Housewarming

by Jennifer Bowen

  She waited, but no one came. She looked inside at the door to the house, then pulled the handle, but the screen door was locked. Perhaps, Diane had left town to grieve with family. Kara realized she didn’t really know Diane at all.

  Kara went home, stopping in the office doorway. John looked up from his desk, but neither said anything. She turned away and as she started down the hallway, she felt something bubble inside, rising from the pit of her belly. It urged her to go out the backdoor. She hurriedly crossed the backyard, not stopping until she was at the tree line. White flaps of material waved at her in the breeze.

  Why were they tied to the trees?

  She didn’t want to see them anymore. She yanked on the lowest hanging scarf, knotted around a fat limb. The material ripped, a third of it coming off in her hand. She pulled on the remaining scrap, but it wouldn’t come undone. She tried to untie the knot, but was unable to. She grabbed a place higher on the material and tugged harder, but it wouldn’t tear.

  “Kara!”

  She spun around.

  “What are you doing?” John came across the yard.

  “I’m pulling these down!” she hollered back from the woods. She turned around, seeking another scarf.

  “Why?”

  She was already pulling at the next one. It tore in half. “Because I’m tired of them.” She balled up the slip of fabric in her hand. “Can we get all of these down?”

  He reached up, touching the knot of the first scarf she had attempted to untie. His fingers swiped over it. “They’re really secure.” He looked up. “Some are kinda high. I could get a ladder…”

  “Why are they here?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Diane knows. Have you seen her yet?”

  Kara looked at the yellow house, peeking through the trees.

  Yes, last night…I think.

  She looked down, searching for footprints, but the ground looked undisturbed. Now in daylight the memory of the night was absurd.

  “She’s not home,” Kara mumbled. “Let’s get the ladder.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She led him to the garage and keyed in the door code. As the door rattled open, she made the excuse, “You know how it is when I talk to my mom.” It was the easy way out. If she told him about her mother’s prank, John would be done forever with Margaret. But maybe cutting her out completely would be wise. It was something Kara would have to consider.

  “I was surprised to see her,” he said, pulling the ladder off the wall.

  “Yeah, well…” She had no idea how to explain why her mother had come to the hospital, why Kara had called her. “She’s my mom,” she finally said. An easy excuse.

  He didn’t press any further as she followed him as far as the driveway. She placed a hand on the lamppost, feeling the cool metal, and watched him disappear around the house to the backyard. Someone had stood there watching her, now a faraway memory. If not David, who had it been? Or had that been a dream?

  When evening came, Kara crept into the garage. She opened the trash bin, finding the pile of dingy white scarves John had taken down. He had found five. They hadn’t come any closer to solving the mystery of why they had been tied to trees.

  She selected one, stretching it to arms’ length. A pocket was sewn into one end. Easily, she picked apart the loose thread and unfolded the material. Inside was a mound of brown hair. From the look of it, it was human.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The cast on Jack’s leg was a tomb. Stiff, hot, and itchy, it was a constant reminder his leg was broken. Grace Township had been graced with an Indian summer afternoon and the heat and humidity of the day were stifling. He had been in the cast for a couple weeks and he was miserable. Lying on the deck, his back propped up by two patio chair cushions, he played lazily with his action figures, using the surface of his belly as a play mat. He stayed away from the pool, but every so often, he glanced at its edge, unable to see the water inside.

  After a while, he dropped the action figures on the floor and looked out at the trees. Sparkling metal caught his eye. He hadn’t been to the camper for weeks. He had thought, briefly, of showing it to Alan the day he had come over, even though it was still a mess. Finding the blonde hair wrapped around him in the pool had changed his mind. He hadn’t said anything to his friend; he had acted as if nothing had frightened him away from swimming for the day (for life). He wouldn’t have known how much to divulge and how much he actually believed to have been real and not imagined. Truthfully, however, he believed it all to be real. He just tried not to think about it.

  Jack heaved himself up and grabbed his crutches. He moved easily off the deck and over the grass. He passed through the bracken and trees, seeing the camper squatting in the grass, waiting. When he came to it, he was sweating. He wiped his face with his forearm.

  The itch under the cast was now unbearable. Invisible fingers trailed up and down his leg to the point that it almost tickled. It reminded him of a game his dad played with him every once in a while. He would run his fingers slowly up and down Jack’s arm, and in a sing-song voice, sing, “Can you keep a secret? Can you keep a secret? Up to your elbow and dowwwn. Up to your elbow and dowwwn. Up and dowwwwwn.” The object of the game was not laugh and not pull your arm away. You kept a straight face and tried your best at keeping your mind elsewhere, because if you paid attention to it, you were doomed.

  But this was different. It was like someone was running several long strands of thread up and down the underbelly of the cast, from the top of his ankle to just below his knee.

  Up and down, up and down, up and down. Can you keep a secret? Up and dowwwn, up and dowwwn. Uppppp and dowwwwwwn.

  He shuffled around the camper, squirming, twisting what he could of his right foot, trying to turn the muscle trapped underneath the plaster. He set his crutches against the side of the truck, and leaning against it, bent over and shoved his fingers inside the front of the cast. He was able to get them in up to his knuckles, but his fingers didn’t have enough space to scratch where he needed to. What he did reach just made him tickle more.

  Can you keep a secret? Can you keep a secretttttt?

  He pulled out his hand and, desperate, searched the ground for something he could use. The broken tree branches were too wide and the thorny bramble would be too painful. He stamped his good foot, kicking as best he could with one leg at the wild overgrowth.

  “Ugh!” He had kicked free a discarded tree limb on the ground, which had been sheltering about a hundred ants and a handful of worms. He couldn’t tell which creature was feasting on which. He moved his foot to slide the limb back into place, hiding them again.

  As the sun beat down from directly overhead, the top of his head started to burn. Not only did his protected leg feel like it was being nibbled by insects racing up and down it, he needed to scratch his sweaty head and back.

  He wanted to return to the house and forget the camper, but he would never make it back if he didn’t take care of the burning, stabbing sensation pulsing up and down his leg.

  Up and down, up and down, up and dowwwwn.

  He pushed off from the camper, pressed his weight down on the crutches, and moved to the rear trailer hitch. He laid the crutches down on the bumper, leaning his left hip against it. Eyes scanning over the bramble, he knew there had to be something he could use. The perfect branch, long and spindly, was no more than three feet ahead of him. Using one of the crutches for support, he bent over and stretched out an arm as long as it would reach. He wrapped fingers around the skinny branch and moved back to lean against the bumper.

  Not realizing he was smiling, Jack needled the tip of the branch inside the side of the cast. He moved it up and down, rubbing lightly before turning it toward the top of his leg. Ah, sweet relief! He rubbed firmly, moving it over his dry skin. He dug deeper, pressing into his hidden flesh, the madness of picturing hundreds of ants crawling up and down the length of his leg fueling his drive. He felt heady as a shadow d
raped over him. The bright white of the cast gradually dimmed. He wondered vaguely if he was going to faint.

  “Jack! Are you out there?” his mother called. “It’s dinnertime!”

  He glimpsed part of her through the trees, swallowing a lump in his throat. “O-okay!” he managed to call back. His frenzied fist suddenly felt the snap and release of the branch. Stunned, he pulled it out of the cast, dragging it toward his naked knee. The bottom of it dangled by a few threads of bark, its broken end red.

  Fascinated, he leaned against the rear bumper, the stifling heat filling him, drawing him to exhaustion. He ran his hand over the red. It was wet and coated his palm. It was blood, he realized.

  Jack looked down at his cast, and although the shadow had lifted, it was now flecked with red at the top and bottom edges. Blood trickled down to his toes. He watched strands of red race slowly until they slid off the side of his foot, dripping onto the ground, getting lost in the grass.

  The light-headedness and itchiness were gone and he felt cooler. Clouds rolled subtly over the sun, the breeze soothing. After a while, he grabbed his crutches, shoved off the camper, and carefully made his way through the tangled bramble back to the house.

  When he came inside, Kara commented, “You’re moving really good.”

  He sat at the table and looked down at his cast and toes. The blood had disappeared, and his cast and foot were quite unmarred. His brow furrowed, he straightened and looked out the window. A shadow passed over the glimpsing camper.

  He jumped, then grabbed his crutches, ignoring Kara asking, “What do you see, Jack?”

  He leaned against the window, nearly pressing his face against the pane.

  “Jack?” Kara set a bowl of sauce on the table and moved to stand behind him.

  “I’m hungry,” Lilah announced, trekking into the kitchen, cradling the statue.

  “Hung…” Kara stopped and blinked at her daughter. She realized Lilah had said the word correctly this time. Kara turned back to Jack. “What’re you looking at, Jack?”

  The shadow had lifted. Jack’s eyes squinted over what he could see of the camper and just beyond.

  “Jack?”

  “Nothing,” he replied, hurriedly. “I just thought I saw something.”

  Kara went back to the counter for a plate of bread, asking, “Was it a deer?”

  “No. I don’t think so,” he mumbled. His eyes searched the area surrounding the camper. Nothing now. He returned to his seat, trying to push away the unnerving sensation.

  Kara looked out the window over the sink. She glanced over the woods, not seeing what had captured Jack’s attention, and turned back to the table. She smiled. “Hey, your field trip to the museum is tomorrow. I’m chaperoning.”

  “You are?” Still distracted, Jack started fixing his plate. He flinched when Lilah sat down across from him.

  “Are you okay?” Kara asked.

  “Yeah,” he replied, not meeting her eyes.

  Kara glanced out the window and then back at him. “And guess what else?”

  “What?”

  “The cast comes off tomorrow!”

  “Already?”

  “The doctor’s moving you to a boot. We’ll go to your appointment after.”

  Excitement didn’t register on his face. “Can I skip the museum then?”

  “No, but you’re leaving school early.”

  His thoughts returned to the woods; could it get in the house? “Is dad coming home soon?”

  She sighed, sitting down. “He should be home soon. I’ll call him after dinner.”

  “Why don’t you call him now?” Jack was looking out the window again, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand.

  “Are you alright? Jack?”

  He glanced at her, then looked down at his plate. “Yeah.”

  “Is there someone out there?” The figure who watches me?

  “No. Just…I didn’t see anything. I just want Dad home.”

  “Me too.”

  “What time’s the field trip?”

  “We meet at the museum at nine. Your class is walking, but we’re driving.”

  “I don’t take a bus,” Lilah said, matter-of-factly.

  “Nope, you don’t.” Kara smiled at her before returning her attention to Jack. “Sound like a plan, Jack?”

  Chewing a forkful of pasta, he nodded.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The SUV following Kara honked, a light tap on the horn, but she didn’t hear it. Nor did she notice the look Jack gave her from the passenger seat of the sedan as she slowed on Main Street. The For Sale sign was gone, no longer marring the front lawn of the Collumber house. She felt a pang of disappointment. Had it been sold? Her eyes drew in the double front doors, shuttered to the town.

  “Mom?”

  A lace curtain on the second floor wiggled. Kara inhaled sharply, pressing firmly on the brake. The SUV behind came to a screeching halt and laid on the horn.

  “Mom, why are you stopping?” Jack asked with alarm at the same moment Kara realized her reckless action.

  She glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing the driver’s arms wave in agitation. She peeled her eyes away, pressing on the gas until she was down the street. She maneuvered into a parking spot in front of the single-story Grace Township Museum. Neither Jack nor she said a word as she helped him out of the car.

  Two white-haired ladies and a middle-aged brunette greeted Jack’s class just inside the door. Kara smiled at a few chaperones and Jack’s teacher, Mrs. Haley, as she and Jack joined the fringes of the group. The brunette announced she’d be their tour guide and jumped right into her presentation. She started on what Ohio was like when Native Americans called the area home before settlers arrived. Kara followed behind as the group moved to a display case of artifacts.

  Kara glanced around the thread-bare, carpeted house-converted museum. It wasn’t difficult to visualize the living room they stood in, see the kitchen that used to be down the hall and the bedrooms beyond. The rooms were dim, as there were few windows, but floor lamps were on throughout.

  “Now, does anyone here know the significance of arrowheads?” the tour guide asked the class. She held one up, looking around expectantly.

  “Kara.”

  Kara raised her eyebrows, but saw it wasn’t the guide who had said her name. As a student responded to the guide’s question, Kara glanced around. She turned to her right, looking expectantly at the woman beside her, but the chaperone gave her a confused look and turned away.

  “Kara.”

  Kara jerked around, making eye contact with the woman behind her. The lady leaned away, scowling.

  “Kara.”

  This time it came from somewhere on her right. Kara glanced over the rest of the pack again. No one was looking in her direction. Had it been a man’s voice? She wasn’t sure.

  “Kara.”

  Her eyes darted ahead at the guide.

  “Er, ahem, care of, that is.” The guide cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Settlers and Revolutionary War veterans found the land here satisfactory. Part of the compensation soldiers earned was acreage, something many took advantage of.” The brunette led the group to a tall, glass-encased display where a manikin was dressed in full regular’s uniform, brandishing a calf-skin canteen. She droned on about the attire of the day worn by patriots who strategized and fought invading redcoats.

  Kara’s head had started throbbing. She glanced around, but didn’t immediately see Jack. Her vision was darkening and the guide was rambling. When the brunette moved again, her captive audience following to a display sitting on top of a sideboard, Kara didn’t budge.

  Something touched her shoulder, making her spin around.

  “Are you alright?” one of the white-haired guides asked.

  To Kara, the woman’s face was too close and her features distinct, whereas her surroundings tilted and blurred in contrast.

  “You look a bit peaked. Would you like some water?”

  Kara
swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked. “I-I think I’ll go outside for s-some air.”

  “Would you like me to come with you?”

  Kara shook her head and walked to the door, feeling dizzy, but moving surprisingly sure-footed. She made her way to a sidewalk bench, hearing the door close behind her once she was seated.

  She tugged on her purse zipper, her eyes resting on a group of women across the street. One leisurely pushed and pulled a baby stroller as they chatted. Kara wondered if they had any real worries or drama snaking into their lives. Did they catch glimpses of their exes in grocery stores, in town, on their very own street? Did they have vindictive mothers who played cruel pranks she denied so as to increase paranoia in them?

  She shielded her eyes, looking down the sidewalk, watching a cardinal land on the stop of a stop sign.

  Did they have nightmares?

  She tried to remember her dream from the night before, but she couldn’t think. She was so tired, nothing made sense anymore.

  I think someone watches me from the shadows.

  And maybe Jack sees shadows too, she thought, suddenly remembering his question about ghosts. Had that been the night he had broken his leg?

  Clouds shifted and she was bathed in sunlight. The women she had been watching had wandered away. Three old men sat on a bench across the road. One of them said something she couldn’t make out and they chortled, their laughter rolling. It was a storybook town, and she wished she was a more active member in that story.

  A woman darted past her then, startling Kara. Her brown shoulder-length hair flapped from side-to-side against her back. Kara watched her run across the nearly-deserted street, finding her resemblance to Tracy strong. If Kara hadn’t known better, she could have mistaken her for Tracy. From the distance, as the brunette hopped up the curb and onto the sidewalk, joined now by a brown-haired man in a suit, she did look very similar to Tracy. But Tracy wouldn’t be in Gracie Town without telling Kara. Kara wasn’t happy with her as of late, but they weren’t out and out quarreling. There’d be no reason for her to be there. The woman was just a lookalike; most likely, she didn’t look at all like Tracy up-close. And now, focusing on the man, Kara’s breath caught involuntarily. Positive she recognized him, she saw the woman step into a restaurant with Desmond Howard.