? Or did someone really want them to go?

  She called John, but it went straight to voicemail. She texted him to call her. Would he think it was a joke? What if it was David..? Was that dumb? Why would he want them to leave? It didn’t make sense.

  She left the paper on the desk and started to leave the room, but went back to flip it over, not wanting to see it. She jogged upstairs and looked out the kids’ bedroom windows and then through the windows in the bonus room in the off-chance of catching the culprit, even though several minutes had already gone by. She saw no one.

  She scrolled through the names in her cellphone. It’s not David, that’s dumb, she thought again as she tapped her mother’s name. She left a voicemail asking her to call.

  By the time the bus dropped off Jack on Seter Lane, he was itching to get to his secret camper. The afternoon had dragged by, all thanks to his new friend, Alan, who had spent the lunch period telling the boys at the table about the awesome fort his dad had built for him. Jack had thought it was cool for the first five minutes as Alan had described it. The fort was built in a tree and you couldn’t be afraid of heights if you wanted to see it. It had a ladder, but Alan’s rule was you could only exit by sliding down the fireman pole. He had a cooler for drinks and snacks and a shelf for “important stuff.” As Alan droned on, Jack wanted to jump in and tell the guys about the camper. But Alan had just kept on and actually, the more Jack heard about the fort, the more he thought the camper was unready for people to see anyway.

  When he got home, he dumped his book bag in the foyer. He ran out the backdoor, calling to his mom that he’d be outside. He heard her answer back from somewhere upstairs, but her voice was muffled and he was already closing the door. His sneakered feet thundered over the deck. He veered away from the swimming pool, sure not to look at it in case…(in case he saw something? In case something grabbed him?) and ran through the copse of trees on the western side of the yard.

  He slipped through the bracken, watching out for thornbushes, and was soon within reach of the camper. Sunlight filtered through the trees, making the grimy vehicle dazzle. He pushed the dented door, opening it halfway where it stopped in a pile of jeans and white rags. He squeezed inside and looked around. An opaque window ran nearly the full width of the side of the truck, just above a pulled-out table that was flanked on both sides by ugly brown, cushioned seats. He wrinkled his nose at the rotting stench; it was just bearable to be inside.

  Bending down, he tugged the jeans material. When he saw it was a dark blue denim jacket, he tossed it aside and picked up the white cloth beside it. It was dirty from the filthy vinyl floor. He stood, spreading it out to its full length, seeing it was nothing more than an old table cloth, one of its ends frayed where it had been torn. Splatters of orange paint were on the back side. He dropped it onto one of the seats and shoved his sneaker around in the debris covering the floor.

  It was all junk. Empty plastic bottles, a flattened tennis ball, unused napkins, crinkled newspapers, an unwound wire coat hanger… He plucked a smashed plastic milk container, its top sawed off, and went outside. He pushed the door closed.

  Breathing in clean air, Jack scrutinized the container. But there was nothing interesting about it; it was ordinary white plastic with the remains of its mostly stripped blue label. He tossed it back inside. He looked through the door, seeing a fire extinguisher propped up on a ledge near the ceiling. It would be interesting to check that out, see if it still had foam.

  But there was just so much trash everywhere. His eyes ran over the wall. He noticed a red ring of linked measuring spoons hanging from the other side of the window, but he wouldn’t need those.

  Well, one thing was for sure. Nobody would want to spend the night there anytime soon. He’d have to clean it up and somehow get rid of that awful smell. He could barely spend five minutes inside as it was.

  He walked around the camper, his eyes moving over the grimy windows. He had been standing there for just a moment when a stick broke from somewhere behind, making him turn around.

  Where the trees thinned behind, he could just make out the roofline of the gray barn on the corner of Seter Lane. A few birds dropped to rest on its peak, settling their wings post-flight. Jack edged into the woods, discarding the camper. Weaving in between trees, he looked around for one with branches low enough to climb, but most were thin with branches out of reach.

  He looked up at the sky, suddenly becoming aware of the blackbirds circling the trees in the distance. The cawing he heard didn’t come from them, however. The screeching cries coming louder and louder were directly overhead. Four, large birds were so close he could make out the detail of their black, glossy feathers. It was amazing how close they circled him. He couldn’t remember wild birds ever coming so near. When he looked into one of their eyes…that’s when he started to feel uncomfortable. Surely, they posed no threat to him. He was larger than them; he was the human.

  But staring back into those blank, black eyes, he started to feel confused, as if he were lost in the middle of a vast forest and not really in his backyard. Perhaps here, he was the wild one. The bird he eyed opened its beak to caw again, making Jack back away, grateful the trees were too housed together for one of the strange predators to swoop closer to him; at least he thought that was what kept them just above the full height of the shortest tree.

&
nbsp; He backed up until he was beside the camper again. His eyes stayed on them. He was relieved they hadn’t moved closer now that he was unprotected. Maybe they had realized he wasn’t an animal, and were just curious. He wasn’t going to wonder anymore, though. He went home.

  * * *

  “What do you mean you’re not coming home tonight?” Kara dropped the folded towel onto her bed.

  “We have to make some headway on this project,” John replied over speakerphone. “The guys can do an all-nighter. I can’t say that I can’t.”

  “Why not? You can’t. You have a family.”

  “I’m sure they have families too. How would it look if the project manager went home but the other guys stayed in the office?” His tone was neutral as he attempted not to bicker with her.

  “They’d get over it. And isn’t that the benefit of being the boss?”

  John laughed. “It isn’t like at home where you can boss the kids around.”

  “Don’t act like what I do isn’t work. Taking care of the kids, cooking, cleaning…it’s a full-time job. Don’t minimalize what I do.”

  “I didn’t say anything against what you do.” He lowered his voice as if others in the office could hear him. “Why are we even arguing about this?”

  “Don’t they think it’s unreasonable to stay all night at the office?” Kara crumpled one of his tee-shirts before tossing it on the bed.

  “It’s just this one time.”

  “Did you see my text from earlier? I wanted to talk to you.” She thought, I wanted to tell you about the note I found (LEAVE!!!). What if she told him she thought David was back?

  “Sorry. I just saw it. What’s up?”

  She sighed. As more time had passed, she was more convinced it was another prank. Telling him now wouldn’t persuade him to come home anyway. “I’ll show you later. When will you be home?” She didn’t bother asking him about the mums she had found on the front porch earlier that day. He could bring it up if it was his idea of a pre-emptive peace offering for his latest change in work shift.