The House on Harbor Hill

by Shelly Stratton

  “I have a confession to make.” Tracey’s dark eyes drifted to the velvet comforter. “Before I moved in, I . . . I read a few old newspaper articles. I’d heard about what happened to you . . . and . . . and your husband. I had to make sure the kids would be safe here.” She started to gnaw her lower lip. “I feel so stupid now . . . stupid that I doubted you. But the articles explained everything.” She looked at Delilah again. “I looked at your picture from the trial, and I saw you with your bowed head and that lost look in your eyes. I saw you and I knew. I knew it had to have been an accident.”

  Again, Delilah didn’t respond. Instead, she stared at their interlocked fingers.

  “I was right, wasn’t I? It was an accident . . . wasn’t it, Dee?”

  It was a simple question that warranted a simple answer, but Delilah couldn’t give one. She couldn’t answer “Yes, it was an accident” or “No, I meant to kill him.” Not anymore—though she had been sure of her answer way back when.

  “I didn’t do it!” she had shouted to the officers, even as they had placed her in handcuffs and dragged her across the foyer to her opened door. They hadn’t even let her put on shoes. The cruiser had been waiting, with the back door open, only a few feet away from Harbor Hill’s porch steps. “It had to be an accident!” she’d screamed. “He fell! I didn’t do it!”

  But Delilah wasn’t so sure of that now. Time hadn’t sharpened the focus of her memory but made it blurrier. She could no longer divorce intentions from actions, what she had wished for versus what had really happened. Her memories were made no longer of concrete, but of the same gauzy filament as dreams.

  The truth was she’d secretly wanted Cee dead. She had wanted to be rid of the man she had once cared for and maybe even loved after enduring his countless beatings and constant berating. That night back in 1969, when she had woken up at the top of the stairs and found his crumpled body at the bottom, she could no longer recall if she had accidentally shoved him, or if she had stood at the top of the staircase, watching as he tumbled below. Had she fallen, tripped, and knocked herself out running away from him, or had she done that only after she had shoved him and heard the crunch signaling that his spine was severed?

  “I don’t . . . I don’t know,” she finally answered, making Tracey blink. The younger woman released her hand. “I just don’t know anymore. But I do know that I will regret what happened for the rest of my life.”

  CHAPTER 26

  The word painted on the garage door was the first sign that things had changed at Harbor Hill for Tracey. The second was Emma Lynn’s arrival.

  The busty bottle blonde showed up at the house on a day that Tracey was already struggling to stay afloat. Maggie had developed a bad cough that had kept both the toddler and Tracey up for most of the night. Tracey was also two days into her period, and no amount of chocolate and ice cream seemed to appease her bad mood. She was sleep-deprived and ill-tempered when Emma Lynn came clomping up Harbor Hill’s front porch, toting a duffel bag, a suitcase, and a 100-watt smile.

  “Hi, I’m Emma Lynn . . . Emma Lynn Rose,” she gushed when Tracey answered the door. She yanked off her sunglasses and adjusted the straps of the purse and the bag on her shoulder. “Is Miss Dee around?”

  Tracey nodded weakly, taking in the woman in front of her wearing the garish orange jacket, skintight jeans, and pink cowboy boots.

  “Uh, y-yes. She’s in the kitchen. Let me get her for you and tell her that you’re—”

  “Oh, no need for that, hon,” Emma Lynn said before barging past her into the foyer. “Miss Dee knows me. I’ll just see myself in. Miss Dee!” she shouted before dropping her duffel bag and suitcase to the floor. “Miss Dee! It’s Emma Lynn! I’ve come to visit!”

  That night, Emma Lynn revealed that she had been one of many women to stay at Harbor Hill over the years. Two years ago, she had spent six months there after a brief stint in prison for embezzling money from the funeral home where she worked. Her prison term had left her without a job and a home, and disowned by her family. Delilah had been the only one willing to take her in. Emma Lynn professed she was now on the straight and narrow and had a good job as a waitress in Baton Rouge, a cute little apartment, and a boyfriend who stayed on an oil rig out in the Gulf for half the year. She said she was on her way to visit an old high school friend in New Jersey and decided to stop by Harbor Hill to see Delilah.

  “I’d just thought I’d stick around a day or two, if you wouldn’t mind, Miss Dee,” Emma Lynn said over dinner before shoving a forkful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. “I’ve just missed you so much!”

  “Of course you can stay, honey!” Delilah assured before taking the chair beside her and giving her a hug. “Stay as long as you like!”

  But “one to two days” soon turned to three . . . then four . . . then five. After a while, Tracey started to wonder just how long Emma Lynn intended to stay at Harbor Hill, though she knew it wasn’t her place to ask. It was Delilah’s home, not Tracey’s.

  Tracey also started to wonder if it was really Delilah whom Emma Lynn had missed—or Aidan. She noticed how Emma Lynn made a habit of visiting him when he worked in the shed. She’d trot out there with hips swinging and two cold beers in hand. She would linger by the shed for more than an hour. Tracey had caught Emma Lynn hanging out in the doorway of Aidan’s bedroom at night, laughing and joking with him.

  “She’s flirting with you,” Tracey said to Aidan during one of their walks.

  “That’s just Emma Lynn.” He drew her close, and she sank into his warmth and inhaled his smell—a mix of aftershave, wool, and sawdust. He rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. “She’s just a flirt. She does it with every guy.”

  “So you two were never . . . you know . . . together? You were never a couple?”

  He paused mid-stride and stared down at her, narrowing his hazel eyes. “Why are you asking?”

  She shrugged casually, trying to mask emotions that left her anxious and confused.

  She had known Aidan for only a few months, and they had been secretly dating for just a few weeks. And she was married. Despite all that, Tracey’s heart still believed she had some claim to Aidan. She couldn’t help but feel a prickle of jealousy and anger when she saw Emma Lynn standing in his bedroom doorway in a tank top and pink yoga pants with the word JUICY stenciled across her butt, giggling like some schoolgirl. She’d wanted to tell her to back off, to yell that Aidan was hers and hers only, but the impulse had felt ridiculous. She knew she would look like a fool.

  “I just . . . I just wanted to know,” she whispered, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment. “If you and she were a couple, it’s not a big—”

  “No, we were never like that. We were just buddies—good buddies. That’s all,” he said before leaning down to brush his lips across hers. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Who said I was worried?” she asked with a forced smile before he gave her one searing kiss, then another, making her forget her doubts and unease.

  Finally, after a full week, Emma Lynn announced she was leaving Harbor Hill. She said she would be on the road by noon. Delilah made a big farewell breakfast in Emma Lynn’s honor—waffles, pancakes, omelets, bacon, sausage, and eggs. Tracey was in a surprisingly good mood, doling out food with a grin on her face.

  Of course, Emma Lynn wasn’t on the road by noon, like she’d promised, but her bags were packed and sitting in the foyer, and by five o’clock, the bags finally made their way to her car.

  When Delilah pulled dinner out of the oven, Tracey heard Emma Lynn’s car engine, signifying that she was finally leaving.

  “Caleb, can you help me set the table, honey?” Delilah asked as she stood on the balls of her feet, revealing worn, cracked soles over the heels of her slippers. She opened one of the overhead cabinets and began to remove plates from the shelves.

  Caleb rushed around the kitchen island to stand next to her, almost ramming into her thigh as he hurried to be by her side.

  �
��Caleb, slow down and be careful,” Tracey admonished. “You don’t want to drop anything.”

  “Oh, he’s fine, honey! We’ve got this down to a science now, don’t we, Cabe?”

  Caleb nodded as he held up his arms and took the stoneware she handed to him. He walked out of the kitchen and placed each plate on a linen mat in the dining room.

  Tracey followed him and lowered Maggie into her high chair at the table, sweeping aside old cookie crumbs on the plastic tray before securing the straps in place. She then admired the duo that was setting the dining table, examining them like a poignant painting on a museum wall: a study of a woman and a boy.

  Caleb had practically become Delilah’s shadow in these past months. His affinity for Delilah wasn’t surprising. Despite what people in town thought about her, Delilah was a woman who emanated warmth and light. Caleb was drawn to her—the proverbial moth to a flame. But in some ways, Tracey was wary of Caleb getting so close to this kind, enigmatic woman who claimed she couldn’t remember if she had intentionally or accidentally killed her husband forty-eight years ago. If he drew too close to Delilah, he might get singed.

  “I can help too,” Tracey said. “Want me to get the glasses?”

  “No, we’ve got it covered, sweetheart,” Delilah said with a smile, waving her away. She then furrowed her brows and glanced around her. “You can find Aidan, though. I know he helped Emma Lynn carry that stuff to her car before she left, but he should be back by now. You can tell him to get his hind parts in here. We’re about to eat!”

  Tracey hesitated and glanced at Maggie, who was banging her plastic spoon and spork against the tray like she was doing an epic drum solo.

  “Don’t worry about the kids,” Delilah said, reading her mind. “They’ll be fine. Go ahead and find Aidan so that we can try this quiche. It’s a new recipe, and I’m eager to see if it’s good or a bust.”

  Tracey nodded and reluctantly left the kitchen in search of Aidan.

  “Aidan!” Tracey called as she finished climbing the staircase. She walked down the darkened hallway, watching as particles of dust danced in the sparse shafts of evening light coming through opened window blinds along the corridor.

  She glanced out the line of windows at the front yard. In the driveway, Emma Lynn’s Nissan sedan sat with the trunk yawning open, casting a long shadow on the asphalt.

  Tracey frowned. So Emma Lynn hadn’t left yet. For some reason, Tracey felt a hint of unease.

  Her footsteps down the corridor were muffled by ghostly soul music emanating from Aidan’s opened door. She passed his room but found it empty. Tracey lingered in the doorway, noticing for the first time how neat his room was but also how sparsely decorated. There was a bed, dresser, and night table—nothing else. No pictures or knickknacks. Nothing that let you know anything about the man who lived here. The only hint was the music. She listened as the trumpets whined and Otis Redding pleaded for someone to not make him stop loving her. The music was so torturous, she winced. She could almost feel it physically. She had to turn away.

  “Stop!” she heard Aidan say, farther down the hall. “Damnit, I said stop! All right?”

  “Aidan!” Tracey called again as she walked, her voice growing weaker instead of stronger when she realized his voice was coming from the room where Emma Lynn had stayed. The door was closed. Tracey raised her hand to knock but paused when she heard laughter—Emma Lynn’s laughter.

  “Oh, come on!” Emma Lynn cooed. “I’m about to hit the road. Just one more for old time’s sake!”

  “I said no,” he repeated firmly. “Get the last of your stuff and come on! Or you can finish loading the car yourself.”

  “Aidan, don’t be like that! You’ve never turned me down before. Why now?” Emma Lynn asked. Her tone was deeper now, almost husky. “Didn’t you miss me, baby?”

  Tracey stilled, feeling a sharp stab at Emma Lynn’s words.

  You’ve never turned me down before.

  Aidan had lied to her.

  Tracey knew what was inside this room would mire her in a sea of disillusionment and disappointment. But she had to hear it, see it; some part of her insisted. So she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open, just a smidge, just enough.

  First, she saw Emma Lynn sitting on the edge of the bed. Tracey couldn’t see her face clearly because her back was to her, but she could see her pale hands and how she was trying to unbutton Aidan’s jeans and lower his fly. Emma Lynn had a fervent nimbleness, like she had done this many, many times before.

  Aidan wasn’t quite as eager. He shoved her hands away. “Jesus Christ, will you fucking stop! I said no!”

  “What? Can’t handle two women at one time?” She flopped back onto the mattress, resting on her elbows.

  Aidan squinted down at her, pulling up his zipper. “What are you talking about?”

  “I get that you’ve moved on to the next girl in line, but I bet she wouldn’t mind sharing you—just for a little bit.”

  “Stop talking shit and let’s go!” he repeated louder.

  “Why? Worried Little Miss J. Crew downstairs might hear us?” He didn’t respond, and Emma Lynn started to laugh. “She’s staying at Harbor Hill now, so I figured she’s the one you’ve been heating up the sheets with. She looks like she’d be a bore in bed, but,” she shrugged, “people can surprise you, I guess.”

  Tracey knew that she should turn away then. She certainly had seen more than enough to convince herself that whatever feelings she had harbored for Aidan had been wasted, had been foolish. But her feet seemed to be rooted in place; she couldn’t turn away. Instead, she watched Aidan shake his head.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he muttered, walking around the bed toward the door. “Grab your stuff and come on.”

  Despite his order, Emma Lynn stayed, reclining, on the bed. She laughed again.

  “Yeah, you’re definitely screwing her—since you’ve got a fire under your ass to get rid of me. Weren’t in such a hurry to see me leave a year ago when I was sucking you off every night, though, were you? But I know how it goes. I ran into Candy Myers. You remember her? She stayed here back in 2013. She asked about Delilah—and you. She told me how you like to make the girls who stay here feel ‘right at home.’” She giggled and nudged his leg with her booted foot. He shoved it away. “‘Whatever gal moves in there is next in line for a jump in the sack with Aidan Dominguez,’ she told me. Guess I had my go, and now I’ve lost my turn.”

  “Are you done?” he barked.

  “Yeah, I’m done.” She pushed herself up from the bed and slowly shook her head. “You men are so goddamn predictable. You more than most!”

  Tracey quietly shut the door and turned to head back down the hall.

  Those memories of their strolls hand and hand, of the few kisses they had stolen in Delilah’s backyard, seemed sophomoric, almost laughable now. Aidan had done all of that and more with Emma Lynn and maybe all the other women who had come to Harbor Hill while he lived here, like Emma Lynn claimed.

  How could Tracey have harbored any fantasies about this man, any hopes for a future with him? How could she have been so naïve, so dumb?

  When Tracey reached the stairs, she was almost shaking. She fought back the tears that welled in her eyes and needed the handrail for guidance as her vision blurred.

  By the time she arrived in the dining room, the table was set. The quiche sat cooling in an orange ceramic dish at the center of the table. Delilah was draping a bib around Maggie’s shoulders while Caleb sat in his chair, reaching for a pitcher of lemonade.

  “Where’s Aidan?” Delilah asked, a frown marring her wrinkled face.

  “Couldn’t find him,” Tracey said while pulling out a chair next to Caleb. “Guess he’ll come down later.”

  “You couldn’t find him?”

  “No.”

  Delilah stared at her quizzically, and Tracey lowered her reddened eyes, unable to meet the older woman’s gaze. The quiet between them stretche
d, filled with unasked questions.

  “Eat! Eat!” Maggie shouted, banging her spoon, breaking the uneasy silence that had fallen over the dining room.

  “All right,” Delilah said resignedly. “Let’s start without him.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Aidan walked into the living room, covered in dirt and dust, and smelling faintly of bug spray, thanks to cleaning out the tool shed to prep for the upcoming spring. Now exhausted, he hung up his coat and wearily made his way toward the staircase to head to his room, but he paused when he glanced over his shoulder and saw Delilah sitting on one of the twill sofas with Maggie on her lap and Caleb at her side, resting in the crook of her arm.

  “Now let’s flip the page and see what happens next,” Delilah said. Maggie giggled and clapped her tiny, chubby hands eagerly. The trio flipped to the next page in the oversized children’s book, and Delilah began to read aloud. “And then the horse went clip clop up the hill, and he saw a—”

  “Hey!” he said, waving. “Just finished out back.” He glanced around. “Where’s Tracey?”

  Delilah seemed to hesitate before she looked up from the page. She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She then gazed at the book again. “And then the horse saw a turtle and said, ‘What are you—’ ”

  “You don’t know?”

  She pursed her lips, seemingly perturbed at being disturbed again from her reading. “She said she needed a break. She asked me to watch the children for her for a bit.”

  He took a step toward the sofa, wiping his damp hands on the front of his T-shirt, smearing the cotton fabric with twin tracks of dirt. “Well, where’d she go?”

  Delilah loudly huffed. “I don’t know, Aidan. She’s a grown woman! She doesn’t have to check in with me.”

  “You’re telling me she didn’t tell you where she went?”

  “No, I’m saying that she doesn’t have to—”

  “Mommy went for a walk,” Caleb piped, and Delilah gave him a censoring look.