Hope Jameson
Rosemary Cullen
Copyright © 2019
All Rights Reserved
Prologue
August 9, 1965
A disgruntled groan slipped out of Carl Billington’s mouth as he turned onto Primrose Drive. His house, a two-story Victorian with four bedrooms and a wrap-around porch, rose above the rest of the homes on the block. He was proud of the house he’d worked hard to pay for.
The wooded hills of rural Georgia stood in the background, almost as if they were watching over Moorestown. Carl drove slowly down the block, taking the time to wave at any neighbor he passed as they stood out in the late evening sun, until he finally pulled into his driveway. The forty-five-year-old attorney grabbed his briefcase and headed inside.
“I need a drink,” he moaned to himself. His head then shook disappointingly.
Carl’s wife’s sobs were the first thing to greet him when he walked into the foyer. He sighed, thinking about how he didn’t need another problem to worry about, especially if it came from that whiney woman.
Cautiously, the pudgy, balding man dropped his briefcase just inside the entryway and approached the living room doorway. There, his eyes landed on his wife, Jeannette. She sat on the couch, next to the fireplace, with fat, salty tears running down her face. She held a piece of paper in her hand.
Their son, seven-year-old Donny, sat at his mother’s side. The boy’s attempts at comforting his mother seemingly held little to no weight. Carl took a deep breath, wondering what in the world could be so devastating.
Anxiously, he stepped into the living room. His forehead wrinkled from the confusion. “Jeannette?” he said, stepping over the threshold. “What’s wrong? Hello, son.” Carl looked into his son’s eyes as the little boy turned and looked toward the foyer. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with your mother, Donny?”
Jeannette Billington lifted her face out of the palm of her hand. Using her forearm, she wiped her wet eyes, pushing her graying brown hair out of her face. The forty-four-year-old woman sniffled before speaking. “Hello, Carl,” she said. She then glanced at the paper in her hand once again then looked into her husband’s eyes. “This came in the mail today.”
His wife held the paper out, extending her arm over the coffee table. Carl noticing the ripped open envelope next to a pile of magazines as he approached. He grabbed the letter then looked it over.
Before he could say anything, Jeannette spoke up. “We’re losing it.” A fraught tone resonated in her words. “The house. The bank is foreclosing on the house, Carl. We’re going to lose our home.” She sobbed again. “I can’t believe this is happening to us, Carl. Probably everybody in town already knows about it. What are we going to do? Rent one of the few apartments down on Main Street?” Her head shook.
Carl sighed, biting his bottom lip just as he finished skimming the letter. This document, in so many ways, represented the last nail in the coffin for the attorney. His once-thriving law practice had become a sinking ship. The fear that in the coming months he’d lose his office space and his practice had become very real.
His resentment toward Moorestown only grew with each day. Two of his largest clients decided to go with another attorney for their legal services. Several other business accounts had left him early in the year. The people in town weren’t coming to him with their wills, divorces, and scrapes with the law.
His drinking had caught up with him and carried over into his professional life. His reputation was ruined in the community as a man and as a lawyer. It didn’t matter that he’d provided legal services in town and across the county for nearly two decades. They all pulled away from him droves—abandoning him as if he’d never been the leading attorney in Moorestown. Much like the wooded hills rising at the edges of town, bankruptcy loomed in front of him with its menacing stare.
Carl dropped the letter. He rubbed his forehead in thought as he turned and looked around. He looked down at his wife and sighed.
We wouldn’t be going through this if this woman wasn’t such a nag, he thought. Everything is falling apart and I’m the only one who’s really trying to do anything to save it. And what’s she doing? What does she always do, Carl? She cries and bitches and nags and cries and bitches some more. I’m so sick of this woman and her whining. God only knows what she talks about with her friends around town. That probably makes it worse. Everyone in this lousy town is so judgmental. I wouldn’t be losing so much business if people just learned how to mind their own business.
Contempt glazed Carl’s eyes as he looked at Jeanette. His wife of seventeen years then looked up at him, almost as if she were waiting on the answer to all of their problems to come out of his mouth.
Carl passed through the living room then into the dining room.
“Carl?” Jeannette said, pulling her head up. She looked into Donny’s eyes and smiled. She told him that everything was going to be okay, even if she didn’t believe it herself. “Where are you going? Don’t you think we ought to talk about this?”
Carl groaned once again as he approached the bookcase and started pulling books out. He tried to remember which shelf he’d chosen for hiding his bottle of vodka. Stressed, Carl skimmed the book titles. So much had been on his mind lately he couldn’t remember the important detail of behind which titles he’d chosen to stash the bottle.
“I need a drink if that’s all right with you, Jeannette,” Carl snapped. His eyes turned sharply toward the living room.
Moments passed. Then Carl’s heart filled with what little joy he could possibly find at a time like this. He found the bottle of vodka. His initial reaction had been to grab a glass, but he stopped himself. When he caught sight of the foreclosure letter on the hardwood floor in the living room, Carl simply unscrewed the top and turned it up to take a gulp. The attorney enjoyed those few blissful moments where he was able to drown out his wife’s sobbing.
After looking at his wife’s reddened face for a moment, Carl looked back at the vodka bottle. There appeared to be enough for three to four glasses. Still ignoring his wife, he grabbed a glass out of the China cabinet on the other side of the room table then plopped down at the table. With the late evening sun casting its rays into the room, the attorney stared into space and enjoyed a glass of vodka. Then he took a second, and a third.
I wish that woman would stop with all that crying. He finished the fourth glass then almost hyperventilated. The bottle was now empty. Wiping his mouth, he stood up to approach the doorway to the living room.
“Jeannette, would you shut up with all that crying!” Carl yelled.
Their son Donny, still sitting by his mother’s side, turned toward his father. Carl noticed his son’s reaction but did nothing to hold back his anger.
“All that crying isn’t going to do anything to solve this problem, Jeannette, and you know it. Just shut up with all of that, would you? You always want to cry and nag about everything. Then I have to clean up the mess only for you to find something else to cry about.”
Jeanette Billington pulled her face up out of her palms once again. She glanced at the foreclosure letter on the floor and then looked up at her swaying husband. She leaned to the side just a bit, so she could peer into the dining room. Seeing the empty vodka bottle lying on its side on the dining room table was no surprise. It wasn’t uncommon for the woman to wake up in the morning and discover an empty liquor bottle on the kitchen counter from the night before. For the last year or so, she’d been hearing from Mr. Rush down at the package store that her husband was a regular customer—a customer who might even come into the store clearly having already had a drink.
“Donny, dear,” Jeannette said, trying to sound loving. “I know it’s a little early, but Mommy and Daddy need to talk about some things. You know? Let’s go on and get you upstairs so you can get ready for bed. Okay?”
Timidly, the boy looked over at his father whose eyes were quickly turning red, his head turning side to side as if he were getting
angrier by the minute. His father had just pulled his tie from around his neck and undone his top shirt buttons. Donny looked back at his mother with uncertainty.
Jeannette looked at Carl, fearing the worst, but realizing what was coming. Her husband was about to be very difficult. She pushed through her emotions and rushed Donny upstairs, comforted him once again by promising that everything would be okay, and trudged back downstairs with a worried and heavy heart.
She found Carl pacing in the open space between the coffee table and the dining room. The perspiration on his forehead glistened and sweat had soaked into his dress shirt. The man bit his bottom lip as he breathed heavily.
As if it were the first time, Jeannette looked once again at the empty vodka bottle on the dining room table. She wasn’t sure how much had been in the bottle, but something told her that there had been a good amount in it the last time she’d seen it out. Jeannette opened her mouth to speak but stopped. She nervously rubbed her wrists.
Carl Billington sensed his wife’s presence as he turned from looking out of the window. A groan slipped out of his mouth before he spoke. “I swear, Jeanette,” he said. “Sometimes I really wish I hadn’t married you. Wonder what kind of life I would’ve had if I’d never even met you.”
“Excuse me?” Jeannette said. “Carl, you can’t be serious. I... I...”
“You what?” Carl asked angrily. “You what, Jeannette?” His speech slurred. “All you do all the time is nag and drop everything on my shoulders. The only reason we even have this house is because of me and all my hard work!”
“Yes, I know you work hard, Carl. I appreciate all you do.” Jeannette’s voice quivered, but she didn’t look away.
“And you know I hate living here. There’s nothing in Moorestown for me anymore. I wanted to move to Atlanta when I got that job offer with Lyman and Castleton.” His head shook as he thought about it. “But no, you refused. You refused to support my dream!”
“Now, Carl, we talked about it then. You agreed that it was best that we stayed where we had friends and your business was growing.”
He shook his head. “Really, if you wanna know what I really think, I would’ve been better off if I just hadda left you then.” His slurring got worse and his frown deepened. “And something tells me that you’ve been around town talking a little too much. I think you might be hurting my business. I know what people are saying about me and how it’s making people not come to me anymore like they used to. And I just can’t help but think you might be the one fueling it since you’re involved in every little social thing possible.”
Jeanette stepped forward. “That’s not true and it’s not fair for you to say these things to me. I’ve never spoken ill of you to anyone! Being married to you hasn’t always been a walk in the park, but I’ve stood by you.”
“Without me, you’d have nothing. And I think you’re lying. You’ve told your little snotty friends that I’m mean to you. What a joke. I’ve been nothing but good to you.”
“I don’t tell my friends what happens in our home. I’m too embarrassed to tell anyone about this.”
“And here you go again! Whining, bitching, crying.”
Jeannette jumped when he shouted. “Blaming me for everything when you’re the one going around town and showing up drunk. Carl, I have been nothing but a good wife to you and this is the thanks I get. I don’t believe this.”
Finally, with both hands on his head, Carl rushed across the living room, pushing past his wife. “I knew I should’ve done this a long time ago. I don’t know what I was waiting on. I swear, I really don’t. I just can’t take another day of you and your nagging. I just can’t.”
~~~~~
“Done what a long time ago, Carl?” Jeannette asked from the living room, looking at Carl’s back as he turned in the foyer. She already figured what he was talking about, because he’d said it before, but she wanted to hear it come from his mouth. At this point, she was sure she wanted the same thing. A divorce was definitely the answer. “Done what a long time ago, Carl?”
A long moment of silence passed. Initially, Jeanette thought she was about to hear Carl’s footsteps heading upstairs to go to bed. Instead, she heard what sounded like rustling through a drawer. She started to approach the doorway so she could see but quickly decided it didn’t matter.
The distraught woman looked down at her left hand and twisted her wedding ring in thought for a moment. She then looked up at the fireplace. Vivid memories filled her mind from when they purchased this house. They had walked through the doors, a young married couple filled with so much joy and hope.
Jeannette’s train of thought was then broken by a clicking sound. She turned around and her heart jumped. Her blood pressure spiked and the world seemed to stop spinning. An indescribable terror filled her soul as she realized she was looking into the barrel of a gun. She didn’t even know there was a gun in the house.
Carl’s hand trembled. His bulging eyes looked into hers, filled with so much rage and resentment.
“Carl! What… Wh—what are you doing?”
~~~~~
Carl took a deep breath, remaining silent. He stared into his wife’s eyes for a just a moment, biting his bottom lip as he always did, then curled his index finger to pull the trigger. The attorney watched as his wife Jeanette’s body fell to the floor, now sprawled ungracefully across the expensive Persian rug—a rug she insisted on buying even though he said they couldn’t afford it at the time. He’d always hated that rug.
Carl lowered the gun and shook his head. His blank face turned sinister. His lips curled into a smile, then he smirked. The ringing in his ears was unbearable in its own way, but he preferred it to his wife’s nagging. He stepped closer to his wife’s body, taking a moment to look down at her graying hair—the growing pool of blood soaking into the Persian rug.
He went back to the small wood table behind the staircase and shoved the gun back into the drawer. A chuckle slipped out of his lips. “I probably should’ve shot her somewhere else,” he said to himself, whispering. “Now that expensive damn rug she always threw fits about is probably ruined.”
For the first time in what seemed like eons, there was a pleasurable silence in his house. The silence was almost peaceful. Carl looked at the table for just a second then walked away from it.
Donny’s eyes bulged as he stood on the stairs looking through the spindles in the banister into the living room below. His eyes were as big and round as saucers. Clearly, the boy was frightened.
Carl trudged to the steps then paused at the bottom. Swaying from side to side, he took the steps slowly until he reached his son, who seemed to be frozen in place. He tousled Donny’s hair and chuckled.
“Everything will be okay now, Donny,” he said, smiling. “Don’t you worry. Everything will finally be okay.”
Donny peered down the stairs, wanting to go back down to the living room, but knowing if he went downstairs, his father could go into one of his rages. Still, he looked down toward the living room doorway. What had happened to Mother?
Chapter 1
June 29, 2016
Stephanie Case smiled as she rolled down Primrose Drive. The houses on either side of the street were obviously older, but most were fairly well maintained. From the looks of things, there was a good mixture of people in the area which would suit her family nicely. Younger couples with children perhaps in the same age group as her own as well as older people who appeared to be enjoying their golden years in Moorestown made for a good mix.
The house she purchased rose above the rest at the end of the block. Its architecture alone, on top of the location, was enticing enough to get the forty-year-old mother to buy the home even though it needed some serious work. Since her husband, Brett, died in a car accident last year, she’d been looking for a fresh start. While she wanted something that was perhaps smaller and easier to maintain, turning this house down would have haunted her for the rest of her life, or so she thought.
Step
hanie glanced back at her sleeping children in the backseat just as she pulled into the driveway. At first, she was going to wake them up but then decided to just let them sleep a few minutes longer. She stepped out of the car and headed up to the house. She admired the wrap-around porch and looked forward to enjoying it when she spruced it up a bit.
She stepped up to the door and smiled as she pulled out her keys and pushed the door key into the lock. “Wonder what Brett would think of this place,” she said to herself.
Just as Stephanie had been about to step into the foyer, she heard car doors slamming. Her children were getting out and trudging up the walkway looking groggy and tired. She called their names—Timothy, her oldest at eleven years old, and her twins, Jane and Jonathan, who were eight.
“Come on, guys!” Stephanie yelled. By the way her kids looked up at the large house, she sensed they were a bit intimidated. “You guys always said you wanted a big house. Remember?”
Pulling their suitcases behind them, Timothy, Jane, and Jonathan walked up onto the porch then stepped into the foyer.
“Leave your suitcases there by the door. Let’s check the place out.” Stephanie looked back at her reluctant children and laughed at them.
Excitement filled her soul, almost as if she were a young girl again. Things had been so tough for them and they’d gone through many changes. She was hoping this was the right decision.
She wanted to show her children around their new home and for them to get excited, too.
“Here’s the living room. I think the TV will go over the fireplace. Or should we get a cabinet and put it on the wall?”
“It doesn’t matter, Mom. As long as we can see it, I don’t care where it is,” said Jonathan.
Jane giggled and looked back at her mother. Then she sobered. “It’s kind of yucky in here, though. There are scuffs on the walls.”
“I know, honey. But we’ll clean it up and paint. What color do you think we should paint in here?”
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