Housewarming

by Jennifer Bowen

  Kara’s heartbeat quickened and she studied the tiled floor without seeing it. Had she slept with the memory box? Was she the one who had put it on the floor?

  “Are you okay?” Shannon asked.

  Was she? Was she sleepwalking now? That was worrisome. “I’m fine,” she laughed dully. “I wondered how the box got on the floor this morning.”

  “Want me to stay until John comes home?”

  “No. Tom’s probably worried about you.”

  “He’s fine.” Shannon glanced at her cellphone and showed the screen to Kara. “Look! I have a signal! I can call him and tell him I’ll be home later.”

  “No, seriously, I’m good. I just haven’t been sleeping well. I’ll take a nap later today after John comes home.”

  “You’d better.”

  “I will. Now you’d better go. Tom won’t let you come out and play again,” Kara joked. “And hey, tell him he still owes me a window.”

  “Okay. I’ll ask him about it. Call me if you need anything.” Shannon opened the door, stepping onto the porch. “Tell Lilah and Jack I said goodbye.”

  “See you later.” Kara closed the door, troubled. How strange she couldn’t remember climbing into bed with the box. And she had been crying?

  She went back to the master bedroom and plopped defeatedly onto the end of the bed, her eyes on the white box. The lid was closed, protecting Sophie’s belongings inside. Had she really taken the box to bed? Why couldn’t she remember?

  She heard the garage door and then the sound of John whistling when he entered the house. Sighing, she got up from the bed and met John in the kitchen.

  “Hey, look who’s home,” she said, giving him a tired smile.

  “Hi, Daddy!” Lilah called from the great room.

  “Hey, Lilahbean.” He squatted by the chandelier and looked up at Kara. “I got a lot done last night. We seem to be on the right path.”

  “That was the last overnight, right?”

  “Should be.” He up-righted the chandelier. “Ready to get this sucker up?”

  “Now? Aren’t you tired?”

  “I took a power nap around three this morning, like an hour. I’m good for now, so get all the work you can out of me before I collapse.” He laughed, making her feel guilty.

  “Well, my intention’s not to work you to death.”

  “It’s okay. I’m awake. I stopped and rented a scaffold on my way home. Thought I’d see what my new pal Marvin is doing.”

  “Oh, you’re going to have him help?”

  “It’s probably a one-man job, but I’ll see what he’s up to.” John grinned, standing.

  “Or you can ask Tom. We need him to finish that window in the bonus room anyway.”

  “That’s true…”

  By kismet, the doorbell rang and John opened the door to Marvin. The older man slapped his hands together when John told him he was installing the light fixture.

  “Happy to help,” Marvin said. He looked up at the foyer ceiling, judging the height. “Unless you have a really tall ladder, I think we might need some scaffolding for that.”

  Kara stayed in the foyer as the men hauled pieces of the scaffold into the foyer and watched as they began assembling it, working like two peas in a pod. When she saw they didn’t need her help, she returned to her bedroom, going immediately to her dresser. Without dwelling on it, not questioning her actions further, she stowed the memory box away in the top drawer. She couldn’t handle it now; there was something about touching it, an energy she didn’t want to be part of. There was something off…

  She was exhausted, and embarrassed Shannon had seen her crying, curled up with it. She lay on her bed and closed her eyes. Thirty minutes had hardly passed when she heard a loud scuffle. She jumped up and hightailed it to the foyer.

  Marvin was alone, near the ceiling, standing on the platform of the scaffold; the metal poles holding it together looked rickety.

  “You okay up there?” she asked, her hands hovering near the ladder legs.

  He tugged on the brassy chandelier chain, causing it to sway just above her head. “Just gettin’ my land legs.” Carefully, he let the slack of the chain go, and grunting, bent down to pick up a drill.

  She glanced in the office and the mudroom. “Where’s John?”

  “Around,” Marvin said before pressing the drill’s trigger.

  “John?” she called, going down the hallway toward the kitchen. She heard scraping coming from the unfinished playroom, the door partially open.

  “Lilah?” she called, noticing the little girl was no longer watching TV. Kara hustled to the door and pushed it open the rest of the way. She looked ahead to the windows and started to turn toward the wall beside the door.

  A tall figure emerged from behind a stack of four-by-ten wood beams propped against it.

  Kara’s hands went to her chest.

  “Oh! I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  It took her a second to recognize Tom. Slowly, she lowered her hands, blinking away the shadowed man who had appeared in her line of sight for a split-second.

  Tom looked apologetic. “I was just taking a look in here, assessing for renovation.”

  She forced a laugh, embarrassed. “I didn’t know you were here,” she said, steadying her hand on the doorknob.

  “I swung by to install the window upstairs. John let me in.”

  Having regained her composure, she clapped her hands together. “Oh, cool!” She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. “You know, I wouldn’t mind you fixing this door either. It frazzles my nerves whenever it opens. I’m starting to think we have a ghost.”

  “Not a problem. I can fix it today.”

  “Thanks. Hey, did Shannon tell you she tried calling you last night?”

  “Yeah. You get bad reception, huh?”

  “Sometimes. John’s seems pretty good, though. Shannon was so sweet to stay with me.” She didn’t bother explaining she’d needed the adult sleepover due to her fear of being the only grownup home at night.

  He shrugged, and at least didn’t let on that he thought she was pathetic. “Sure, no problem.”

  “So, any idea where John is? Why is Marvin the one putting up the chandelier?” They had a man who was well past seventy standing on wobbly scaffolding without supervision. That and John’s lack of sleep probably made them the worst candidates to be installing a chandelier two stories high.

  Tom lowered his voice, “I can try to get him down if you want. It might hurt his pride, though. Old guys like that get offended real easy if you tell them they can’t do something.”

  He had a point, and besides, she didn’t want any more awkwardness between her and Diane in case it got back to her. “No, let him do it. But maybe someone should be out there with him.” In case he trips and falls, she refrained from saying out loud.

  “Sure, no problem.”

  John was back in the foyer, sitting beside Marvin, his legs dangling from the platform as he straightened the mini lampshades on the antique light fixture.

  “You guys are already done?” Kara asked, surprised.

  “Just about. Hey, Tom.” John nodded. Then, thinking better of the situation, he gave a warning, “Don’t flip the light switch until I say.”

  Marvin sat down, looking down at Kara and Tom, driving home the command, “We’ll tell you when to turn on the light.”

  “While you guys are working on that,” Tom said, “I’m gonna take a look at that window upstairs.”

  Kara waved her hand. “Awesome, thanks. You may see my monster children up there, but they’re mostly harmless...mostly.”

  He laughed, saying, “Thanks for the warning,” and jogged upstairs.

  Kara had been in the kitchen for a few minutes when she heard Marvin give John the go-ahead to turn on the light. She turned around, but hadn’t yet made it to the foyer when she heard a click, fizzle, and then an expletive.

  She hurried down the hallway and found Marvin sitting hunched over on the platfor
m and John standing by the light switch. She glanced at their faces, at the unlit chandelier, and then at them again.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  John replied, “It shorted out.”

  “The wiring’s old,” Marvin said, struggling to stand. “I thought it looked a mite frayed.”

  “I can rewire it for you.” Tom had reappeared on the stairs’ landing. “It’s no big deal.”

  “You’ve done that before?” John asked him.

  “Maybe we should take it back to the store, see if they’ll fix it for free,” Kara suggested.

  “That’s a good idea,” John replied.

  “It won’t be a fire hazard hanging this old light when it’s fixed, will it?” Kara asked.

  “Not once the wiring is replaced,” Tom replied, coming down to the floor.

  “Let me pull this baby down then until we get it fixed.” John climbed up the scaffold, plucked up his drill and started undoing their work.

  Under the whir of the tool, Tom said to her quietly, “I wish I had gotten a look at it before they started installing. An old light like this one should’ve been inspected...” He shook his head. “I really do know a thing or two about houses.”

  “Yeah, they weren’t thinking.” She felt ignorant on behalf of the two men who very well could’ve set fire to the house. The fact that the kids were upstairs added to her worry of what could’ve happened. She said quietly to Tom, “I think we’ll have you install it next time.”

  “Sure.” He winked conspiratorially. “The window’s in my truck. I’m gonna go get it.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Kara dropped Lilah off at Grace School and returned to her car in the half-filled lot. She slid her key into the ignition and looked up at the Collumber house next door. Her feeling of disappointment was inexplicable, but it stayed with her. The house was still for sale, there for the taking, but she didn’t have the means to take it. She was aware the feeling was absurd, but she felt it nonetheless. Her hand faltered. Lace curtains had been pulled back on the second and third floors.

  Starting the car, she told herself she was ridiculous. She reversed, the statue rocking on the floor of the passenger’s side. She looked out again at the house, noticing pumpkins had replaced roses in the planters sitting on the wraparound porch. She popped the car into drive and started to roll away, but as she glanced in the rearview mirror, she saw the front door to the house had opened.

  She pressed hard down on the brake. Tires on another car squealed. The other driver honked at her, making her eyes dart to her front windshield, seeing the nose of his car aimed toward her. He waved his hands at her. She realized she had stopped short in front of him while he was pulling into the lot from the street.

  Kara, her face burning, steered past the man who was yelling at her from behind his closed window. She pulled into the street, and glimpsed in her rearview mirror. The front door to the Collumber house had closed. She saw no one in the yard, however. She turned her attention to the road, ignoring the mocking grins of the statue girl and frog, rolling around on the floorboard.

  Kara slowed dramatically, nearing the barn. She looked over at its shadowed interior, deciphering little from the weak sunlight filtering in through the window over the loft. She passed the aloof farmhouse that exuded emptiness, as usual. An urge crept over her.

  Come and see.

  She reversed and parked on the side of the road where it became flat, beside the farmhouse’s driveway. She got out of the car and took to the driveway, wondering faintly why she was there. The thought, however, was so far removed, she hardly acknowledged it. She climbed the drive, glancing over the treed yard, and was soon at the front walk, its cement crumbling, speckled with grass that had broken through. Her eyes scanned the curtained windows before she pulled open the screen door and knocked. Birds twittered, but there was no other sound of life. She leaned close to the door, listening. It was dead quiet: no one ran from the room to hide; no one opened the door.

  She looked over at the gray barn, finding herself level with the silo behind it, and turned back to knock again, banging harder against painted steel. Nobody home.

  She backed up, confident no one was there. As if that meant she had full access to view the property, she went around the house. She passed a padlocked shed, the rear of the empty driveway, and a thicket of trees before turning back toward the yard between the two properties. Beyond the barn and silo, a wide circle of evergreens stood just before the dense woods. She headed toward it, walking airily through the tall grasses, a giveaway the yard hadn’t been looked after for quite some time. The evergreens didn’t sway, but the ashes at the start of the woods did, their tops moving in the wind that had just picked up.

  As Kara neared the circle of evergreens, her steps slowed. Her eyes drifted upward, over the treetops, to the sky. A turkey vulture landed on an ash. She stopped when she noticed a committee of the black-feathered birds had settled on the same tree. They watched her. What was she doing?

  She turned away, glancing briefly at the silo and barn, then the farmhouse, all of the buildings feeling a mile away. She was isolated, out in the open. Turning back to look at the vultures, a gunshot rented through the air. She jumped and started away, the image of the ugly beasts soaring down on her in her thoughts. The shot had been faraway, someone shooting targets from deep in the woods, but it was the shock she needed to get away. Suddenly the fear of the homeowner returning was paramount.

  She hurried to her car, slamming the door behind her, and went home. She shook away the memory by urging sunlight into the dark, quiet house. She opened drapes in the great room and the curtains over the kitchen sink, but that did little to dissipate the melancholy that lingered around her. She went about household chores, working on getting her mind on the normalcy of being a wife and stay-at-home mom. She opened the dishwasher and sighed, discovering many of the dishes had water droplets on them. Pulling a towel out from under the sink, she started drying. She fell into a rhythm: grab a plate, dry, put it away.

  As she straightened, she looked out at the pool and then the woods, drying a glass in her hands. When it was dry, she put it in the cupboard and bent to grab another. The new glass had some water in it, which she poured down the sink before pushing her hand into it, drying. She snapped the towel out, put away the glass, and reached for another. She was shoving the towel into the next glass when, slowly, she realized what she was doing, or rather, what she had been using to dry.

  She set the tip of the glass on the counter; she didn’t hear it fall off the edge and crash onto the floor. Instead, she zeroed in on the towel she had been using, thin and striped, red-and-blue. It wasn’t a towel, after all.

  Kara slowly unfolded it, her breath catching. She didn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe. She felt sick with the realization that she had been using Sophie’s receiving blanket to dry dishes. She flung open the backdoor, not bothering to shut it, and held the blanket open in the breeze, coaxing it to quickly air-dry.

  Who had put it in the kitchen drawer? How had she not noticed it before?

  Tears spilled down her cheeks, guilt overriding her soul. No one but she ever touched the memory box. She had to have done it. In her sleep, sometime during the fitful night that she couldn’t remember, she had brought the memory box to bed with her. She tried to picture herself pulling out the blanket, curling up with it. Maybe the blanket had gotten mixed up with the laundry. She did fold clothes on her bed…

  But she had checked the box the other morning. The blanket had been in there.

  She went inside when the blanket was dry to return it to the memory box. She had smoothed out the wrinkles with her hands and folded it carefully. She didn’t bring it to her nose to make sure it still smelled like baby powder; it would be unbearable if it didn’t anymore. She shut the box away in her dresser, then sat on the bed holding her head in her hands. How could she have been so careless?

  She sat for a while, breathing deeply, telling herself i
t was alright, she had taken care of it, the blanket was fine. When she had regained her composure, the guilt was still there but she had come down from most of the shock, she pressed John’s name on her cellphone.

  When he picked up on the first ring, she shuddered. He had picked up too fast. She couldn’t tell him. If she told him, he’d think she was crazy.

  “Kara? Are you there?”

  She swallowed, nodding for her own benefit, and finally said, “Hi. Yes, I’m here. Sorry, I was…just calling to say hi…Is work busy?”

  “Yeah, when is it not?” he sighed. “Accounting’s having an issue and they want me to drop everything to fix it.”

  “Ugh.” She cleared her throat, steadying herself. “How long will that take?”

  “I’ll know in about 10 minutes after the system reboots and reconfigures. I just don’t need this right now.”

  “Yeah, that’s crap.” Hearing his voice as he went on about work calmed her. Everything would be okay. The blanket hadn’t been harmed. She was fine. She would take a deep breath and start over. “Well, I’ll let you go then. Try not to work too hard.” She didn’t want to let him go, though.

  “You too.”

  She hung up and exhaled, staring at the blank cellphone screen.

  I made a mistake; it won’t happen again. It can’t happen again.

  Kara lay down to a soundtrack of bird chatter coming from the other side of the closed windows.

  It was okay, she was okay.

  She pulled the cool sheet over her, sinking into the soft mattress. Her eyelids wiggled and she was soon asleep.

  She was drenched in blackness. It coated her, heavy like chainmail, forcing her to the ground. It was too thick, too tight, too much. Fear swelled in the blackness and she was afraid to move. Was she alone? Was she the only one blind?

  Were her eyes open?

  Kara flicked them from side-to-side. She thought they were anyway, but she still couldn’t see. Widening them only made the black seep into her eye sockets, filling her head. Her eyes watered. She closed them again, and now she saw color. Thin lines zig-zagged and spiraled on the backs of her eyelids, painting in various shades of greens, blues, oranges, and reds. At first it was an amazing color wheel spectacular, casually gliding across the black page. Then gradually, the colors twisted, gaining speed until they made her dizzy.