Drop by Drop

by Morgan Llywelyn

The complex was worse than impersonal now; it was eerie. While Bennett was asleep the dissolution had spread. He went from one area to another, following its trail. In the business office the computer screens waiting on their workstations were supposed to transmit the slogan of RobBenn in red letters: We Package the Future! But the screens were blank.

  He punched an on button.

  Nothing happened.

  He went from one machine to the next, punching buttons, holding them down, breaking into a nervous sweat.

  Nothing happened.

  An old joke ran through his head: If a bus station is where a bus stops and a train station is where a train stops, what happens at a workstation?

  “Shit on a stick!” he said loudly. Into the silence.

  He tried to restore normalcy by returning to his private office for a quick shower and shave. The adjoining bathroom contained a precise arrangement of mirrors that allowed him to see himself from every angle, to check on how far the creeping baldness on the crown of his head had spread. His daughter, Jess, had begun calling him Baldy. It didn’t feel like a joke to him.

  On the top shelf of a bathroom cabinet was a carefully drawn grid chart depicting his fight against alopecia. When it reached a predetermined point he would start having hair transplants. This morning he wasn’t interested in his baldness problem. The haggard face in the mirror told him he had something worse to worry about.

  Only slightly refreshed after his shower, Bennett called home. To his surprise his AllCom hissed when he thumbed the keys, but the call went through.

  Nell’s personal AllCom was inactive.

  He switched to the house number. No answer.

  Shit and fuck. Doubled.

  As Rob drove out the main gate of RobBenn, he paused to speak with the night watchman in the security hut. At least there was one person he could talk to. “Everything all right out here, Jimmy?”

  “Same as allus,” the gray-haired man replied, “’cept for my coffee cup. I’m headin’ home to the missus as soon as that new fella arrives for the morning shift.” Noticing the expression on his employer’s face, he added, “’S everything all right with you, boss?”

  “What happened to your coffee cup?”

  Jimmy held both hands palms up in a gesture of helplessness. “Just went whoosh! It’s the cup on top of my thermos, y’know? I allus drink my coffee out of it. When I poured out the last bit this morning the cup went whoosh. Nasty mess all over my shoes. Go figure.” He gestured toward his feet.

  Looking down, Bennett saw that there was indeed a nasty mess on the other man’s shoes. A revolting mix of viscous red jelly and coffee with cream.

  Robert Bennett drove home well over the speed limit. The summer sunrise flooded the valley with light, but when he reached the main road there was scarcely any traffic. He did not even see a delivery truck, though within another hour the approaches to Sycamore River would be suffering from clogged arteries.

  The Bennetts’ mock-Normandy château was located in a gated enclave west of town, close enough to be convenient to the city but within easy reach of Daggett’s Woods and RobBenn. Bennett parked his silver-blue Mercedes on the circular brick drive in front of the house and strode briskly to the double front doors with his AllCom in his hand.

  Something was wrong with the chandelier in the entry hall. The flambeau bulbs were tilted sideways in the plastic cups that were supposed to simulate Waterford crystal. The decorator had assured Nell that “no one can tell the difference.” Already one bulb had fallen out and smashed on the black-and-white–tiled floor that was supposed to be indistinguishable from marble.

  A similar problem affected the light fixtures in the great hall, replicas of medieval torches arranged in clusters. A peculiar smear on the inner frames of the triple-glazed windows across the front of the room indicated the sealant was … was what? Dissolving?

  “Nell?” Bennett shouted. “Cookie! We’ve got some problems down here!”

  No answer.

  Where was everybody?

  It was far too early for his wife to go into town to that office of hers. Jessamyn and Colin were on summer holiday and undoubtedly still asleep, which explained why there was no sound from them. Bennett strode to the kitchen. Although Nell was an early riser there were no breakfast dishes set out on the polished granite countertop. No coffee was perking in the latest espresso maker.

  Nothing was perking anywhere.

  When Bennett opened the walk-in refrigerator the light was out. The recessed lights under the kitchen cabinets also failed to come on. He repeatedly thumbed his AllCom to restore electricity to the system, but nothing happened.

  Unbelievable.

  In the bedroom wing the master bedroom looked normal; their double-king bed was made up and the doors of the two walk-in closets were closed. When he opened Nell’s and peered in the light didn’t come on, but he could see that her clothes were hanging neatly on their hangers. But the beds in the kids’ rooms were unmade. In their twin bathrooms the basins and bathtubs were dry to the touch. Unused towels hung on their rails with the monogram facing outward, as he demanded they must do.

  The people who should have been in the house were nowhere to be found. Not even the dogs were there. The Irish setters were not shedding hair all over the carpets, nor was the Rottweiler barking in his chain-link pen outside.

  The mock-Normandy château was as unnaturally silent as the complex in the woods.

  He savagely thumbed his AllCom, trying to force a response from his wife wherever she was. No reply.

  He hurried to the attached three-car garage to see if her car was still there. It was. He yanked open the door—she never thought to lock it in their own garage—and briefly inhaled the scent of Chanel that wafted out from the little two-seater sports car.

  Bennett felt his anger spike.

  How typical of Nell to buy a car that was too small to accommodate a man’s legs! But where is she? And where are the dogs, for God’s sake?

  What the hell is going on? Who the hell is in charge?

  8

  Eleanor Bennett had awakened in a fog of depression. As she slept it had crept up on her; depression about her marriage and the effect it was having on her children, depression about the future …

  The deep comfort of the bed was like a hug and she needed a hug. A glance at the luminous dial built into the nightstand told her it was too early to get up.

  But action was preferable to lying there tying herself into knots.

  Maybe I’m taking too many diet pills.

  Rob’s side of the bed was empty, and for once she was glad. If her husband were a different sort of man she could have discussed her feelings with him, but she knew what would happen if she tried. Rob would just say, “Early menopause, Cookie?”

  A woman must stand on her own two feet and be able to look out for herself. Stubbornly, and against all the emotional roadblocks her husband put in her way, Nell had persevered until the proud day when she watched her name being painted on her office door. Assigning her a place of her own in the world.

  It was time to face that world again.

  In the bathroom she discovered that the handle of her electric toothbrush had dissolved. She stood beside the basin, staring down at the blue puddle on the edge of the sink.

  Remembering the bank card.

  She felt an irresistible urge to go someplace else. Anyplace else.

  Do something different.

  “To hell with it!”

  Just saying that made her feel better.

  Instead of her usual subtle makeup she applied a thorough coat of sunscreen to her face and the backs of her hands and dabbed lip gloss on her mouth. She replaced the tailored suit she had laid out the evening before with a pair of skinny jeans and a blue chambray shirt. A wide leather belt showed off her narrow waist. Well-worn loafers from the back of her closet had not seen shoe polish for years, but welcomed her feet like old friends. She did not activate her AllCom but tucked it into the pocket
of her jeans; today she would not be at anyone’s beck and call. The ensemble was completed by a wide-brimmed straw hat.

  Then she went down the hall to awaken Jessamyn and Colin.

  “Come on, kids! It’s a beautiful morning, so I thought we’d go for a hike to Daggett’s Woods before it gets too hot. We’ll take the dogs. All three of them could use the exercise.”

  Agonized groans of protest greeted her announcement.

  “I mean it! Roll out so we can make a start.”

  “Without breakfast?” Colin was scandalized.

  “We’ll walk more comfortably on an empty stomach, then I’ll spring for blueberry pancakes at that restaurant on the highway. Perhaps your father will join us.”

  Jessamyn said, “You know I don’t eat pancakes, Mom. Think of all those calories. Besides, I thought we were going on a shopping trip later. The summer will be over before I get a new bikini! That’s not fair!”

  “I’m not getting up for any hike in the woods,” Colin added, “we don’t do stuff like that. When did we ever do stuff like that?”

  “When I was your age my dad took me for long walks.”

  “Why didn’t you just go to the gym?”

  Eleanor Bennett adopted her husband’s tone of command. “You heard me. Up and at ’em. Now!”

  * * *

  Taking the kids on a hike today was not one of my best ideas, she told herself an hour later.

  Her son and daughter complained every step of the way and there were far more steps than she had realized. In the car the access road to RobBenn seemed like a relatively short distance from the house. On foot it was miles, even with a shortcut through Daggett’s Woods.

  Colin claimed they had walked twenty miles at least.

  “You don’t know how far twenty miles is,” his sister told him.

  “You’ve never walked one mile,” the boy shot back.

  “Well, I don’t intend to walk another one,” said Jessamyn—loudly, for her mother’s benefit. “I’ve got a blister on my heel and I hate the country, it stinks. And there’s bugs. I hate bugs. What are we doing out here anyway?”

  Nell could not admit to her children that flight was her response to anxiety. “We’re here to surprise your father,” she said brightly. “We’ll appear out of nowhere and take him to lunch.”

  Jessamyn whimpered, “I hope he has some calamine lotion in his desk, I’m being eaten alive.”

  “You’ll give some bug a bellyache,” said her brother. “You better get used to ’em though, ’cause Mom’s lost.”

  Nell gritted her teeth and kept walking. The two setters frisked around her, their russet coats gleaming in the sun. Her husband’s overweight Rottweiler paced stoically behind them. Any sense of play Satan possessed had faded long ago.

  They stopped when they reached a clearing in the trees. At its center stood a small dolmen made of rough slabs of stone. Nearby was a makeshift altar holding a few tiny animal figures and a stub of candle stuck in the neck of an empty glass bottle.

  The smell of burned cloth was unmistakable.

  The two teenagers giggled. Before his mother could stop him, Colin picked up the bottle and smashed it against a stone.

  “What did you do that for?”

  The boy gave his mother a blank look.

  “That’s vandalism. I won’t have it, you understand?”

  Colin scuffed the dirt with his toe.

  Fuming inwardly, Nell gathered up the pieces of broken glass and pushed them far under a bush so the dogs would not step on them. She walked on, obeying one of her husband’s many axioms: Act like you know what you’re doing and people will believe you.

  Her children followed her.

  They emerged from among the trees to find themselves on the access road. The futuristic white bulk of RobBenn loomed to their left, like a spaceship tilted for takeoff.

  Jimmy Haas, whom Nell knew, was not on duty in the small sentry cabin at the front gate. Instead there was a different man with cold eyes and bad teeth. He stared at the disheveled trio approaching him. “Do you have an appointment?” he challenged.

  “I don’t need an appointment, I’m Mrs. Bennett. Mrs. Robert Bennett,” she added for emphasis.

  “He’s not here.”

  Nell was startled. “What do you mean, he’s not here?”

  The guard stepped out of the cabin to face her. “Just what I said. I been on duty since eight this morning and he’s not here, so you better go now.”

  “Where is my husband?”

  “How should I know? The boss don’t have to report to me.”

  Nell squared her shoulders. She wasn’t going to give an inch to this self-important nobody in an ill-fitting uniform. She was aware that her children were watching her. “Please ring his P.A. on extension nine and tell her we’re here,” she said frostily.

  “How’d you know the extension?”

  “Just ring it right now or you’ll be out of a job by tonight!”

  In a few minutes the three Bennetts were seated on the immense leather couch in the reception area of Rob’s private suite. The panting dogs sprawled on the floor at their feet. After apologizing profusely for her employer’s unaccountable absence, Karen Moeller went to fetch coffee for Nell, soft drinks for the children, and a large bowl of cool water.

  While she was gone Colin said, “Hunh, I thought Dad’s secretary would be younger than that.”

  “Mrs. Moeller’s not his secretary,” said Nell, “she’s a personal assistant, that’s almost an executive in her own right. Her looks aren’t important, but her initiative and efficiency are.”

  Jessamyn giggled. “Or maybe that’s what Dad wants you to believe.”

  Nell sat in silence, struggling to keep from scratching her own mosquito bites, until Karen Moeller returned with the refreshments. She offered to drive them home in her car whenever they were ready. As they reached the main highway they met Robert Bennett coming in. He slammed on his brakes and lowered his window.

  Mrs. Moeller lowered hers.

  Bennett shouted at Nell, “Where the holy hell have you been?” Without waiting for an answer he hit the accelerator and zoomed off toward the parking lot.

  In the backseat of Karen Moeller’s car Colin Bennett said, “Mom’s sure gonna get it now! Just wait till Dad comes home tonight.”

  * * *

  With his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his jeans, Gerry Delmonico ambled around to the side of his house. In the twilight Gloria was fastening stakes to the tallest stems in a bed of irises. In spite of her busy schedule at the hospital, she managed to keep several flower beds blooming. “They’re my children in waiting,” she told Gerry.

  When she saw him she smiled. “Who are you supposed to be, a fugitive from the OK Corral?”

  “No, ma’am.” Gerry withdrew his left hand, cocked an invisible pistol and sighted along the barrel. “I’m the only man left standing after the gunfight and I’ve come along to collect the reward. A pretty gal in a bed of flowers is just what I had in mind. What are doing for the next hour or so?”

  She laughed again; the warm, easy laugh of summer. “How did your work go today?”

  “Same as usual. Maybe more problems than usual, though. Just between us, I wouldn’t put it past Robert Bennett to be involved with the craziness that’s going on. He’s always looking for angles; dissolving plastics may be part of some new scheme. Today Adele from bookkeeping came to me questioning an invoice for materials we’ve never used before, like magnesium carbonate. I asked Bennett about it but didn’t get a straight answer.”

  “I never have liked that man,” said Gloria. “Before you go in, would you bring me my gardening gloves? I think I left them on the deck.”

  Gerry returned with her gloves and a deep frown on his face. “Don’t go around back.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “Why not? What’s wrong?”

  “The deck’s gone soft. If you step on it the boards will stick to your shoe. I’m afraid the whole st
ructure might give way.”

  “I thought only plastic was dissolving.”

  “Porch decking is made of wooden planks, Muffin, but they’ve been permeated with plastic to make them last longer. Some of it’s oozing out and dripping down; there’s a puddle of it on the ground under the deck.”

  Gloria instinctively put one hand on her belly. Her beautiful brown face turned ashen. “This thing that’s happening … is it something in the atmosphere? Oh my God, what if I’m pregnant at last?”

  9

  Contrary to his son’s prediction Robert Bennett did not give his wife hell the evening after her walk to Daggett’s Woods. He had stayed at RobBenn until what would have been his usual departure time, then drove home in a sour mood. He was relieved to see that the antique copper carriage lamps on either side of the front doors were lit, a sure sign that his wife was home and expecting him. She would have some excuse for her erratic behavior earlier in the day, but he did not want to hear it. Let the woman dither; he had real problems on his mind.

  He found Nell in the dining room, setting the table, and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. Expecting trouble, she stiffened, but he did not notice. Nor did he observe the looks of anticipation on the faces of his children as they came in for dinner.

  Bennett’s face was a blank wall with turmoil behind it.

  Napkins were unfolded; a basket of hot Parker House rolls was proffered, a platter of sliced ham and bowls of freshly steamed vegetables were passed. Conversation was sporadic, and mostly involved Jess and Colin insulting each other.

  Nell ate only enough food to make it look like she was eating. Then she waited. The children waited.

  When Rob finished wiping up the last of the ham gravy with the last bit of his roll he said, “Anything for dessert?”

  “Is that all?”

  “More coffee?”

  “I mean is that all you have to say to me?”

  “Don’t start on me, Cookie, I’ve had a hard day…”

  “You’ve had a hard day!”

  “… and when I came home this morning I found my house abandoned.”

  “You were here this morning?”