Through The Window

by Wendy Campbell

  Then she got her first look at her sister Sara’s dream store, Last Chance. The wood siding and big, roughhewn posts gave the store a country feel. The overhanging roof ran the length of the store, and Melanie could make out half whiskey barrels filled with foliage on each side of the door. Knowing Sara, the dark shadows in the barrel would be bright, cheerful flowers.

  Admiration and guilt swamped her in equal measure. Two years ago, when Sara bought the old restaurant with plans to convert it into a store that catered to the outdoor enthusiasts who passed through Cedar Valley, the family pitched into help, everyone except Mel. She hadn’t come back to help or visit, not once in ten years. And she couldn’t tell them why, not then.

  Maybe now she could.

  A few minutes later, they reached her cabin. The outside light shone like a beacon, calling her to the small, covered porch. The dim lights winking through the forest were houses, but the trees were so thick, she could stand naked on the porch and not be seen. Not that she would, it was just that she could. If she wanted to.

  “Good luck,” Anna muttered as they got out.

  The faint scent of fresh mown grass drifted on the air. Melanie had forgotten how wonderful the country smelled.

  In the dark, all she could see was the porch without the pots of flowers she’d seen from the window of the school bus. Back then, the candy-colored cabin was her dream escape, the place she wanted to run to when Mick showed up. When she found it for sale on the Internet, she used every cent of her meager savings to make the down payment.

  When she reached for her purse to get the key, she remembered it burned with her car. They checked under the mats, around the doorframe and under the empty pots stacked along the wall, but they didn’t find a key

  “Let’s check the back.” Anna got the flashlight from her car, but the faint beam flickered and died. “Crap. At least there’s a moon.”

  Anna headed left, so Melanie went right, checking the tops of the window frames. A wooden gate led to the fenced back yard. When she rounded the last corner of the house, she could see Anna, a dark silhouette in the night, lifting the mat at the back door. She checked the last window frame. Locked.

  “Any—”

  Anna shrieked and ran three steps before turning to face her. “Melanie!”

  “Sorry.”

  “God, how do you do that?” Anna panted as they both sat on the top step. “You must have cat eyes.”

  Mel chuckled. “Can we call Mrs. Crandall?”

  “She’s in Florida for her granddaughter’s wedding. She won’t be back for a month, if she comes back at all.”

  “Would she have left a spare with someone?”

  “Who knows? You can sleep on my couch tonight. Frank won’t care.”

  “Frank?”

  “My new guy.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t want to intrude.” Not when she finally owned her own place. “We’ll call a locksmith.”

  “Cal’s the only locksmith in town.” Anna checked her watch. “By now, he’s passed out at Four Corners Tavern. We could break a window.”

  “Forget it.” Smashing a window would be the easiest way in, but the perfectionist in her wouldn’t allow it. In all her burglaries, she’d never broken a window. She wasn’t about to start with her own. Besides, her current bank account balance was eighty-two dollars.

  “I’ll take the lock off the front door and replace it tomorrow,” Mel said and got to her feet. “It’ll be cheaper than a new window. Do you have a drill?”

  A half-hour later, dressed in Frank’s oversized sweats and a pair of men’s size eleven flip-flops that felt like snowshoes, Melanie carried Anna’s cordless drill and toolbox onto the porch. The front door had an old handle with a thumb lever and a cheap single cylinder deadbolt above it. Anna had put new batteries in her flashlight and kept the beam on the lock. Mel drilled straight into the lock, felt the bit grab and drilled out the screw. She did the same thing on the other side and pried off the lock. Then she opened the door.

  Anna hesitated. “You should have talked to me before you bought this place.”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Oh, you did. You know, it’s been empty for a while.”

  “How long?”

  “Not long,” she said under her breath, “in Valley terms.”

  Mel stopped halfway through the door. “How many years?”

  Anna shrugged.

  “A decade?”

  “Almost.” Anna walked in and turned on the lights.

  They stared at a home improvement project gone wrong. The walls were so many different colors Mel’s eyes went buggy. Huge splotches of bright colors overlaid darker tones. The splotches and swirls gave the room a psychedelic look. The ceiling was puke green. Ancient throw rugs covered part of the gold and green linoleum. A few pieces of old furniture sat scattered around the room. On top of a scarred desk sat a small TV that had to be older than her.

  “All you need is a Bee Gees album and a disco light,” Anna joked.

  Mel let out a breath and closed the door with her foot. “I suppose it could be worse.”

  “It was. Donny fumigated it three days ago. Spiders and cockroaches, I think. Or ants.”

  Mel’s stomach turned over. “I hate spiders.”

  “At least they’re dead.” Anna gave her the impish grin that had gotten them out of trouble more than once.

  “Thanks. I’ll sleep much better now.”

  Despite the ragged interior, the cabin held an odd charm. In the bedroom, a beautiful quilt that could have won first place at a county fair topped a worn but comfortable looking bed. A dresser with two missing drawers stood against the wall. Duct-tape covered one of its stubby legs. The other side sat on three stacked boards.

  While Anna went out for the duffle bag, Mel wandered around, trying to imagine living in this throwback to the seventies. She didn’t see water spots on the ceiling, although the splotchy paint could be hiding them. The smell of fresh paint might be hiding mold and must, but she didn’t think so. The cabin felt solid. Psychedelic, but solid.

  Mel followed Anna into a small bathroom crammed full of yellow ducks. They were painted on the ceiling, on the walls, and on the fixtures. A yarn hook cover, complete with a big smiling duck, topped the toilet. If they weren’t so cute, all those eyes would have given her the creeps.

  “Rubber ducky,” Anna sang. “I’ll get you a couple ducks for a housewarming present. They can live in the bathtub.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Mel laughed and took the duffle while Anna went out for the food and toiletries they’d packed at Anna’s house.

  Mel dumped the wet contents of her duffle into the bathtub. After a few hiccups in the plumbing, water streamed out, and she rinsed off the acrid stench as she sorted through it. The hat, the only thing she’d never be able to replace, was safe. Where were her jeans? Damn. She’d tossed them on the backseat in case she wanted to change on the drive. The afghan she brought for Sara was ruined, but the crazy socks with a different bug on each toe, a gift for Sara’s daughter, Carley, and the water pistol for eight-year-old Eric survived.

  “What’s that?” Anna asked.

  If Mel had known she was there, she would have hidden the red kid-sized baseball cap.

  “Don’t tell me that’s the one Jordan Stone gave you a million years ago.”

  “I won’t.”

  Chapter Three

  At five a.m. Jordan rolled out of bed. Middleton snored like a freight train, but Jordan closed the bunkroom door softly to avoid waking Tanner. He definitely didn’t want them to see his bloodshot eyes and sweat soaked T-shirt, courtesy of his recurring nightmare. They’d been in the station since midnight so he didn’t have an excuse, and the guys on the next shift liked to stir up trouble.

  He turned the shower on full. Melanie Quinn. Crazy-Lady was Melanie Quinn. She’d sat in school like an ice-princess, until the day they caught her in his bedroom. After that, if he so much as said “boo”, she’d b
olt.

  He rubbed the bruise on his side, where she’d nailed him when he pulled her out of the car. She sure as hell could kick. She’d stood him up when they were sixteen, sent her older sister Yvonne to their date instead—Yvonne who grabbed his ass when he walked by, and not just his. She’d grabbed so many asses even the guys lost count.

  Melanie was there, but unless he really looked, he tended not to see her. In middle school some people thought she was responsible for a string of burglaries and break-ins. If she didn’t have the nerve to keep a date, or meet his gaze, she’d never have the guts to break into a stranger’s house.

  He stripped off his T-shirt. So, if she wasn’t guilty, where’d all those rumors come from? Not that it mattered who she was back then. Today she was a freakin’ nut case. He twisted the knob to cold and hoped the shock would erase her from his mind.

  Suddenly the lights flashed, bell-tones rang through the station, and the pager clipped to his shorts beeped.

  “Engine 2, Engine 2,” the female dispatcher said. “Aid call. Adult male has fallen on stairs.” She gave the address, one they visited often, and repeated the information.

  “Shit,” Jordan said, and stuck only his head into the shower for a quick blast of cold water. The last thing he wanted to do was carry Mr. Blankenship, all four hundred and eighty pounds of him, down a flight of stairs. If the guy would keep quiet, it wouldn’t be so bad, but he was nearly deaf and yelled curses the whole time. Jordan hoped the earplugs he’d left in the rig were still there.

  He put on his clothes and climbed behind the wheel.

  ****

  Melanie stared at the strange ceiling. It could be white, but it looked gray in the dim morning light. She’d paint it a cheery yellow, and it’d be like sunshine on a cloudy day. She climbed out of bed. The burn on her arm stung, a clear reminder that she was really in Cedar Valley. This wasn’t a dream.

  The accident had given her a frightening glimpse of her own mortality, and she felt an urgent need to get on with her life, to make her place here before she lost this opportunity. She’d waited ten years for Mick to leave. She didn’t want to wait anymore. Besides, if she didn’t do this now, she’d never have the nerve to come back.

  Her clean Broncos shirt skimmed her thighs. She put on her yoga pants, regretting once again her hasty decision to toss all her clothes in the trunk of her car. At least the pants were clean. The ancient box of laundry soap she’d found was hard as brick, but she managed to scrape off enough for a load of clothes. When she left, she would put on the sweatshirt Anna lent her. Strutting through Cedar Valley in a Broncos shirt would likely get her lynched.

  The front door banged open. A mental imagine of Jordan walking in, an apology spilling from his lips, filled her mind. Before she could get her arms into the sweatshirt, her brother Alex walked in holding a Starbuck’s cup.

  “Delivery!”

  “Alex!” She’d never been so happy to see him. “You brought coffee. If you weren’t my brother, I’d marry you.” She jerked the sweatshirt off and wrapped her arms around him. “How’d you know I was here? I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “Anna called, said you needed coffee.”

  He grinned, and she suddenly understood why people said they looked alike. He’d grown into his face, the light brown eyes, slightly square jaw and the mouth that was a bit too big and more masculine than hers. Their hair was the same honey color, although his was natural and barely touched the collar of his black Let’s Rock T-shirt.

  “So, Daddy’s Little Girl finally came home.” Alex grinned.

  She wanted to protest the travesty of a nickname she’d grown up with, but it wouldn’t do any good. It never did.

  Worry lines creased his forehead as he fingered a lock of her hair. “If these burnt patches don’t grow out, I suppose you could get a hair transplant.”

  She would have raced to the bathroom mirror if she hadn’t caught the wicked gleam in his eye. “There’s nothing like a brother to stoke up your ego.”

  “Talk about ego. You must have jacked yours sky high to show up wearing a Broncos shirt.” He whistled. “I wouldn’t have the balls to do that.”

  “Let’s trade shirts anyway.”

  “Dream on.” He put an arm around her, carefully avoiding her bandage, and knuckled the top of her head. “If you’d let your hair grow past your shoulders, I wouldn’t be able to call you mop-top.” He looked at the hardware piled against the wall. “What happened to the lock?”

  “I lost the key so I took off the deadbolt.”

  “Clever.” Alex handed her the takeout cup of coffee. “Word’s spread about you coming home. The Hungry Belly was buzzing this morning.” Apparently the eclectic restaurant and bakery was still the local hotspot.

  “That was fast.”

  “Valley’s been quiet, until your accident.” Alex started opening cupboards. “And your Broncos shirt, but Lyle stood up for you. He said you’re probably dyslexic and colorblind, and you’ve come back to find a real man. He wanted me to tell you he’ll be at the front of the line, once he finishes building the barn he started ’bout six years ago. Though, he said if you still have nice legs, he might be able to get it done sooner.”

  Alex opened drawers. “One rumor has it you’re nuts, something about attacking a firefighter. The stories of your past exploits were still going strong when I left.” He closed the last drawer and gave her a sympathetic look. “Cedar Valley hasn’t changed. The stories are being told like they’re brand new, and you haven’t even made it to Main Street.”

  She leaned against the green laminate counter, cradling the warm coffee cup in her hands. “I didn’t think I’d be such a big deal anymore. Why can’t they just forget about it?”

  “Forget? Last week I heard, again, how Brandon Ellway blew up his mother’s garbage can with an M-80, twenty years ago. People here could give elephants lessons on retaining stupid stuff.” He paused to look at her. “Mel, why did you come back?”

  “Opportunity. The guy who was supposed to have this job quit last month when his wife tested positive for cancer. So here I am.” She didn’t include the office was short-staffed, making her the only logical replacement.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know. I want to make a difference in Cedar Valley. I know I can, especially since Mick’s not here.”

  “What does Dad have to do with it? You’ve always been his favorite.”

  She didn’t want to lie anymore, not to Alex, not to anyone. So she’d give him a piece of the truth and see how he reacted. “I was his favorite as long as I did exactly what he said.” She swallowed hard and forced the rest out. “He wanted an accomplice. I fit.”

  He laughed. “That’s a good one. Dad’s one of the best people I know.”

  “Not always.”

  Alex leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “No one’s perfect. He struggled, maybe he missed a few child support payments, but he always came through. He watched every one of my football games, and I sat right next to him at every school performance you were in. Mom divorced him and kicked him out. What more do you expect?”

  Truth. Honesty. A normal childhood, she thought, but she couldn’t tell him that. Maybe Alex was right, at least about the father he knew. Mick acted like two different people. He’d been there for all of them, even when she didn’t want him to be. Had his secret life, the one only she was a part of, corrupted her so much she couldn’t see anything else?

  “The divorce wasn’t Mom’s fault,” she said. “He got drunk too many times, and he couldn’t hold down a job. Mom said it was like having another teenager.”

  “I’m not blaming Mom or Dad. Things happen. That’s life.”

  She knew she should let it go, but the words spilled out. “He’s far from innocent. I really did break into houses for him.”

  Alex said nothing. The look he gave her said he was on the fence, and he didn’t want to be knocked off the other side. Maybe it was too soon for t
he truth. She needed his support, but now she was suddenly afraid she’d lose him. She felt like she’d just betrayed not Mick, but Alex.

  “You know,” she said quickly, “like when he did a job and someone wouldn’t pay him. Remember the custom shed he built for the Donavans, the one that looked like a dollhouse? When his wife split, Mr. Donavan said he couldn’t pay, but he wouldn’t give the shed back. Mick got so mad. We went to his place the next day. I found seven hundred and eighty-three dollars. That wasn’t the first time, but I never wanted to take things.”

  Except that wasn’t entirely true. At first, when she was only getting money they owed Dad anyway, it’d been fun. A game. Then it got crazy, and she couldn’t trust him. After that, the idea of taking things made her sick. She’d forced herself to slip into someone else’s skin and counted on the adrenaline, the challenge of taking a risk, to get her through it. Thank God, that someone was long gone.

  “They owed him. Where’s the problem?” he asked with a shrug.

  “It’s illegal.”

  “So is skippin’ out on your bills. You’re letting your imagination get away from you.”

  “It’s not my imagination.”

  “Right. That’s what you said about the neighbor’s cow. You told me he was worse than a rabid dog. I was afraid to go near him until I was thirteen, but he never did anything. We crossed his pasture all the time.”

  Not at night, she thought. At night, that cow would chase anything that moved. She had the scar on her hip to prove it, but she couldn’t tell him that. Mick told everyone she’d gotten the wicked gouge when she fell out of a tree.

  “Get a grip,” Alex said, peering at her like he wanted to see into her head. “The accident probably shook your brains loose.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I do, because the stories aren’t true. And you always wanted to go with Dad when he came. Always.” He said it like an undeniable fact, but he was wrong. She never wanted to go. Yvonne did. Every time Mick walked in the door, Yvonne would stick to him so tight he had to peel her off when they left.