by Joe Hart
He took the other guest room, mostly because he wanted to be within feet of Shaun in case he had a seizure or needed him in the middle of the night, and only partially because he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep in the master bedroom. As he set his suitcase on the bed, a silver wristwatch on the bedside table, atop the cover of a paperback thriller, caught his eye. Evan picked it up and saw that it was a self-winder, the kind that used energy from the movement of its wearer. Its hands were stopped at 12:17. Frowning, he set it down and made a mental note to tell Jason his prior caretaker had left it behind.
After Evan deemed them adequately moved in, he made them sandwiches from the meager supplies he’d brought to get them through the first day or two. They ate on the screened-in porch, enjoying the view and listening to the wind and occasional whine of an outboard motor on the lake.
“This is beautiful, huh, buddy? We’re going to stay here for the summer. Is that okay?”
Shaun gazed around at the trees, his eyes returning to the lake over and over.
“A lot of people would pay a bunch of money to stay in place like this, but Uncle Jason is paying us.”
Evan glanced over his shoulder at the house that wasn’t anything near a cabin. It didn’t need a full-time caretaker, not really. Someone could’ve handled the chores one day a week, if that.
“Uncle Jason’s too good to us, you know that?”
Shaun looked his way and smiled, his head tipping forward so that he looked at Evan from beneath his eyebrows.
Evan chuckled. “You’re a ham.”
When they were done eating, he left Shaun on the porch, reclining his chair enough so the boy could comfortably fall asleep if he wanted to. In the kitchen he gathered the bread, turkey, cheese, and mayonnaise and opened the fridge to put them away.
The stench hit him like a baseball bat.
Rotten, molded food soaked in its own juices. Containers and bags filled with unrecognizable contents sat on each shelf. A single milk carton looked normal, but the crisper held nothing but a brown soup.
“Fuck me,” Evan said, and stepped back, covering his mouth and nose.
He stared at the inside of the fridge, almost tasting the rot on his tongue. The sandwich in his stomach made a leap for the back of his throat, but he swallowed, forcing it down. He glanced at the temperature setting, noting it was a little warm, but not enough to cause the decay before him.
Evan shoved the door shut to cut off the smell. He moved back until his ass hit the counter beside the sink, watching the fridge as though it were some feral animal crouched in the corner. Without thinking about it, he dug his cell phone from his pocket and made his way to the porch. Shaun dozed in the chair, the breeze ruffling his light hair.
When he glanced at the phone only one bar was visible for service. “Shit.”
He walked through the living room. As he neared the windows overlooking the lake, the signal gained another bar, and he hit Jason’s number. It rang only once before there was a click on the other end.
“Make it okay?” Jason said.
Evan heard the murmur of other people in the background. “Yeah. Hey, can you talk right now, or is it not a good time?”
“Sure, I’m good. Just left a board meeting. What’s up?”
Evan paced to the front door and then back again, shooting a look at the kitchen. “Something’s off here.”
“What do you mean, ‘off’?”
“Who was this last guy you had in the house?”
A pause. “Why?”
“Well, for one, he left his watch and a paperback in the guest room, which isn’t a big deal. But the fucking fridge is full of rotten food, man. When I opened it up the smell about knocked me over.”
“Really? Was it unplugged?”
“No.”
“What the hell? Yeah, I mean, his name was Bob something ... Garrison? Something like that, anyway. He was a normal guy. Single, lived in Colorado before he moved here, did some handyman stuff to get by. Never had a problem with him until this spring.”
“You said he quit—what happened?”
Another pause. “Well, to be honest, he stopped answering my calls—not that I called him all the time. I gave him a ring in late March, and then again in mid-April. When he didn’t get back to me the second time, I had Jacob go out there and check it out. He said that the place was empty and everything was fine, but no sign of Bob. He cashed the last check I sent him in March, so I thought he got sick of being there and jetted.”
Evan chewed at the inside of his cheek. The house looked slightly different now. Not quite as open and bright as before.
“It looks like he up and left everything sitting here, like he just took off. If he left in March, that would explain why the fridge is so nasty. But how the hell did he leave? Both boats are still here.”
“I’m guessing he hoofed it across the lake since it was still frozen in early April.”
Evan shook his head. “Weird.”
A ding of an elevator came from Jason’s end.
“I don’t know what to tell you, my friend, people are loopy. I’m sorry you guys have to deal with the shitbag’s mess. How’s everything else, though? Jacob get you there okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, he was great, didn’t even charge us for the ride.”
“That’s how he is. He was Dad’s best friend, good guy, except he’s Irish.”
“I’m Irish, you asshole.”
“I know.”
Evan laughed. “I’m sorry, man, I’m not complaining. The house is great and the island is beautiful. Shaun loves it here so far.”
“Good deal. Hey, I gotta run, there’s a client waiting in my office. I’ll give you a ring later.”
“Okay, talk to you then.”
Jason began speaking to someone else a second before the line disconnected, and Evan felt the warm glow he always did when he reflected on their friendship. There wasn’t another person in the world who knew him better. Now that Elle was gone.
He swallowed and sighed before going to check on Shaun again. When he saw that the boy hadn’t moved a muscle, he turned and headed for the kitchen, mentally preparing himself for the cleaning session he was about to endure.
~
It took him an hour to clean the fridge. Somehow, amongst three gagging episodes and two breaks to check on Shaun, he managed to evict all signs of the decaying food from the GE. After tossing two bags of refuse into a large garbage can outside, Evan finished putting away their food and separated Shaun’s clothes into the chest of drawers in his room. It was nearing five in the evening when Shaun awoke, and they sat down to a simple meal of canned soup.
“Wanna go for a walk, buddy?” Evan asked, as he placed their dirty dishes onto the counter.
Shaun nodded, and he smiled at how rested his little face looked. Sleep was his ally, and Evan tried not to wake him if at all possible, no matter the time of day.
They left the house and made their way around the right side of the building, toward the heavy cover of trees, Evan walking backward and holding Shaun’s hands while Shaun tottered along, concentration etched across his features. Evan had him walk until they reached the boundary of the yard, and then picked him up, swinging him high in the air before depositing him on his shoulders. They threaded their way between the massive trunks and a few brambles that were beginning to sprout, into green foliage. A worn path no more than a foot wide appeared and he angled them toward it. The trail looked beaten, whether by animals or humans, he didn’t know. They followed the track as it snaked ever downward, over exposed rocks and roots. Eventually the wavering surface of the lake became visible. A small ring of rocks sat in a clearing above the waterline, the earth permanently black in its center.
“Wow, nice party spot, buddy,” Evan said, holding Shaun’s hands. “Fire ring,” he annunciated, hoping that Shaun would mimic his words.
“Help!”
The cry was loud and came out of nowhere, turning Evan’s guts with icy surprise.
He stopped, trying to determine where the call came from.
“Help! I dropped my paddle in the water.”
He hurried down to the clearing and caught sight of a woman in a canoe some fifteen yards offshore. Her hands gripped the sides of the little boat, and her dark brown hair was buffeted by the wind that pushed across the lake.
“My paddle,” she yelled, pointing toward a clump of reeds growing from the foremost tip of the island. A faded wooden canoe paddle floated there, its handle hooked on a bent reed.
Evan glanced back at the canoe and saw the woman’s dilemma. The wind was gradually pushing her farther and farther away, turning her in a gentle circle. He moved to the nearest tree and took Shaun off his shoulders, setting him at the pine’s base with his back resting against its trunk.
“You sit right here, don’t move.”
Evan jogged to the water’s edge and looked for a way to grab the paddle without getting soaked, but soon saw the canoe and the woman would be out of sight before he devised a plan. With a grimace, he waded into the water, the cold spring lake rushing in to fill his shoes and socks. Leaning forward, he reached out and snagged the paddle’s handle and drew it toward him.
“I’m going to toss it to you, okay?”
“Okay.”
He took aim and launched the paddle over the water with an underhand push. It sailed up and flipped once, and came down within feet of the canoe, bumping its side with a hollow thud. The woman pulled the paddle into the canoe, then stroked at the lake with long, practiced movements. Evan sidestepped through the muddy bottom until his feet were on solid ground again. To his relief, Shaun still sat where he’d left him. When he turned back to the lake, he saw that the canoe was closer and the woman aboard smiled at him as she neared.
“Where’s Elle?”
Evan’s heart jittered in his chest, and his mouth dropped open. “Wha ... what did you say?”
The front of the canoe scraped onto the bank and stopped, and its rear end drifted sideways. The woman placed a hand against her brow, blocking the setting sun, and looked at him.
“I said, it fell.” When Evan didn’t move, she lifted the paddle up and set it back down. “I was floating by your island and thought I saw a cardinal. When I set the paddle down and picked up my binoculars, it slipped into the water and drifted out of reach.”
Evan shut his mouth and blinked. “Sorry,” he said, stepping forward to pull the bow of the canoe farther onto land.
It was an old craft, with chunks of paint peeling off here and there, the inside speckled with bits of twigs and mud. He steadied the front as the woman stood and made her way out of the canoe and onto the island.
She was thin, in a way that spoke of athleticism and lean muscle rather than frailty, and not much over five feet tall. She wore a long-sleeved T-shirt and brown cargo pants that nearly matched the shade of her hair. Evan straightened up and broke from his inspection when the woman held her hand out.
“Selena Belgaurd.”
Evan grasped her small hand. “Evan Tormer, and this is my son, Shaun,” he said, motioning to Shaun, who tried to wave.
“Very nice to meet you both, and thank you,” Selena said, letting go of his hand. She smiled. Her lips curved up in a way that accentuated her blue eyes.
“You’re welcome,” Evan said. He glanced away.
“Do you guys live here?”
“Yeah, kind of. We moved in today. We’re house-sitting for my friend who owns it.”
“Well, it’s a beautiful place. Do you like it here, Shaun?”
Shaun smiled and his small mouth worked to form a word.
“He doesn’t speak well,” Evan said.
Selena’s face fell, and it looked as if she wanted to ask more. But Evan turned away.
“We really have to be getting back to the house.”
Selena nodded. “Sure, okay. Well, thank you again. If you wouldn’t have come along, I don’t know where I would’ve ended up.”
“You’re welcome,” Evan said, and picked up Shaun.
Selena raised a hand and then turned, shoving the canoe back into the water and jumping inside in one motion. Evan hitched Shaun a little higher onto his hip and didn’t wait until the canoe was out of sight before climbing up the hill, toward the house.
6
They sat on the porch and watched the sun bleed its last rays onto the water. The trees ceased their movement, and birds washed the evening with song that seemed to fill up not only the island but the whole world.
After some rummaging through their belongings, Evan found two tracing books and a dry-erase marker. He stood behind Shaun, guiding his son’s hand beneath his own over letters and numbers alike, pronouncing their names as the marker traced the dotted lines.
“Okay, now you’re gonna do it on your own,” Evan said, letting go of Shaun’s hand.
The boy’s head bent closer to the book, and his fingers began to slip off the marker before he could trace a row of figure eights. Shaun grunted in frustration and tried to re-grip the marker, but it fell from his hand and rolled off the table.
“It’s okay, buddy, it’s okay,” Evan said, kneeling to retrieve the fallen writing utensil. He placed it back between his son’s fingers. “Try again.”
Shaun started the eight and made it only inches before the marker spun away, this time to the opposite side of the porch.
“No,” Shaun yelled, and banged both his hands against the table.
“Hey, hey, it’s all right, you did good. We just need more practice,” Evan said, and wrapped his arms around Shaun.
The boy strained against him, anger fueling his motions. A hot burning filled the back of Evan’s eyes. What terrible karmic atrocity had he committed that made the universe glance his family’s way and shake its head? In response, he heard the same answer he received each time he asked the question, spoken by the voice he hated inside his own mind.
Because this is your life, this is what it is.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, we can be done for tonight. You did really good.” Slowly Shaun calmed, and Evan released him, repeating the words in his mind, it’s okay, it’s okay. “Do you want to watch trains?”
Shaun whimpered one more time and then stilled, his breathing slowing, skin sweaty from his exertions. “Tains?”
“Okay, buddy, we’ll watch some trains.”
He centered Shaun in the couch and sought out the DVD from the duffel in his room. After a few moments of fussing with the unfamiliar player, Thomas the Train began to race across the screen. Evan adjusted the volume and returned to the couch, putting an arm around Shaun’s slight shoulders. The sun fell completely out of sight as they watched, replaced by an inky darkness that crept closer until the lake sat in gloom, the open windows no longer admitting birdsong.
Evan glanced to the left, his eyes straying from the episode playing out on the screen, and found himself staring at the basement door. Shaun giggled at one of the train’s antics, and Evan focused again on the TV. Minutes later, his eyes rested once more on the door. He watched it. He studied the knob like prey looking for a predator, waiting, not willing to glance away, afraid that if he did, it would ... turn.
Shaun’s sharp snore tore him out of his trance, and he jerked with the sound. Evan shifted, sliding his arm from beneath the boy’s back. He breathed even and deep, his eyes shut, mouth open.
“Tired guy,” Evan whispered. “Long day.”
With gentle movements, he laid Shaun on his side, nestling him into the couch. Evan unfurled a folded comforter that hung from the arm of an easy chair, and spread it over his sleeping son. He listened to Shaun’s soft inhalations for a long time in the faint glow of the only lamp burning in the room. Gradually his attention returned to the basement door.
In a few strides he crossed the room, and flipped on two of the kitchen lights, chasing the shadows from beneath the long table and behind the breakfast bar. He paused, listening for what? Sounds from below? Evan huffed and walked to the do
or, throwing it wide.
Darkness greeted him, deeper than earlier that afternoon, thicker. It swallowed the treads and gave nothing in return, rebuffing the cheerful light of the kitchen. His earlier desire for exploring the basement wilted, and he nearly slammed the door shut, the muscles in his arm already tensing to do so.
However, he reached out and found the switch once again, knowing the outcome but having to flip it on and off several times without effect before he was satisfied. The overwhelming urge to step back and close the door came again. Revolting against the warnings sounding within him, he took the first step. The wooden stair emitted a short shriek beneath his weight. He swallowed, looked over his shoulder at the rounded shape of Shaun on the couch, then continued down.
The light at his back died within the dark. In all his years, the only other experience he could compare it to was at a lock-in party at his high school. Several other boys in his grade had snuck out of the locker room in which they’d been changing, knowing full well Evan was sitting on the toilet. He’d been lost in thought about how to ask Kimberly Shell to the dance later that evening when the fluorescents winked out, the silence broken only by the retreating laughter of the other boys. He’d sat there, petrified on the toilet, frozen in the cold darkness of a place that held no malice in the light, but without it, became something else.
Memories of staggering out of the windowless locker room and into the hall full of giggling teenagers left him as he stepped down again, the shadows rising ever upward as though he were dropping deeper and deeper into a subterranean sea.
His left hand brushed against the smooth wall, the only sound above his hushed breathing. Five steps, six, seven. The eighth tread wasn’t where it should have been, and he almost fell headlong, the surface under his foot remaining level instead of dropping away—a landing.
Evan slid his hand forward and found that the wall turned, and he pivoted with it, his opposite arm now out before him, stretched into the black maw. The next step edge met his foot, and he went down. One, two, three. At the fourth stair his arm brushed something, and he nearly cried out before realizing it was a pillar near the foot of the stairway.