by C. B. Wiant
“At least it wasn’t just your shirt. Almost was.” I say and unbutton his shirt and get back to naked.
Hudson sifts through pages. “Does this shit really turn you on?”
I pull the book from his grasp and toss it with the others behind me. I only bought it because I couldn’t leave the store with just two, and I don’t like the numbers three and four, so I bought five books on cover appeal.
I smile and grab the notepad. I turn the page over like I’m a journalist taking notes. I scratch out a sentence and pass it to Hudson.
I’m waiting for you to notice how wet I am for you.
He drops the notepad to the floor and picks me up and kisses me hard. My words may not be smut worthy—they don’t need to be for the desired effect. They need to be the truth—vulnerabilities bled on white sheets.
31
At the kitchen table.
Hudson called Ramona before we vacated the hotel to let her know we were returning. There was a forever pause where Hudson said nothing, he only listened. He’d nod his head even though Ramona couldn’t see. His brows would scrunch in confusion, but he never interrupted. At the end of the call, he told her, “We’re on our way.”
We’re in his truck with my nail polish, books, and stolen hotel notepad. The clock reads 6:16 pm and dinner started at 6 pm. We caught traffic on the highway.
Now we’re behind a tractor. And with the windy country roads—there is no passing. Vehicles are either flying fast or crawling, idling and puttering.
6:45 pm and the truck tires grumble along the gravel driveway to Ramona’s farmhouse. There is one other vehicle in the driveway—Terra’s. When Hudson’s driver door opens, Terra hops out of her vehicle, “Hey Babe.”
I grab onto Hudson’s shirt and hold him in the truck, “What is she doing here?”
He smiles. “The only way to find out is to ask her. I didn’t invite her.” I want to smudge his smile off his face.
I release him and we both exit the truck. Hudson greets Terra with an embrace. I nod in acknowledgment of her existence. She greets me with words I don’t tune into. Her small talk is for Hudson’s approval, not mine.
The three of us walk as a unit to the stoop. Hudson is between us. The front door is ajar. The latch compresses against the strike plate.
Hudson stretches his arm to brace me like a human seatbelt.
The theoretical wreck already happened.
He kicks the door with the tip of his boot. The door doesn’t creek as I suspect it should. Instead, the door seamlessly swings open like a sail that caught a gust of wind.
Hudson steps into the farmhouse with Terra and me at his heels. “Ramona?”
There’s no response. The air has a presence. Someone either was just here. Or someone is still here.
“Terra, check the basement,” I recommend since that’s where all the white bitches end up dying in horror films.
“What, why?” Terra asks too close to Hudson.
“Stop it Av, not now.” Hudson reprimands.
The farmhouse floor plan is open. We cycle through rooms, turning on all the lights as we go. Everything ground level is the same except for the kitchen. There’s no food cooking. There is no evidence of prepping for a meal. The air doesn’t smell saturated or tinged with aromatic flavors.
Terra has her nose in the air like she can smell the unprepared meal. There is a trail she is intent on following. “The kitchen table and chairs are missing.” She says.
I’m standing on the rug where the kitchen table usually rests. The kitchen is too expansive without the old wooden claw-foot table. “Maybe you should check the basement.”
“What is up with you and the basement?”
“What time was dinner supposed to be?” Hudson distracts Terra that easily.
Terra smiles, “Ramona wanted us here at six.”
The oven clock reads 7:08 pm.
Hudson looks in the sink. “Terra, try to call Ramona on your cell.” He runs a finger in the bin confirming it's dry.
A ringtone melody bellows from within Ramona’s office. Terra follows the noise with her phone still glued to her ear. The ringtone silences. Terra returns moments later with two phones. “I found her phone by the keyboard.”
“Let me see her phone,” Hudson asks, yet takes both phones.
I take a more direct approach and run up the stairs.
Doors are open. Even the linen closet is showing its innards of molding filters from either the dehumidifier or humidifier not being cleaned properly. A heating pad cord snakes off a shelf. Rolled up bedding is in stacks or shoved in any available hole. The items in the closet are a brief ruffle away from spilling out. Whoever opened the closet door did so cautiously. I keep my distance, hoping not to initiate an avalanche.
The bedroom door from the room I stayed in is securely closed. The only room on the second floor with the door shut is the room I occupied.
I open the door and find the heavy kitchen table. Five chairs are scooted in as if we invited anorexic ghosts to dine. The chair backs are mere inches from the tabletop. The table seats six. Six full glasses of water rest in front of six empty plates. The glasses and I are sweating.
Six folded white linen napkins are tucked in next to the plates. Three long white candles are the centerpiece, they’re a quarter length burned with wax dripping onto the white tablecloth. The flames are still and short.
Ramona sits at the head of the table. Her head tilts into her chest. Her hands are next to her plate—palms down. Is she sleeping?
Cautiously, I walk over to her and nudge her shoulder. She tips over and lands hard. Flaccid, her body flops onto the floor. Her eyelids, neck, and jaw are stiff with rigor mortis.
I’m lost in Ramona’s bottomless dead stare until someone screams. Terra backpedals into a wall. Her sneakers tread into the floral wallpaper like she could moonwalk through walls into the next room. I beat Terra to the door and shut her inside with Ramona’s dead body.
Terra yanks on the door handle and screams for release.
I grip the metal door handle, “Why are you here Terra?”
Terra shrills in pain. The door handle is red hot in my clutches.
She reverts to beating the wooden door.
I have to ask her a few times why she’s here before she responds with a legitimate answer, “The girl said to host a dinner.”
“The girl?” Hudson asks behind me. I didn’t hear him lope up the stairs, but he’s standing right behind me now. I jump in surprise and let go of the handle. Terra flies through the doorway.
Her hands are pink and blistered from the scolding doorknob. She pants, “Her name was Ruby.”
“Are you fucking serious?” I scream and pound on the horn and dash like they’re punching bags and I’m a boxing champion because Are You Fucking Serious. Hudson literally child-locked me in his truck. He’s standing outside between the truck, where I’m losing my ever-loving-mind, and the front door. Terra’s phone is up to his ear.
Back in the farmhouse, Genevieve called Ramona’s cell. Everyone’s heart lurched. No one should answer a dead girl’s phone, so Hudson called Genevieve back on Terra’s phone. “Ramona’s dead. Terra will call the cops. Aviana and I are leaving now. We’ll explain what we know when we get there.” Genevieve screamed and became unintelligible. Giant’s voice took over the conversation. It sounded like Genevieve and Giant were in the car on their way here. Hudson and Giant mansplained their situation to each other—an agreement was settled upon by the stairs.
Upon exiting the farmhouse, Hudson instructed Terra to call the cops. Simple enough and expected since he just hung up the phone with Genevieve and Giant stating that Terra would alert the officials.
Terra asked if she should mention Ruby… and I saw red and only saw red. I attacked her; I swung like I was in a league of my own—which is how I ended up child-locked in the truck.
Now Terra waits on the stoop, holding ice to her cheek with her burned hand. Hudson says some nice w
ords to her because she smiles. He returns her stupid phone. She watches his ass as he walks back to me.
Hudson un-jams the driver’s door and throws himself in with me. He jabs the key to turn over the engine like he’s kidney punching his rival. The truck growls to life. We’re flying down country roads. Everything looks the same—farmhouse here, cornfield there. Red barn. Red barn. Brown barn.
I’m counting cows when Hudson breaks the silence. “Aviana, the police can’t see you. You left the psychiatric facility AMA. Ramona pulled some serious strings to get you out and to live with her—some of which were illegal.”
The truck gets air from the hill we launch off. “Do you have anything in that room?” We land in the middle of the road. The yellow lines stripe beneath the undercarriage.
I turn my attention to Hudson. He’s looking at me too much to be driving safely at these speeds. From my perspective, it looks like he’s driving 80mph. Which I know isn’t right but, “Should we be speeding away from a crime scene if cops are heading this way?”
Hudson slows down. He’s listening to me, it’s my turn to return the respect.
“No, Ramona loaned me everything.” There’s clear evidence that someone was living in the farmhouse, that I was there. I’ve never made my bed. The shower has my hair in the drain. I don’t think patient confidentiality applies when the therapist is murdered. I’m certain Ramona has notes on her notes, that are notably about me.
Rolling through the stop sign, we pass the local market. HAPPY 50th RON is on the placard.
While crossing a one-lane bridge Hudson reveals the conversation he had with Terra while I was child-locked in the truck.
“Ruby hitchhiked a ride from Terra the day we left for the hotel. They bonded over hating you. Ruby told Terra that you spent the last few years with Tracy. Terra invited Ruby as a surprise guest to dinner. She told Ramona that she believed a mediated dinner would help towards forgiveness—since forgiveness is for giving. Terra waited outside for us. She didn’t know what happened inside would happen.”
I cluck and keep to myself. Terra invited Ruby to throw shade.
Hudson turns on the highway without indicating with his blinker. We merge into traffic and drive over an hour to Genevieve and Giant’s house in Columbus.
“Do you think Ruby is trying to kill you?” Giant asks after letting both Hudson and me into their condo. They live in the heart of The Ohio State University campus.
“Of course, she’s trying to kill me.” I go straight to the kitchen and open all the cabinet doors. Bunch of healthy fuckers, no munchies.
“Get out of my cabinets,” Giant yells. He locks the front door. “What are we going to do?”
“Wait for Terra,” Hudson says. And we do. Genevieve and Giant take turns snooping out their windows in paranoid agitation. Hudson checks the upstairs. I watch from the kitchen counter fascinated that all three of them, Genevieve, Giant, and Hudson, are cohabitating. They may have had eight years to adjust, but the juxtaposition has me twisted. Giant does not acknowledge Hudson, but will ask Genevieve to ask Hudson if he would like a beverage while we wait. Genevieve addresses the space to the left of Hudson when she speaks to him. She never speaks to him. Hudson looks and speaks directly to everyone.
Hudson turns the television on to the History Channel, which airs American Pickers. We watch junkyards, overflowing houses, stuffed barns, and car cemeteries.
The doorbell rings after four hours. American Pickers aired the entire time, never switching programming. The commercials rotated.
Giant looks out the windows above the door. Genevieve slips in front of him and looks out the peephole. She elbows him, fumbling for the lock.
It’s Terra. The police didn’t detain her.
“I didn’t know she would kill Ramona.” Terra cries into Genevieve’s shoulder. They’re sitting on the secondhand plaid couch.
Genevieve rubs her hand up and down Terra’s back. “Of course you didn’t sweetheart, of course you didn’t.”
“What did you think was going to happen?” I ask, still on the kitchen counter.
Giant gives Terra a glass of ice water, “Thank you, Mark.”
“I don’t know?” Terra’s hands go to her head and then fall open as if her brain is exploding. “I was trying to be nice and help her—she was walking on the side of the road crying and carrying broken heels.” Terra divulges into more tears. Her accountability glistens on her face. “She said her friend left her behind. We got to talking, and she showed me a picture of her friend on her phone, which turned out to be that little redhead that was stalking Aviana.” Terra pauses to allow Genevieve to blot her face. “It was a long drive back to Columbus, so I vented and told her about what a bitch Aviana was to me and she not only believed me, but she knew Aviana too!”
Genevieve audibly gasps.
“What kind of people are you hanging out with?” Giant asks me.
“You kind of people fucker. Now, tell us how you plotted to have me murdered.”
Terra goes into another round of hysterics. Genevieve looks over at me like I’m inciting evil. Poor word choice, but the question remains…
“No one should have died. The dinner was supposed to be hosted at 6 pm. No one showed up on time! I sat in the driveway waiting for-ev-er.”
“Waiting for what, ‘surprise! I’m unwanted, yet here I am!’” My hands go to my head; they don’t explode out. I contain the contents.
Hudson cuts his glance to me, I’ve gone too far. He moves and sits down on the couch next to Terra and Genevieve and asks, “Did you let Ruby in the house? What was your plan with her?”
Terra switches from leaning on Genevieve to lean on Hudson. I bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood.
“She would ideally arrive at seven. I told Ramona that I would bring dessert.” Terra’s eyes enlarge, “Oh no! The cheesecake!” She jumps to her feet and races to the door. Except she can’t figure out the deadbolt. Who uses the deadbolt? Claustrophobic, Terra hyperventilates. Trauma triggers demons and illogical mayhem and in Terra’s case, has her clawing at the door to rescue the cheesecake.
Genevieve tries to reason with Terra, but Terra doesn’t understand that the cheesecake has been melting in the backseat for hours. Giant steps in and picks Terra up off the ground as if she’s an irrational toddler.
“Mark please!” Genevieve protests in between Terra’s, “It’s turtle!”
I laugh because it’s awkward and I can’t handle awkward.
“The cheesecake is in the fridge now,” Hudson says behind us all. He snuck out the backdoor and secured the cheesecake. Both Terra and Genevieve thank God. Hopefully, the cheesecake was in a cake carrier—if not, it may have absorbed the car freshener odor and dried out. I doubt turtle cheesecake with an allure of new car smell and pine is appetizing. Maybe if she had a strawberry or a lemon-scented car freshener the cheesecake would fair better.
“Did he just break into her car?” Giant asks with an accusatory glare. Hudson doesn’t respond. I shake my head because Terra has always been too trustworthy. She left the doors unlocked to her car. Most likely her house has no safeguards. I would wager her phone is not password protected.
I request to take a shower. Hudson gives me a heated glare knowing we took a shower together this afternoon that left us filthy and riddled in each other’s fingerprints.
I slip into the guest bathroom and slide the shower curtain open. I reach for the switch to turn the exhaust fan to remove excess moisture but end up turning the lights off. There is no proper venting. I flip the switch back on and the bathroom floods with light. I crack the window half an inch.
Stepping into the bathtub, I turn the water as hot as possible. The spray burns my skin and grounds me—the lava from the sky is consistent—as long as there is hot water, the water will be hot. I let the scalding water beat and abuse me until it cools. Being in a room full of individuals, even if they are my individuals, is still overwhelming.
I shut the water off,
wrap my body in a towel, and pull the shower curtain back—it accordions against the wall and I shriek.
Ruby is sitting on the toilet lid. She smeared the condensation I attempted to eradicate in a tight circle on the mirror, only her face is visible in the fog. She glides red lipstick on her lips.
The window is shut. I don’t understand. My first words to Ruby are, “You climbed in through the window?”
The bathroom doorknob seizes and has a conniption before busting open. Hudson stands in the shrapnel. Giant stands behind him. I shrieked, they came, why am I not having a matching conniption?
“Hey guys, welcome to the party.” Ruby turns the lipstick tube counterclockwise, sealing the wax in its chamber.
“Who the fuck are you?” Giant asks.
Ruby spins around on her porcelain throne. “I was trying to catch Lily alone.” She throws her red lipstick at my shoulder. It clatters and rolls on the wet enamel before the drain blocks its descent.
My folded clothing has moved from the toilet seat and is now disheveled under Ruby’s feet. Her toes cling to the fabric folds like sand grains on the beach. Her fingernails and toenails are painted a matching black. It’s too coordinated of an anesthetic, like a perfect bow for a cheerleader. Matching nail polish individuals are the same people who hang homemade wreaths inside their house and hang signs in their kitchen that read EAT. Those people go against my grain.
“Now,” Ruby says while lifting the plunger from the corner beside the toilet. Except the plunger isn’t a plunger. I realize this when the rubber plunger circumference shrinks to the diameter of .727 inches. Ruby smiles behind a sawed-off 12-gauge shotgun.
“Move,” Ruby gestures with the shotgun for me to get out of the tub. Instinctively, I lift my hands. The towel drops. Naked and Afraid takes on a whole new perspective.