The House on Harbor Hill

by Shelly Stratton

  Could someone subsist on panic and desperation? Could they eat it like bread or drink it like water? Could they breathe it like air?

  Tracey had inwardly posed this question before, and had decided the answer was yes. Fortunately, she wasn’t on that diet anymore.

  “Hot fudge or whipped cream, big guy?” she asked Caleb as they all stood around the kitchen island, laughing and making sundaes.

  It had been Delilah’s idea: sundaes for a Sunday evening treat.

  “I want both!” Caleb shouted gleefully, bouncing on the balls of his feet, slapping his palms on the granite. “Both!”

  “Someone’s greedy,” Aidan said with a smirk, licking melted strawberry ice cream from his spoon.

  Tracey gazed up at him from the other side of the island, meeting his eyes and giving a knowing smile. “Nothing’s wrong with being a little greedy.”

  She certainly was. She was gobbling freedom and happiness by the forkful. Even the folks she worked with at the hotel and resort noticed the difference in her. One of the grizzled old waitresses had eyed her only yesterday, asking her why she was “humming like some Disney princess.”

  When Tracey had told she was just in a good mood, the old woman had smiled knowingly.

  “Could’ve fooled me, kid,” she’d said. “Could’ve sworn you were in love!”

  Tracey hadn’t responded at the time, but she thought about that comment for the rest of the day, pondering over it during her drive home yesterday. She’d pulled into the driveway at Harbor Hill and seen Aidan standing on the front porch, changing the motion detection light. He’d lifted his hand and waved at her. He’d grinned, and a heat spread across her chest. A flush had risen to her cheeks and along her neck.

  She’d wondered, Am I in love?

  Tracey certainly had all the symptoms. She thought about Aidan constantly and couldn’t wait for the end of the workday when she would see him again. During their walks, they would talk and talk, about big things and little things, about their hopes and fears. She would lean into him as he looped his arm around her waist. She would rest her head on his shoulder and gaze dreamily into his eyes. Then they would kiss, and she would flash back to the moment when he had first kissed her a month ago, and everything would explode on the inside.

  She hadn’t felt this way in years, not since the early days when she and Paul started going out. It made her happy but wary, excited yet scared. Was she ready to fall in love again?

  She guessed it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like she had a choice.

  “All right. Let’s clean up,” Tracey said, grabbing one of the sponges. “Miss Dee was nice enough to let us make sundaes. We don’t want to leave a mess.”

  “But I’m tired!” Caleb whined, stomping his foot.

  She opened her mouth to argue with him, but Aidan interceded before she could.

  “You heard your mother, Cabe. Clean up. We’re all doing it together.”

  Caleb started to pout, and Tracey prepared herself for more whining and maybe even tears, but she watched in surprise as he grudgingly reached for one of the sponges and started to wipe smears of ice cream and caramel from the island’s butcher block surface.

  “Good job,” Aidan said, ruffling his hair.

  By nine o’clock, the children were washed and tucked in their beds, slumbering blissfully in sugar comas. Tracey, however, was wide awake. She pattered down the hall in bare feet and gently knocked on Aidan’s door. He opened it a few seconds later. She could see he was already bedding down for the night: The lights were off, but the television was still on. He was wearing only a tank top and sweatpants that hung low on his hips.

  She smiled shyly up at him.

  “I just wanted to say good night,” she whispered.

  Then, before she lost her nerve, she stood on the balls of her feet, intending to give him a quick peck.

  She was hesitant to kiss him with Delilah and the children nearby. Neither had told anyone about their budding relationship, and Tracey still wasn’t sure when would be the best time to do it.

  But Aidan didn’t seem content with a peck. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. He teased her lips so that she opened her mouth and the kiss deepened. They were both panting by the time she finally pulled away.

  “We have to stop,” she whispered.

  “You’re right.” He kissed her brow. “Good night, Trace.” He then stepped back into his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

  Tracey walked back down the hall to her room with her fingers pressed to her lips. She sat down on her bed, still trying to regain her breath. She closed her eyes, replaying the kiss in her mind. The truth was she hadn’t wanted to stop. She yearned for more— more kissing, more touching. She wondered what it would be like to have sex with Aidan. Would he be a tender lover or rough and commanding? Would he help her remember the woman she used to be before the slaps and the name calling, before Paul?

  She sat awake in bed past midnight mulling over it. She tossed and turned. Her body seemed to vibrate with unspent need and desire. She couldn’t get comfortable. She couldn’t sleep.

  At about one o’clock, she eased from her bed and rose to her feet. She opened her door, wincing at the creaking hinges. She peered into the hallway and found it empty, which was no surprise. Only ghostly moonlight pierced the blinds of the windows along the corridor.

  Her heart was pounding so fast she could hear the blood whistling in her ears. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she walked. With each step, Tracey battled dueling voices: one that told her to go back to bed and not make a fool of herself, and another that told her to seek what she wanted. Finally, she reached Aidan’s door. She stared at the wooden slab, drawing up her courage.

  “Do it on the count of ten,” she whispered and then began counting in her head.

  When she reached ten, she raised her fist to knock. She closed her eyes, hoping it would be easier if she didn’t have to watch herself do it.

  “Mommy?” a sleepy voice called to her in the dark.

  Her eyes flashed opened, and she looked down to find Caleb standing in his doorway in his pajamas. He was rubbing his eyes.

  “What is it, honey?” she asked, quickly lowering her raised fist, hoping she didn’t look guilty.

  “Mommy, I had a bad dream,” he moaned. His round face crumbled. He looked close to tears.

  She rushed toward him and rubbed his shoulders reassuringly. “It’s okay. You know it was just a dream, sweetheart. Go back to sleep. You’ll be fine.”

  “Will you sit with me until I fall to sleep?” he asked, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

  “Sure, honey,” she whispered, before ushering him back into his bedroom and giving one last wistful glance at Aidan’s closed door.

  CHAPTER 25

  Though she would find out later that Aidan had shouted her name a few times before she woke up, it was a rough shake to the shoulder that finally did it. Delilah slowly opened her eyes, squinting against the morning light streaming through her plantation shutters. She yawned and smacked her lips. When she rolled over, she found Aidan looming at the edge of the bed, wearing a hoodie and jeans. He hadn’t shaved. His face was gaunt and pale. His skin looked almost ashen against the gray of his pullover.

  “I’m sorry for waking you up like this, Dee, but you have to see it.”

  “See what?” she croaked, rubbing her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  He lowered his gaze to the hardwood floor and shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “What is it?” she asked, pushing herself up to her elbows and shoving off her comforter. Her skin prickled with goose bumps at the cold air and the fright he was giving her. “Good Lord, just tell me, Aidan!”

  His shoulders rose then fell as he exhaled. He turned away from her and headed to her bedroom door. “It’s outside. Throw on your robe and your coat. It’s cold out there. I’ll wait for you in the hall.”

  She watched, confused, as he softly closed the door behind him. Del
ilah turned to Bruce, who was perched on one of her decorative pillows, licking between his claws.

  “Do you know what he’s talking about?” she asked.

  Bruce paused from his grooming to stare at her quizzically, then returned his attention to his paw.

  “Well, you’ll never find out until you go see, now will you?” her dead husband prodded.

  When Delilah walked out the front door five minutes later, raising the collar of her coat against the chill and tightening her belt around her waist, she found Aidan, Tracey, and the children standing in the driveway. Aidan’s arms were crossed over his chest. Tracey was holding Maggie, who was wearing rubber duckie PJs underneath her coat, in one arm; the other arm was wrapped around Caleb’s shoulders. They were all staring at the garage.

  “Who did this, Mommy?” Caleb asked, glancing up at his mother.

  Tracey didn’t answer him but instead continued to frown.

  Delilah rushed down the front porch steps, nearly stumbling in her slippers. She turned around to see what they were looking at. When she did, she gaped.

  The word was written on the garage door in two-foot-tall letters: MURDERER.

  “Well, well, well,” Cee whispered, then chuckled. “Whoever did this certainly has a flare for the dramatic, wouldn’t you say?”

  It was painted in a garish red, and some of the paint had oozed and dripped down the garage panels so it looked like it had been written in blood. Seeing it, Delilah quickly went from shock to confusion, then finally she felt real anger. She was angry that someone had done this to her home and, more importantly, had left it behind for all the world to see, including Maggie and Caleb. Innocent children shouldn’t witness something like this.

  She quickly turned to Tracey, wincing at the kids’ bewildered expressions.

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” she whispered.

  “What? Why are you sorry?” Tracey asked, squinting at her. “You didn’t ask for this, Dee. Some . . . some horrible person did this to you!”

  “I told you we should’ve called the cops when we first got those letters,” Aidan said, stepping toward them, gesturing to the garage door. “Now look what’s happened! This is insane!”

  “Wait . . . letters. What letters?” Tracey asked, her frown deepening

  “Nothing.” Delilah shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

  “No, it’s not nothing! Tell her the truth, Dee!”

  “Aidan,” she began warningly, glaring up at him.

  He rolled his eyes, ignoring her. “In almost two months, Dee has gotten five or six letters from some . . . I don’t know . . . psycho who obviously is not letting up,” he explained to Tracey, whose expression changed. She now looked scared, something Delilah had been trying to avoid. “It’s just gonna get worse if we continue to sit around pretending like what’s happening here isn’t happening!”

  “You don’t know that for sure!” Delilah argued.

  “No, I don’t. But I do know that it’s time to finally get the police involved. Look at what they did, Dee! We can’t keep . . .”

  His words trailed off when they heard the sound of a car engine, then the crunching of gravel under tires. They turned around simultaneously as a silver BMW sailed up the driveway. When Delilah saw who was in the driver’s seat, she grumbled.

  “Oh, not now,” she muttered under her breath.

  She watched as the BMW lurched to a stop a few feet away from where they stood. The door flew open, even though the engine was still running. Teddy leapt out, shoving his RayBans to the crown of his head. He staggered toward them, gawking like some five-year-old seeing a high-wire act for the first time.

  She hadn’t seen him in several months, not since they had spoken at the grocery store. Teddy had called the house a few times since then, inquiring over voice mail whether she had given any further thought to his offer to buy Harbor Hill. But each time, she would delete his message. There was no point in responding when her answer was still the same. She guessed he had gotten tired of being ignored.

  “What on earth!” Teddy shouted, pointing at the words on the garage door. “What is that?”

  “What does it look like?” Delilah answered dryly, wishing he would just climb back into his car and go home.

  “Why would someone do this? Oh, Ms. Grey!” He pitched forward and grabbed Delilah’s hand in his leather-clad one. Before she had a chance to respond, he yanked her into a bear hug, almost smothering her against the shearling wool of his coat lapel and overwhelming her with his heavy cologne. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you! Is there anything I can do?”

  It didn’t take her long to regain her bearings. She quickly shoved herself out of his grasp and tugged her hand back.

  “Thank you for your offer but no, we don’t need your help. We have it covered.” She pushed back her shoulders and turned to Aidan, who still had a bleak expression on his face, like he was attending a funeral. “Do we have enough paint thinner in the shed to take it all off?”

  “Take it all off? Dee, I’m not taking it off! We’re showing this to the cops! I told you that already.”

  “I’m friendly with the sheriff,” Teddy piped. “He and I are golfing buddies. If you want me to reach out to him, I can—”

  “No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “No, I do not.”

  “Dee, come on!” Aidan groaned. “This is getting ridiculous! We have to—”

  “I said, no! Didn’t you hear me? No, dammit!” she screamed.

  Her voice echoed in all directions, bouncing off the side of the house, the trees, and even—it seemed—off the canopy of the sky up above. It sounded like a thousand Delilahs shouting at the same time.

  At her outburst, Teddy and Aidan fell silent, staring at her uneasily. Tracey winced, and Caleb cowered against his mother’s side, burying his face in her coat. A startled Maggie began to cry, letting out strangled sobs.

  “Shsssh! It’s okay, honey,” Tracey cooed to Maggie, kissing her cheek.

  Seeing their faces, Delilah felt a wave of regret and shame. She hadn’t wanted to scare anyone. She didn’t want to look crazy. But in their eyes, she saw the judgment that had haunted her for decades. They reflected every frightened glance, every person who shrank back from her when she passed by them on the street. This is exactly what she’d wanted to avoid.

  “You can run, but you can’t hide, Dee,” Cee whispered. “They all know what you really are.”

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry,” she said shakily, clearing her throat, feeling her eyes burn with tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m just . . .”

  She didn’t finish. Instead, she turned and fled to the sanctuary of the house, running up the wooden stairs and not looking back as the screen door slammed shut behind her.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Delilah heard a knock at her bedroom door.

  She was reclining on her bed with the shutters drawn. The only light in her room came from the television, whose flickering images danced across her face. Despite his protests, she knew Aidan was trying his best to remove the paint from the garage door as she’d asked. She’d heard him clomping to and from the shed in the backyard. Even now, she could hear a rhythmic scraping against the side of the house.

  “Dee, it’s me,” Tracey called out, knocking on her door again. “Are you busy?”

  Delilah tiredly closed her eyes, which were puffy from the tears she had shed in a fit of frustration. She opened them and pushed herself upright, adjusting the pillows behind her. “No, I’m not busy. You can come in.”

  The door slowly creaked open, and Tracey stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. She bent down to pet Bruce, who rubbed himself against her pants leg, purring softly.

  “You didn’t come down for breakfast or lunch,” she said as she sat on the edge of Delilah’s bed and gazed at her. Worry marred her pretty face. “The kids missed you.”

  “I wasn’t hungry, honey,” Delilah whispered.

  Tracey nodded. “After what happened
this morning, I can imagine.”

  Delilah didn’t respond.

  “Dee, can I ask you something?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Is there a reason why you don’t want Aidan to call the police, that you don’t want them to figure out who’s doing this to you?”

  “It’s too hard to explain, honey.”

  How could she explain that she had learned not to trust cops back in the old days, when many in Camden Beach knew Cee was abusing her, but did nothing? How could she explain that the only time the police had come to her home to put anyone in handcuffs, it was her, after she had discovered Cee’s dead body? And during those years after she was released, the local cops had known she was being harassed and threatened, but had turned a blind eye to it all—how could she explain this?

  She didn’t trust the police. She didn’t want to have anything to do with them and would rather they had nothing to do with her.

  “I just . . . I just want to put that part of my past behind me,” she said weakly, hoping her answer would soothe the young woman. “I hate that this nonsense is dredging it back up.”

  “Look, Dee, I want you to know that I’m incredibly thankful for everything you’ve done for me, Cabe, and Maggie. When I was getting kicked out of my home, you gave us a place to stay. You didn’t ask any questions or for anything in return. You’ve supported me and been like a second grandmother to my kids . . . in fact, you’re better than their actual grandmother! So I don’t care what anyone else says about you. I . . . I know who you are.” She reached out and grabbed Delilah’s wrinkled hand and squeezed it. “You’re a kind, giving, wonderful woman.”

  Delilah closed her eyes again. She wanted to believe her. For many years, Delilah had certainly tried to prove to herself and to the world that she was all those things. But life still seemed hell-bent on punishing her. If she was such a kind, giving, wonderful person, why did she still feel like she was in prison, even though she had been released more than forty years ago? When would she finally atone for her sins?

  “I know you’re not a murderer,” Tracey whispered, leaning toward Delilah.

  Delilah’s eyes snapped opened when she heard that ugly word. She stared at Tracey, shocked to hear it on the young woman’s lips.