by Jeff Altabef
“We’ve got to find you a guy. It’s been over eight years since Paul passed on.”
Susan thought all her problems could be solved with the right guy, but Maggie had already had the right guy, and now he was gone. No one could replace Paul. Why bother trying?
“I’m too busy with work and my boys to take time for romance.” She stared into the reflecting pool. The water reminded her of a lake from her childhood, at a resort where she had once lived with her parents. A lifetime had passed since then, but her days there still haunted her. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and her skin became clammy.
Susan tugged her arm. “Looks like there’s a VIP on the avenue. Look at all the security guys.”
A phalanx of eight beefy-looking men dressed in dark suits, with assault rifles slung over their shoulders, briskly marched down the avenue past where they sat.
“I wonder who’s so important?” Susan whispered.
In the center of the group walked four civilians.
Maggie saw a flash of royal blue and shuddered—her mind momentarily thrown back in time. Some memories grew more vivid than the present.
Thirty Years Ago—
Maggie stumbled out of her bedroom dressed in pink cotton pajamas, her steps tentative, as if unsure the ground was solid underneath her feet. She usually woke refreshed in those days, but she’d had a hard time sleeping. She dreamed about her friend, Cooper, and each dream left her more shaken and soaked in sweat than the one before. His volcanic temper had worsened as the summer progressed, and he’d started to scare her.
She plopped down on her chair at the kitchen table. The frayed wicker seat protested even the slight weight of her small body.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” her mom said, smiling. Young and beautiful, she twirled in a tight three hundred and sixty degree spin. Her plain blue maid’s uniform ballooned out slightly from her knees as she completed the pirouette. “How do I look? There’s not much I can do wearing this.”
“You look pretty, and I love the pink ribbon.”
She always found a way to wear something pink to break up the ugly blue sameness of her uniform.
Mom smiled as she poured Cheerios into a small bowl from the single serving box she had “borrowed” from the resort. “Eat quickly. I want you dressed and out the door before I leave.”
Maggie launched into her cereal, spilling milk over the top of the bowl. After the first few bites, she noticed a new rip in the bright green linoleum floor. At least, she believed it had originally been bright green. Most of the floor was now dark and dingy, but when her father had moved the mini-refrigerator last week, they uncovered a small bright green patch with tiny yellow flowers. She had never noticed the flowers before. Even now she had to hunch down on her hands and knees and look closely to find any.
“Come on, I thought you were eating your breakfast. I can’t be late this morning.” Mom hovered over her, frowning with only the edges of her lips.
Maggie’s face warmed. “Sorry, Mom, I didn’t mean to.” She twisted her chair so the offensive, attention-grabbing linoleum rip was no longer in clear sight, and gobbled down three quick spoonfuls of cereal, forgetting to breathe between bites. By the time the last jumble of breakfast entered her mouth, she had no air left in her lungs and coughed up half-eaten circles of toasted oats across the table.
Mom chuckled. “I think that’s enough breakfast. Get changed and I’ll clean up the table.”
Maggie skipped into her room and got dressed after some agonizing moments over her small wardrobe.
“Grab your book and let’s go.”
“Do I need the book? I thought I would do some drawing. The lake is so pretty.”
“You drew all day yesterday and you have to finish that book before summer vacation ends.”
“Pleeeease!”
“Bring both, but you had better make progress on that book, or no more drawing.”
She grabbed her book off the table and her small backpack off the floor, which already contained her sketching materials.
“Find your father at lunch time. He’s going to let you feed the horses.”
Maggie eyed her mother suspiciously. “Feed the horses or clean up the stables?”
“You’re old enough to do both!”
***
She marched to her favorite place, a small clearing opposite the boathouse. Hidden from the hiking trail, it had become her secret spot. A tall evergreen bush that she couldn’t see over guarded her private sanctuary. Eyeing the bush carefully, she bent back a few branches and pushed through to the other side. Yesterday, the angry bush had snapped back at her, scratching her leg. Today, it tossed morning dew on top of her head. She began to think it didn’t like her very much. On the other side, a circular fifteen-foot clearing with thick green grass and one towering weeping willow edged the lakeshore, hiding the clearing from the lake.
Only two other people knew about her secret spot. Well, that wasn’t quite right... one person and a cat, but she thought of the cat as another person. At the beginning of the summer, she’d been hiking along the trail when she heard meowing. The cat sounded hungry and scared, so without hesitation, she pushed her way through the evergreen bush and found the clearing. A scrawny, feral cat sat in the middle of the grass opening, looking sad and lonely. She sort of adopted it.
Each day, she brought food to the clearing. She had stuffed a small container in her backpack last night. “I have some milk for you, Mr. Cat.”
At the sound of her voice, the cat appeared from behind the willow tree. It looked healthy and gracefully stalked toward her, stopping to rub its head against her leg.
She stroked his thick, soft black and white fur. “The milk is a little warm, but I think you’ll like it just fine.”
Cooper also knew about the clearing. She had met him at the beginning of the summer. He was a guest at the resort and a few years older than she was. One day, she skipped her way to the lake and he popped out from behind an oak tree, startling her. She considered making a run for it, but he’d smiled broadly and introduced himself. His voice had a friendly, soothing quality, and he had the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen. For a moment, the broad smile and the sapphire eyes froze her, but she eventually thawed and found her voice. It seemed weird, but he always popped out of someplace: along the lake, or by the rose garden, or in the maze. She hadn’t told her parents about him because fraternizing with guests was off limits, and they would be angry if they found out.
She sat in the grass, opened her backpack, found her sketchpad and colored pencils, and neatly placed them in front of her.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. “Cooper, are you watching me?” she shouted.
He dropped out of a nearby oak tree and landed with a quiet thud, and the cat bolted from the clearing.
“Cooper, you scared away Mr. Cat.”
His eyes narrowed and followed the cat’s path out of the clearing. “Sometimes I think you like that cat more than me.”
She tried to ignore him, but he dropped down in front of her and blocked her view of the lake.
A wide grin beamed on his face. “Draw me, Maggs!”
“I’m not good at people yet. I thought I would draw a frog.” She pointed to a fat one that sat comfortably on a lily pad.
He darted toward the amphibian and scooped it up in one hand. “Now you have no choice. You can draw me holding the frog.” He made a funny face and crossed his eyes, making her laugh. He could be fun when he wanted.
“Okay, just this one time, but don’t get mad if you don’t like how it turns out.” She shot him a knowing look, wary of the latent volcano.
“I’ll love it.” He posed while he held the frog in one hand close to his face.
She went to work, starting with his face, trying to capture his smile and eyes just right.
“We’re leaving the resort tomorrow. I wish you could come with us.”
“What?”
“You’ve got t
o come with us. I’m sure my parents won’t mind. We have plenty of rooms at my house.”
“What about my parents?”
“They can stay here.” His smile vanished. His jaw tightened and his eyes pinched together.
“Don’t be silly. I can’t leave my parents and come with you. What would I do about Mr. Cat?”
Cooper simmered and pink tint flushed his face. A scowl spoiled his good looks.
She finished the drawing, but squinted at it and frowned.
He jumped toward her. “Let me see.”
She turned the page and stuffed the pad into her backpack. “You can’t see it. It’s not any good.”
“That’s not fair!” His grip tightened around the frog.
“Tough!”
His nostrils flared as he flung the frog hard against the trunk of the willow tree. After a sickening thud it fell lifeless to the ground.
She screeched and tears rained down her cheeks.
He stormed out of the clearing without looking back.
***
The next day, Maggie faced the evergreen bush, uncertain what to do. She stared hard into the green tangled branches, looking for some sign of Cooper. She inspected the ground for footprints. Sneakers had scuffed the ground at the base of the bush, but she couldn’t be sure whether they were old or to whom they belonged.
The pink backpack tugged heavily on her shoulders. She particularly felt the weight of the small can of tuna that she had “borrowed” for Mr. Cat. He would be waiting. If it were not for him, she would have turned and gone someplace else, probably to the stables where her dad worked.
She steeled her nerves, took a deep breath, and shoved her way through the bush. She pushed a little harder than usual and stumbled into the clearing, lucky to catch her balance. As she glanced around the open space, her heart hammered and her stomach ached. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, but something was wrong. The clearing was too quiet.
She spun in a circle. “Cooper, are you here?” She had intended to shout, but her voice sounded soft, barely above a whisper. She looked carefully in the old oak tree to see if he hid among the branches, but couldn’t see much against the bright morning sun.
An uneasy relief washed over her as she walked to the middle of the clearing. “I’ve got breakfast, Mr. Cat. Come and eat it.”
She dropped her backpack and inched toward the edge of the lake. Something white and black swayed in the wind against the weeping willow tree. She snuck up on it, unreasonably worried that it was dangerous, slowly placing one foot in front of the other. Time seemed to stretch on. She strained her eyes until she realized it was just a piece of paper pinned to the tree.
It can’t hurt me. Still, she crept forward, eyes darting around suspiciously. A rustling sound behind her startled her, and she spun to see a squirrel looking for nuts. She unpinned the note with shaking hands, careful not to rip the fancy linen paper that felt coarse and heavy against her fingers. It contained the Lake Country Resort watermark.
Turning her back to the lake, she read the note, each letter perfectly formed in neat block letters.
~~~
Dear Maggs,
You should have shown me the picture. I know you like me best! See you next summer.
Your Special Friend,
Cooper
~~~
The breeze picked up and a small thumping sound came from the willow.
Then she saw it, and dropped the note.
The collar she had made for Mr. Cat swung in the breeze, thumping against the branches of the tree. He was nowhere in sight.
She called out, but he didn’t appear.
***
“Maggie, are you okay?” Susan, still seated on the bench next to her, shook her shoulders. Concern had sprung on her face like weeds in a garden.
Maggie woke from her daze. “I’m fine. I’m just a little under the weather, that’s all.”
“You were trembling and all the color drained from your face.”
“It’s nothing. Let’s go back.” She rose from the bench and shook the memory from her mind. That had only been the beginning of her nightmare.
The rest was worse. Much worse.
“You’re going to be late for the bus!”
Maggie pushed Tom toward the front door. At the beginning of summer, he began an internship for the Sheppard Group, where he specialized in robotics. When summer break ended in two weeks, he would start his senior year in high school and the internship would transform into a part-time paid position.
“I’ll make it on time. I like the mornings better when you’re already at work.” He shuffled his feet while she playfully pushed his tall, athletic frame.
“You know the date. This is my Solitary Day.”
“Okay, Mom.” Tom laughed. “No need to push. I’m working the benefit with Jack tonight. We’ll be back late.” He turned, kissed her on the cheek and leapt out the front door, his long, curly brown hair falling to his shoulders. The bus had just turned up their block as he bounded down the front stoop.
Maggie watched her son board the bus. He’s seventeen and I still feel anxious until he’s safely on his way. She wondered if the worry that accompanied motherhood would ever go away as she turned and locked the door behind her.
She wore her favorite shirt—a plain pink cotton blouse with buttons down the front. Paul had bought it for her. The soft cotton felt like a hug from an old friend. Of course it was pink. She always wore pink on Solitary Day. The color reminded her of her mother and lifted her spirits, which was not easy to do on Solitary Day.
She somberly walked the length of the small apartment, her footsteps heavy. She moved woodenly, feeling older than her age, her nerves frazzled. Noises in the apartment were louder than they should be. A creak on the staircase sounded like a stampede. She sighed. It would be a long day. Solitary Day always was.
She crossed into her tidy bedroom and, breathing deeply, inched her way to the closet. The door opened with a squeak. She frowned at her small wardrobe, just a dozen dresses and some casual clothes hung on plastic hangers. She heaved them all to the far right of the closet. The floor angled upward at a thirty-degree angle toward the left side. She bent low, and her hand trembled. She searched the coarse wood for a small indentation in the wood with her fingers, found the small nook, clasped it and pulled upward. The wooden latch caught and the top of the false floor sprung open with a metallic popping sound.
The acid in her stomach churned as she sat on the floor and stared at the now open hiding spot, her breath shallow. She wanted to close it and run. She didn’t even care where she would go—anywhere would be good so long as it was far away—but she couldn’t. She had a responsibility.
She reached into the opening, pulled out a small metal container, rose robotically, and brought the metal box to her unmade bed.
The container wasn’t heavy, but it felt like an anvil. Tears welled in her eyes as she flipped open the lid and pulled out the file. It was her Cooper File and it was Solitary Day, and that meant that she had to reread the letters and study the pictures. If she closed her eyes, she heard the screams from the girls in the photographs.
She called it Solitary Day, but she was never really alone. The girls in the pictures kept her company, and the letters terrified her, filling her with overwhelming fear. Cooper watched her, her boys, her friends, everyone she cared about. If she acted on the letters, he would take his revenge, and there would be nothing she could do to protect them.
What evidence do I have? Nothing connected the letters and pictures to him. No one would believe me.
He was rich and powerful.
She was nobody.
It was all too monstrous to believe. The letters came on Solitary Day each year, and her sense of helplessness grew each year as well. She feared that one day nothing would be left of her but a pile of helplessness.
***
The afternoon light streamed through the kitchen windows. She had long ago put down her e-reader
and started drawing. She never quite finished the books she started for her book club. She wanted to quit the group, except that every time she made up her mind to quit, her mother’s voice chastised her in her head, and she felt guilty.
She sat at the kitchen table with her sketchpad open to a mostly finished drawing of her son Jack. While he had lain unconscious in a hospital bed, she promised to draw him when he was better, if he got better. He had asked her numerous times in the past to draw him, but she had always declined. She was still reluctant to draw faces after all these years, but she had to keep this particular promise.
Almost finished, she studied the drawing for a long moment. It’s not half bad, but I need to add more fun to the eyes.
A computerized voice interrupted her thoughts. “You’ve got mail.” The recording repeated the message three times through a small speaker in the hallway.
Her heart leaped forward and she doubled over in pain as cramps squeezed her stomach. She knew the letter would come, but each year, the pain got worse. Tears cascaded down her face. With each passing year, she felt more culpable, more responsible for the latest victims. She hated herself on Solitary Day and most days thereafter.
Her head slumped to the kitchen table. She covered it with her arms, shielding herself from Cooper and the shame of inaction. She had no idea how long she stayed sitting that way.
Eventually, the sun shifted and its hot rays beat against the back of her neck. A fly buzzed by her ear and snapped her back to the world. She shooed it away, rose, and wiped her face on a cloth towel. Maybe this year would be different. I am a strong woman. I’m not responsible for him.
She didn’t really believe it.
Maggie trudged to the front door, noticing details in the hallway that she usually ignored—a chipped tile outside Tom’s door; a dark dirt stain on the wall next to Jack’s door looked, as if someone had leaned against the wall before grabbing the doorknob; a small stain on the ceiling where one of her boys had killed a flying bug and hadn’t cleaned up the mess.