The side door stood slightly ajar. Whoever broke in had busted the doorjamb and now the latch no longer worked. I entered the kitchen, surprised to see my purse and library bag still on the table. After a little digging, I found my wallet, amazed it hadn’t gone missing in all the excitement. The sink full of dirty dishes caught my eye. I’d get to those later.
When I stepped into the living room, I gasped at the sight of the bloodstained sofa, a square cut out from the fabric in the center of the stain. The surrounding curtains and walls were blood-splattered as well. I couldn't face cleaning the mess at the moment so I walked down the hall to the linen closet to grab a sheet. Covering the sofa seemed like a good idea until I could figure out what else to do with it. The dark hall made it difficult to see in the closet. I flipped on the switch, but the light didn’t come on. The electricity hadn’t been turned back on yet.
I knew the utilities connected at the back of the house and I decided to go check it out. I had no idea how to turn the electricity on, but I leaned over and parted the shrubs anyway, looking for the broken connection.
“I already called the utility companies for you.”
I screamed and jumped up, clutching a hand to my chest. Joe stood a few feet away.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The now-familiar lightheaded feeling returned, but I shook my head to clear it. “That’s okay. Thanks for calling.”
“They said they’d be out early this afternoon, the electricity anyway. The phone will have to wait until Wednesday.” He moved closer. “What are you lookin’ for?”
I laughed. “I don't really know, I’ve never dealt with somethin’ like this before.”
“How’d you know about the footprint?”
I tucked my hair behind my ear, suddenly nervous. How much had he heard the night before? “I’m sorry. What footprint?”
He raised his eyebrows. Joe gave me the impression he was a no-nonsense kind of guy.
We stared at each other, clearly at an impasse. I wasn’t giving any information away and for him to press the situation further would be admitting he’d eavesdropped.
He threaded a thumb through a belt loop on his jeans. “So, what are you doin’ here?”
I suspected he meant snooping behind the house, but I decided to evade the question. “I live here.”
“You’re stayin’ here?” His tone matched the shock on his face.
“Why does everyone keep sayin’ that? I live here. Why wouldn’t I stay here?” I started walking to the side of the house.
“Rose, do you think that’s really a good idea? What if the people who did this come back?”
I stopped and studied him. The sun shone behind his head, the copper tones in his brown hair glinting in the sunlight. I squinted and tried to read his face. He was serious.
“You’re not like everyone else in this town, are you?” I asked, amazement in my voice.
His face went blank. “What does that mean?”
I placed a hand on my hip, staring up at him like he was an angel dropped to earth. “First of all, most of the town thinks I killed my Momma, so other than you and my sister and her husband, no one and I mean no one is concerned I’m in danger. Second, why do you think they’ll come back?”
He peered down at the ground, shifted his weight from side to side then shrugged. “I didn’t say I did, but it makes sense that a single woman would be frightened to stay in the house her mother was just murdered in.” He looked up into my face. “You have to admit, it looks a little suspicious, you comin’ back here to stay all alone the mornin’ after she was killed.”
My rebellion and fear twisted together into a smoldering rage. “What are you sayin’, Joe McAllister? Either you think I killed my mother, or you don’t. Which is it?”
His eyes locked with mine. “Well, it’s not for me to decide, is it? It’s for the great state of Arkansas and possibly a jury of your peers to decide that one.”
I glared at him. I had never been so angry at anyone in all my life, not even Momma. I started to say something then stopped, not trusting the words that might come out of my mouth. Pinching my lips tight, I whirled around and left Joe standing in my yard as I stomped into the kitchen, slamming the door behind me. The door bounced off the frame and popped wide open. Joe was frozen in his spot, watching me with his expressionless face, his thumbs hanging in his belt loops. I shoved the door closed and leaned my back against it.
You shouldn’t be so surprised. He’s no different than everyone else. I was disappointed with myself for thinking he could be.
It wasn’t until later, while I stood in the shower, thankful for gas water heaters, that I realized how miraculous our encounter had been. My entire life I had avoided conflict at all costs. When kids at school made fun of me, I ignored and avoided them. And when Momma berated me, I let her beat me down, sucking in all the pain and anger and hiding in my shell. So for me to stand up to Joe was inconceivable, yet I did it without even giving it a second thought. How on earth did that happen?
After I got dressed, I stood at the sink and started to wash the dishes. Watching Joe’s house, I frowned as I tried to figure him out then shook my head. There was nothing to figure out. Chances were I’d never see him again. We’d never talked before Momma’s murder. No reason to think we’d converse after.
I finished just in time to leave for the funeral home. I shut the side door and stood outside staring at it, wishing I could cast a magic spell to keep bad people out. I laughed. Momma would have a conniption if she knew I thought such a thing. Right then, I’d settle for a lock.
Thirty minutes later, I sat at a table with Violet and Mike in the funeral home discussing all the details of Momma’s funeral, surprised that there were so many. Truth was, I didn’t care about any of it. Most of the town couldn't stand Momma, yet would show up because it was the proper thing to do then proceed to judge us on the pageantry of her burial. No one would admit such a thing happened, but all one had to do was stand in the back of the funeral home to hear it. Violet felt a need to save appearances, considering the circumstances that got us here. She also felt a need to try to redeem the Gardner family name. I thought it was too late for that, given my newfound status as Henryetta’s most dangerous criminal. But I let Violet entertain her delusions.
We toured the casket room, assigned the macabre task of picking out the box Momma would be buried in. Wood or metal. Themed or not. Extra cushioning inside. Did Momma really need extra cushioning? She was dead. I wanted to point this fact out, but everyone acted so serious.
I shuddered. I didn’t want to think about Momma buried in the ground.
“What do you think, Rose?” Violet asked.
I realized I hadn’t been paying attention but didn’t want to admit it. “Whatever you think, Violet.”
She gave me a look that said I need more help from you. I vowed to be more supportive with future decisions. And I quickly regretted that pledge when it came time to pick out the vault.
“I had no idea people were buried in a vault,” I whispered in Violet’s ear as we stared at the models hanging on the wall.
Violet sighed. “That’s because you weren’t involved in this part when we planned Daddy’s funeral.”
I realized she was right. I stayed home when she and Momma came. It never occurred to me she had to do so much. I put my arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Vi. Really, I’ll help more.”
She leaned her head against mine. “Thanks, I’m taking you up on it. You’re in charge of the flowers.”
I started to say something, then stopped. I could pick out flowers. How hard could that be?
We decided the funeral would be on Wednesday. That gave the coroner time to perform the autopsy and ship Momma’s body back from Little Rock. In the parking lot, Violet tried to convince me to go home with her. “Rose, you went back to the house already. You proved you could do it. Now come spend the night with us.”
I was frightened, but I j
ust couldn't let myself go with her. Sometime over the last day and a half, a revolt had sprung up inside me and there was no beating it down into submission. I needed to do this even if it killed me, which it very well might. I slowly shook my head and opened my car door.
“Rose, this is ridiculous. Do you even have electricity yet?”
“No, but Joe called the electric company and they said they’d be out today.”
Violet grabbed my door as I got into the car. “But…”
“Violet, you need to get back to the kids. I’ll talk to you later.”
Mike dragged her away and I drove home eager to be alone. As I pulled into the gravel driveway, I discovered Joe crouched down at the side door of the house.
“What are you doin’?” I asked when I got out, wondering if I had just caught him in the middle of being up to something.
“Puttin’ a new lock on your door.” He didn’t look at me, just kept fiddling at the doorknob with a screwdriver.
“Why are you doin’ that?”
“To make it harder for someone to break in.”
The unspoken to kill you hung in the air like a jumbo jet waiting to land. “Why would you do that? Especially if you think I murdered my own mother.”
He turned his head and raised his eyebrows. “I never said I thought you murdered your mother. I said it wasn’t for me to decide. And I’m doin’ it in case you didn’t and the person who did comes back, especially since you think it was supposed to be you in the first place.”
I sucked in my breath. How much had he heard? “Well, thank you. I’ll pay you for the lock and for your time, too.”
“No need for the time, and the lock wasn’t much.” He gave the knob a jiggle then stood up. “I have a little sister. I only hope someone would do the same for her.” He handed me a set of keys on a ring but didn’t let go, his fingers and the keys in the palm of my hand. “I fixed the doorjamb too, so it’ll hold better. But, Rose,” he paused and looked into my eyes, “if someone wants in, they’ll get in.”
I suddenly questioned the sensibility of my plan.
“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked.
I blinked, trying to look confused. “Tell you what?”
He sighed and removed his hand, leaving the keys behind. “I'm next door if you need me, just give me a call. I left my number on your kitchen counter.”
“You were in my kitchen?”
“Yeah, the door was broken. I had to go inside to remove the old lock.”
“Oh.” I felt like an idiot.
“Okay, I’m headin’ home now. If you have trouble sleepin’ drink a glass of wine or somethin’ to help, but not too much. You need to be somewhat alert if someone tries to break in.”
I hadn’t thought about terror-induced insomnia. “I don’t drink.”
He looked surprised. “You mean usually?”
“No, I mean at all. I’ve never had alcohol.”
“Oh,” he said, twisting his lips as he pondered the fact I was a teetotaler. “Well, if you need anythin’ let me know.” He folded up a towel on the ground, covered with a few tools and parts, and walked to his house.
When I turned to the door, I realized not only had he replaced the doorknob but installed a deadbolt too. Why would he do such a thing? I glanced over my shoulder at his front porch, but he was already out of sight. Sighing, I went inside and locked the door behind me. Joe was definitely a conundrum.
I slept fitfully, sitting up with every creak in the house. I got up multiple times and peeked out the windows for lurkers in the bushes. I checked the locks at least five times. When I got up at nine o’clock the next morning, I was tired but eager to busy myself with the day.
Momma’s curtains seemed like a good place to start. I stood on the arm of the sofa to take them down. The old, tattered fabric fell, dust flying everywhere as it pooled on top of the sofa back. I needed new curtains; these would never survive the washing machine.
But first, I needed to get all the blood off the wall.
After getting a big bowl of hot soapy water, I scrubbed the dried splatters, which proved difficult to remove. I scrubbed harder and paint came off on the sponge, leaving bare spots on the wall. I sat on the arm of the chair and surveyed the damage. There was no way around it; I had to repaint. Suddenly, I had a new plan for the day, something to take my mind of my worries. I would repaint the living room and buy new curtains. And get a cell phone too.
I wanted to stand out in the yard and shout to the world. Look at me! I’m making my own decisions!
Instead I grabbed my purse and locked the side door with my new keys, glancing over at Joe’s house as I got into my car. His car sat parked in his driveway and I reprimanded myself for even looking. What did I care if Joe McAllister was home?
I went to the cell phone store first, overwhelmed with all my choices. I felt very grown up when I picked out a phone and signed a contract. A legally binding contract. Something deep inside prickled at my joy, saying I was twenty-four years old, this was not that amazing, but I shushed it. I was gonna let myself enjoy it.
Next stop was the hardware store. I studied the paint colors, overwhelmed again. I told myself it was to be expected. For a woman not used to making decisions, I was forcing myself to face plenty of them recently.
My fingers slid down cards as though they were jewels, just waiting for me to pluck them out. I finally settled on a soft, pale yellow. The man in the paint department was helpful since I’d never painted before, assisting me with rollers and tape. He even disregarded my vision that his cat had clawed the side of his dining room table.
Walmart was next. I forgot to measure the windows, but there weren’t many choices in lengths. Overwhelmed anew, I finally decided on plain off-white panels that would be soft and breezy with the pale yellow walls.
On my way to the checkout, something soft and shiny caught my eye. I was passing the edge of the lingerie department, if you could really call the underwear/pajama section at Wal-Mart lingerie. My gaze had found a nightgown, a kind I had never worn before. It looked more like a slip than a nightgown, only it was a soft lavender and covered in tiny deep purple flowers. My fingers reached out to touch the fabric before my mind could tell them to be reasonable. Once they touched, there was no dissuading them. My fingers were ensnared by a nightie. As they slid over the silky cloth, my mind wondered what it would feel like to wear such a thing.
My face burned with shame. When had I turned so wicked? But the nightie was planted in my mind and sprouting like a fast-growing weed, spreading and choking out every thought until there was nothing left but the want of it. To shut up my evil thoughts, I pulled the hanger off the rack and stuffed it under the curtain packages. Then I looked around to see if anyone saw me.
When I checked out, my nervousness made me jittery. I half expected the girl at the register to give me a look of reproach, but she scanned the curtains and stuffed the nightie in the shopping bag without even flinching, as though she did that sort of thing every day. Then again, I guess she did.
I hurried home, eager to start my new project. But first, the blood-stained sofa had to go.
After shoving the kitchen table against the wall, I scooted the sofa to the door and promptly wedged it in the doorway.
Crappy doodles.
I went out the seldom-used front door and tried pulling from the outside, with little success. Lodging my shoulder underneath, I tried to stand, hoping that might unwedge it.
“What on earth are you doin’?” Joe asked behind me.
Startled, I screamed and fell on my butt. “Why do you keep sneakin’ up on me like that?”
He laughed. “I didn’t ‘sneak up on you,’ I merely walked over to see what you were doin’. What are you doin’?”
I started to get up, surprised when he reached down to help me. “What does it look like I’m doin’?”
“It looks like you’re tryin’ to injure yourself removin’ that sofa from your house.”
“Well, why didn’t you come and ask me for help?”
I raised my eyebrows, stumped. “Honestly, it never occurred to me.”
He grimaced and shook his head. “You need to angle it more, then it should come right out. Go in the house and take the back side. I’ll take this end.”
Once we got it outside Joe asked, “Now where?” Joe asked.
“I dunno. I hadn’t thought that far. My entire goal centered around gettin’ it outside.”
Joe shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Let’s put it behind the house for now. The neighbors are riled up enough without havin’ to look at your bloody sofa.”
His plan sounded reasonable but something about the way he said it got under my skin. We set it down in the backyard, away from the telephone line.
“If you like, I can have someone come and remove it tomorrow.” Joe said.
“Thanks,” I said, unsure what to do next.
“I’m goin’ to check the door jamb and make sure you didn’t bang it up too much.”
My irritation returned, but he was right. I went in the kitchen and left the door open so he could examine the frame.
“You paintin’?” he asked, nodding to the paint cans.
“The livin’ room. I tried to get the blood off the wall but mostly I just ended up takin’ off the paint.”
“Have you ever painted before?”
I rolled my eyes. “I ain’t buildin’ a rocket. How hard could it be?”
“I’m sure a professional painter might take offense to that.”
“Well, I’m not hirin’ a professional painter.”
“I’m not suggestin’ you do, but I can make sure you know what to do before you get paint everywhere.”
“Why?” I asked.“Why would you help me?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t say I was gonna paint the room for you. It’s only a few pointers.”
I appreciated his offer to help, but his attitude rankled me. Why did that man irritate me so?
Rose Gardner 01 - Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes Page 5