Hiding Place (9781101606759)

by Bell, David

  Chapter Twenty

  Rose didn’t know Janet was coming. Janet went to call Michael before she left work, then realized he had never given her his cell phone number or even an e-mail address. She didn’t know what he did with his days. Maybe he looked for work in Dove Point, a thought that caused an unreasonable flutter of emotion to rise in Janet’s chest. He hadn’t said any such thing, but that didn’t stop Janet from hoping he might stay and settle down. In the immediate moment, she just wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice. She wanted to tell him about seeing the man again, this time on campus. And she wanted to tell Michael she wasn’t crazy—the man probably had been creeping around her house two nights earlier.

  So when she couldn’t reach him by cell phone, she decided to just stop by. Rose’s number was in the phone book—she found it with no trouble—but Janet didn’t bother to call in advance.

  Rose Bower lived north of Dove Point’s city limits. Everyone called the area Baileytown because the Bailey Foundry operated out there and most of the people who lived nearby had worked for the company. The foundry had closed when Janet was in high school, not long before Ashleigh was born, but the name Baileytown remained. The foundry still remained as well, its gates padlocked, its vacant and unused buildings slowly and inevitably crumbling.

  As far as Janet knew, Rose had never worked for the foundry. She’d split from Michael’s father when Michael was fourteen, so she must have moved to Baileytown then because of the cheap rents that were available as the foundry’s workers moved out. Janet remembered going to Rose’s house in high school either to pick up or drop off Michael. Rose always showed a great deal of interest in Janet. She used to ask Janet about school as well as her future plans, and when Janet talked about going to college and having a career, Rose nodded affirmatively as though that was the exact right thing to do. Janet chalked Rose’s interest up to the woman’s overall benevolent nature, but also supposed that she saw Janet as a kind of surrogate daughter. Rose never had a daughter of her own, and with Janet’s mother gone, it seemed like a natural fit.

  But Janet stopped going to Michael’s house once she became pregnant.

  Janet dealt with the shame of her pregnancy at school about as well as could be expected. As her stomach grew, and as she faced the stares and occasional comments from her classmates and teachers, she allowed herself to feel a measure of pride in the pregnancy. She knew some of the other girls were jealous and wanted nothing more out of life than to begin having children, so Janet managed to convince herself that she was doing something special and unique.

  But those thoughts—and years later, Janet knew they were just a defense mechanism, a form of self-preservation—didn’t carry over to facing Rose Bower. Of all the people in her life outside of her father, Janet hated the thought of letting Rose Bower down. A woman who’d always asked about Janet’s career ambitions, a woman who seemed to be pushing Janet to be better, wouldn’t understand how she’d managed to get herself knocked up. Janet didn’t know the answer to that question herself, so she simply avoided the Bower house from the day she learned she was pregnant.

  Which is not to say Janet hadn’t seen Rose over the years. Dove Point was too small of a town to not occasionally run into somebody. As Janet drove away from campus and across town on Old Hanover Road, she tried to remember the last time she’d seen Rose. They’d run into each other once at the funeral of the former principal of Dove Point High, an event everyone in town seemed to have passed through. And Janet could recall a few encounters in the grocery store, most recently…was it five years ago? Ashleigh was still young enough to want to tag along to the store with her mother, and still young enough to answer an adult’s questions without rolling her eyes or sighing. Even then, five years earlier, Rose’s frailty had struck Janet as somewhat disturbing. The woman seemed to be diminishing into herself, becoming just a shell of what she once was. How much more diminished would she be now? Maybe some part of Janet needed to see Rose again, to let the woman know Janet was doing okay, that she was making it despite becoming a mother while still in high school. And Janet could see how Rose was doing too.

  The streets of Baileytown looked even worse than Janet remembered. Plastic toys and junked cars littered the yards she drove past. Children played in the street under the suspicious eyes of parents who were smoking or drinking. Janet felt grateful to have a job, to have a life with future prospects. If she’d married Tony Bachus back in high school, would she be living on one of these streets? Would she have popped out more kids without regard for how to provide for them? One kid proved to be work enough…

  Two window air-conditioning units stuck out from the side of the dirty white house. The paint was peeling in large chunks, and the house appeared not to have been painted in the fifteen years since Janet last visited. A neighbor’s dog barked from a fenced-in yard, its white teeth visible like angry knives. Janet knocked on the rickety screen door, which despite the heat was all that stood between the natural elements and Rose’s living room. The sun was still bright outside, but Janet leaned close to the screen in an attempt to see into the house. No lights were on, and the curtains looked to be drawn against the heat.

  Janet knocked again. “Hello?”

  “Yes?”

  The voice sounded faint but close. Was she right in the living room hidden from Janet’s sight?

  “Hello? Rose?”

  “Yes?”

  Janet heard a rustling, and then the woman appeared in the doorway. It took a moment, but a smile spread across her face.

  “Do you remember me, Rose? It’s Janet Manning.”

  “Of course, of course.” She unlatched the screen door’s eyehook lock and stepped back to let Janet in. “I know you, honey. Come in.”

  While Janet looked at the furniture—which also hadn’t changed in fifteen years—Rose Bower scurried around opening the curtains and letting in daylight. Despite the furniture’s age, the house looked clean and well organized, as though someone took pride in its appearance.

  “I’m sorry to just show up like this,” Janet said.

  “I’m glad you did,” Rose said. “Sit, sit.”

  Janet chose the end of the floral-patterned couch and took her first good look at Rose Bower in the daylight. She looked even thinner and more frail than the last time. Janet reminded herself that the woman standing before her was roughly the same age as her own parents—about sixty—because anyone else would have guessed she was closer to eighty. Deep lines creased her face—did she smoke?—and her hair looked thin and brittle, brushed back into place and held by a series of bobby pins. A gray housecoat hung loose on her body, and when Rose sat down—resuming her spot in a recliner near the couch—she let out a long breath, as though the effort of standing up and opening the door and the curtains had cost her a great deal. She didn’t offer to get Janet anything.

  “Are you looking for Michael?” Rose asked.

  “I am. But I was also hoping to see you.”

  “He’s not here, Janet. I don’t know where he is today.” She pointed vaguely toward the front door. “He said he had some business to attend to, but he didn’t tell me what it is.”

  “Is he looking for a job?”

  Rose’s face brightened considerably. “Do you think he might be? Here in Dove Point?”

  Janet wished she’d kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to give Rose false hope that her son might be home to stay. Janet knew well the difficulties of false hope.

  “I don’t know, Rose,” Janet said, scrambling. “How are you doing?”

  Rose smiled without showing her teeth. “I’m okay. I’m doing okay. I don’t work. I don’t do much, to be honest.”

  “The house is clean.”

  “I manage to do that. It’s an old habit I can’t let go of.” She looked around the small room with pride. “How have you been? You must be working still. Or did you…?”

  Janet caught her drift. “No, I’m not married. I still work at Cronin. I manage the d
ean’s office. I’ve been doing that the last three years.”

  “And your daughter? Ashleigh, right?”

  “Yes. She’s good. She’s very smart, and she knows it. She’s fifteen, and I imagine she’s as challenging as any fifteen-year-old can be.” Janet paused a moment thinking of all she had to protect Ashleigh from. Not just the usual stuff, but all the other things like the man from the porch. Janet had been crazily vigilant in the house the previous two days, making sure every door and window was locked. “We moved back in with my dad. He lost his job.”

  “He did? You mean Strand laid him off?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. He was a company man. I thought he’d be there forever.”

  “Times change,” Janet said. “Anyway, we’re all together in the old house now.”

  Janet expected Rose to comment on that, to offer something about the good old days, but she didn’t. Maybe Rose wished she could have the same thing—Michael move in for good, a grandchild or two to look after and celebrate.

  “Have you seen Michael since he’s been back?” Rose asked.

  “We had coffee the other night. We just talked.”

  “I kept telling him to call you when he came back, but he must have taken his sweet time. You were always such good friends. To be honest, I always hoped the two of you would…you know, get together at some point.”

  Janet’s face flushed. She looked away for a moment.

  “I’m sorry if I was rude—”

  “Oh, no,” Janet said. “It’s not that.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that. I embarrassed you.”

  “It’s okay, Rose.” Janet looked back and smiled. “I always hoped the same thing when we were in high school.”

  “I could tell. He had all those girls following him around. His groupies, I used to call them. He liked a certain kind of girl, you know. The showy ones, the wild ones. And there was the best one right under his nose. You.” She paused. “You don’t ever hear from that Tony Bachus, do you?”

  “Not much. He sends money for Ashleigh when he can. Or when he feels like it.” Janet waved the thought of Tony away with her right hand. “I haven’t needed him.”

  “You haven’t, that’s right.” Rose mirrored Janet’s gesture of dismissal. “He was never any damn good. I don’t even know why Michael was friends with him. He hung around with some real dolts in his time.”

  Janet laughed.

  “You know,” Rose said, “I sometimes wonder if he’s gotten any better. Did he tell you anything about what he was doing in Columbus?”

  Janet recognized the position she was being put in. Rose wanted information, and since she didn’t think she could get it from her son, she intended to pry it out of Janet. Janet had to applaud the strategy. If Ashleigh brought any of her friends around, or if her few friends—besides Kevin—were less reticent and angsty, Janet might have used it herself.

  “I thought he was working there,” Janet said.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “I think he asked his dad for money a few times,” Rose said. “I don’t know, but that’s the impression I got.”

  “Didn’t he lose his job?” Janet asked.

  “Sure. But I don’t know when. I thought maybe you did.”

  “We didn’t talk about it,” Janet said. “Is something wrong?”

  Rose didn’t answer. She pressed her lips tight, as though she wanted to keep whatever she had to say bottled up.

  “It’s okay if—”

  “This phone call came here,” Rose said. “And I don’t know what to make of it.”

  “Was it about his job?”

  Rose shook her head. She lowered her voice when she spoke, even though no one else was around.

  “Who was it?” Janet asked.

  “It was a detective from the Columbus Police Department. She called here looking for Michael. She wouldn’t tell me what it was about when I asked. She just said she’d call Michael back.”

  “When was this?” Janet asked.

  “A few days ago.”

  A few days ago. Before Michael came and saw Janet at work.

  “Did you ask him about it?” Janet asked.

  “I gave him the message, but he just grunted. Then he went outside and used his cell phone.”

  “To call the detective?”

  “I assume.”

  Janet leaned back. “Maybe it was just something simple. Maybe someone broke into his car or something.” Even as she said the words, she doubted they were true. He’d come to her worked up about his dad’s possible role in Justin’s death—and this happened after he spoke to a detective. “It’s probably nothing,” she added, hoping her voice sounded convincing.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Michael’s never been in trouble.”

  Again, Rose pressed her mouth shut.

  “Has he?”

  Rose reached up and fiddled with one of her bobby pins. “You know, things didn’t always go well for Michael when he was out on the West Coast. His jobs…well, he still didn’t tell me everything, of course, because he didn’t want me to worry. But he had rough times.”

  “Really?”

  “He tried more than one thing, more than one career.”

  “A lot of young people do that. They try to find themselves.”

  “I guess. What do I know? I’ve always been here. But a mother worries, you know?”

  “Sure.”

  Janet tried to process what Rose told her about Michael’s life out west. She tried to make it match with the picture she had carried with her since high school graduation and Michael’s departure from Dove Point. In that picture in Janet’s head, Michael worked in an exciting job and lived close to the beach. He was carried along by a tide of good times and good friends, and yes, Janet had to admit, she always imagined a swarm of good-looking California women. Liberated, tan, educated. And not tied down in Dove Point, Ohio. Even having the information that contradicted that picture didn’t change the way Janet thought about Michael’s time in California.

  “You’re not saying Michael was in trouble with the police out west, are you?”

  “If he was, I wouldn’t know.”

  “Was he? Do you know something?”

  “I don’t know,” Rose said again. “But when the police call the house looking for your child, you wonder.”

  Janet thought of Ashleigh. Of course, Janet thought. She knew exactly what Rose meant.

  “I understand why you’d be worried,” Janet said. “If I talk to him, and if it seems natural, I’ll ask him about it.”

  “I’m not asking you to spy—”

  “I know,” Janet said. “I want to talk to him again anyway.”

  Rose’s face looked a little dreamy. Janet wondered if she was falling asleep or losing focus because of her age. But she spoke through the dreamy look.

  “You know,” she said, “Ray was the golden boy too when we met. Football player and all of that. Everybody’s friend, everybody’s drinking buddy. Lots of girls wanted him, but I got him…”

  Her voice trailed off, even though there seemed to be more to say. Janet leaned forward.

  “And?”

  “Michael and his father have a lot in common,” she said, her eyes still distant. “Sometimes I worry about how much they have in common.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  A pull-down ladder at the end of the hallway provided access to the attic. Janet hadn’t been up there for a few months. Every so often, a wave of nostalgia and regret washed over her—took hold of her really—and at those times she comforted herself by looking at old photos of Justin and her mother. It eased her mind knowing the mementos were stored just above her, like a savings account she only occasionally withdrew from.

  Janet always worried she wouldn’t be able to pull the ladder down by herself. She came home from Rose’s feeling more tired than usual. The past few days’ events—the encounter with the man on the quad, the trip to
Rose’s house—had left her drained, and she resisted the urge to crawl straight into bed with the TV for company. She needed a pick-me-up, a little lift, so she gave the short pull string two good tugs and brought the ladder down with a groaning, whining protest. She unfolded the wooded contraption, breathing in dust, and hoped—like she always did when she stepped onto it—that it would still hold her weight. I’ll never reach Memory Lane if I break my neck on the way…

  She started to climb. More than simple, painful nostalgia drove Janet forward. A sharp purpose guided her to the attic—she wanted to look at pictures of Justin and her mother and even her father as a young man and determine if a resemblance really existed between them and the man from the porch. She needed to study those pictures, to contemplate them. She couldn’t trust her memory to do the work for her anymore. Her memory—her heart—wanted it to be true so bad she couldn’t rely on it.

  The ladder shook and squeaked beneath her weight, but it held. A lone bulb on a cord illuminated the slanting roof, the thick tufts of insulation. Janet always feared bats and mice and bugs. She once heard a story about a woman in Dove Point who’d found a rattlesnake nesting in her attic. But that couldn’t be true, could it? The obvious irrationality of the story aside, Janet shivered despite the heat in the enclosed, musty space. Quickly, she told herself. Quickly.

  Janet knew where the box was kept. She remembered the days and weeks after her brother’s funeral, waking during the night to the sound of creaking footsteps in the attic. Terrified, she’d pull the covers to her head, thinking the same man who had killed her brother had come into the house looking for her.

  But it wasn’t a stranger. It was her mother. Eventually, Janet screwed up the nerve to investigate and she found the ladder to the attic pulled down. And she heard the sobs echoing in the unfinished empty space. Her mother crying over mementos of her murdered child. Photos, clothes, crayon drawings. When she was old enough, Janet made the trek up those stairs too—always when her parents weren’t home—and relived her brother’s short life through the contents of that one box.