by Lydia Rowan
Blake kept her gaze trained on him and she gulped. “It’s okay, Cyrus. Please, tell me what’s going on,” she said, and though Cody could hear how mightily she tried to keep her voice calm, he could hear the strains of panic bleeding through.
“Your mother called an ambulance.”
“What! What’s happened?”
“Mr. Bishop was short of breath. The EMTs checked him out and are giving him a breathing treatment, but he’s not in immediate danger.”
She breathed, but Cody could see she was waiting for the next shoe to drop.
“But?”
“But, the conditions are…troubling. And the EMTs want to take him to the hospital, but he’s refusing to come out, either because he just doesn’t want to or because he can’t.”
Cody focused on Blake, whose face was a rending mix of terror and combustible anger.
“And what do you want me to do about it?” Her voice was monotone, flat, now completely affectless.
“I haven’t been in myself, but if it’s like they say, your parents can’t stay there, and your father needs to be checked out. I thought it might help if you went with me. Maybe you can talk some sense into them.”
“It’s not likely that anyone can do that, certainly not me,” she said in that flat voice, “but I wish you luck.”
“Blake…” Cyrus said.
“What?” she responded, her voice sizzling with anger.
“I’d like you to be there, and I think you’d like to be there, too.”
“Cy…” she said, her voice edged with venom.
But the sheriff didn’t give and after a moment, her fight fled.
“Fine, but it’s not going to do any good.”
The sheriff nodded. “Thank you. They may not know how to say it, but I think they’ll appreciate you being there.”
Cody was as confused as he’d been in as long as he could remember, unclear on the specifics of the situation. But that didn’t matter. He wasn’t leaving her side.
“I’m headed out there now,” Cyrus said.
“I’ll follow you,” Blakely said, her voice now closer to normal, but the tremor in it was unmissable.
“Okay.” The sheriff jogged down the stairs and back to his cruiser.
“I need to go, Cody. See you around,” she said without looking at him.
“I’ll be coming with you,” he said.
Her gaze flew to his and her eyes narrowed sharply.
“No, thank you.”
“That wasn’t a question. Now, let’s hurry; the sheriff is leaving,” he said, pulling himself to his full height and giving her his most implacable expression.
To his surprise, she simply nodded, grabbed the tray, reentered her house and reemerged moments later with her bag in her hand. But he didn’t think her easy acquiescence had anything to do with him. Whatever this was, it had her so shaken, she wasn’t able to put up a fight.
“I don’t have time to get my change of clothes,” she mumbled under her breath as she walked toward her car.
He followed and jumped into her passenger seat, clicking on his seat belt and wondering what exactly he’d soon face.
••••
She should send him away.
She didn’t know what exactly would confront her at her parents’ house, at home, but it wouldn’t be good. Cyrus had said he hoped that she’d be able to bring calm, help her parents do what they needed to, but at no point in her life had her presence changed her parents’ behavior. They did as they pleased, everyone, including her, be damned.
Today would be no different, and she didn’t want Cody to see that, to see her, who she truly was, where she’d truly come from. But despite her desire and the knowledge that this would change everything between them, that the person she had so painstakingly constructed would be revealed for the fraud that she was, she hadn’t been able to make him leave. She needed him. And that terrified her.
He sat next to her, quiet for once, which only gave her more time and space to think about what he’d soon see.
“The sheriff said your father is fine. And we aren’t going to an execution,” he said, turning his lips up in a slight smile.
She glanced away from the road quickly and then looked back.
“We hope,” she said.
She kept her eyes on the road but felt him tense.
“Your parents are violent?” he asked, his voice hard.
“No. They aren’t. And that’s not what I’m worried about.”
She didn’t explain further, couldn’t quite put into words how they, who she believed with all her heart didn’t have active malice toward her, toward anyone for that matter, would react when the world they’d so painstakingly constructed was invaded, when the walls that she had never been able to penetrate met a force far stronger than any affection for her. She’d imagined this a million times, pictured a team swooping in to pluck them from the mess, but now that that reality confronted her, she didn’t know what to feel, what to think. She only knew that Cody would never look at her the same way again.
“So what’s the issue?” he asked, still tense, his voice penetrating her thoughts. She could tell he was feeling her out, trying to feel out the situation. And she was surprised. She’d so long lived with the idea of the Bishops and their trash being common knowledge that it had never even occurred to her that he might not know the basics, let alone the severity of the situation she was allowing him to enter.
“You haven’t heard anything about it?” she asked.
“About what?”
“About me…the Bishops.”
“No,” he said. “Is there something I should have heard?”
She shrugged. “Honestly, I thought a lot of people would have mentioned it to you by now, and I’m surprised, shocked actually, that no one has. I’m so used to everyone in this town knowing everything about everyone else that I sometimes forget people have more important things to do or aren’t interested in decades-old drama.”
He didn’t respond and looked out of the window. After a moment he said, “So, are you going to explain?”
She sighed and risked looking at him again. He turned his piercing blue eyes on her, his expression revealing he wouldn’t settle for anything less than a truthful answer to his question. Blakely didn’t know what to say. She never talked openly to anyone about them, about this. It had always been oblique references, slight asides, shared but unspoken knowledge born of familiarity. In fact, it occurred to her just then that Cody was one of the only people she’d ever met in Thornehill who wasn’t of Thornehill. Even Verna had heard of the Bishops before she’d known Blake specifically. At a loss for how to even begin to explain, or explain in a way that might make sense to someone else, she did something she’d never done and told him the simple truth.
“My folks, they’re nice people. And I love them, very much. But they have…issues. They like to call themselves artists, collectors; my daddy says he’s a handyman, and maybe if they are feeling particularly honest, which is a rare day, at least when it comes to this subject, they might call themselves pack rats. Normal people call them hoarders.”
“Okay,” he said, though she could tell he didn’t quite understand what she meant, which didn’t surprise her in the least. Most people knew what hoarders were, would laugh at the freak show if they ever had occasion, but Blakely didn’t think that anyone who’d never lived with one, or God forbid, two, could truly understand. Cody revealed as much with his next statement.
“I mean I know what that is, but I don’t understand why the sheriff’s involved,” he said, and then after glancing at her, “and why it’s such a burden to you.”
“What makes you think it’s a burden to me?” she said a bit more sharply than she’d intended.
“Come on, Blake. I’m not as dumb as you hope I am, but anybody can see how much this bothers you. You looked like you saw a ghost when Cyrus came up on the porch, and you can barely bring yourself to even talk about it. It has to wei
gh on you.”
She didn’t think he was dumb, hadn’t ever really, but this moment showed that he clearly saw her, and that awareness rattled her to a degree she hadn’t really understood. She didn’t like it. She liked her distance, her boundaries, the things that Cody seemed intent on pushing. And even these things, the deep, dark recesses of her past, the things she thought she’d long ago gotten over and things that she never wanted to think of again, were not safe from him.
“It’s not that simple. And it’s not really just the stuff. Well, not entirely. I don’t know if I can really explain so that you can understand, but I knew from a very early age, very early, that something wasn’t right. Everyone in town knew it too, even before I was born, but most of them ostracized me just the same. I didn’t quite piece together the issue until I got older, until I realized that other people didn’t have thirty broken-down cars in their driveway, that other parents washed the dishes, actually took out the garbage instead of bringing it in.”
The tears came hot and unexpected, but Cody, God bless him, didn’t try to comfort her. He just sat, strong and silent.
“You’ve noticed that I never quite get to sleep at your house, right?” she asked, looking over at him before turning back to the road.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice low.
“I can’t sleep without a fan blowing on me. Haven’t been able to since I was little. If I don’t have one blowing on me, I just can’t relax enough to close my eyes.”
She went quiet, thinking back to when she made the discovery, how happy she’d been when she’d finally found that simple but effective solution.
“Did you know that if you sleep with a fan blowing on you, roaches won’t crawl on you, at least not for long? Something about circulating air drives them crazy. Now the rats,” she said, feeling a completely unexpected energy and sense of release to so openly speak of something she didn’t even like to think about, “they have no fear. But the roaches, they stay away from the fan,” she said. Her vision clouded, and she wiped away the tears and gripped the steering wheel tighter, focused on her destination.
“I don’t want you to come with me. I need you to stay in the car.”
The excitement had faded and as she parked, it was entirely gone, dread replacing it as quickly as it had fled.
“Not a chance. I’m coming with you, Blake.”
“Fine,” she said. “But make sure you check your pockets before you get back in the car.”
Chapter Eleven
He had known, from the expression on Blakely’s face, from the way she seemed to fold into herself like she was worried she might fly apart, from the frank yet ominous conversation during the ride over, to expect something bad. But just how bad was staggering, even as he stared at the reality of it, tried to wrap his mind around what he saw. She’d parked on the side of the road and then scurried down the long dirt drive, one that had seemed normal enough, at least at first glance. She walked at a fast clip, her speed surprising given her stature, and with each step, he could see the tension in her ratcheting up.
He wasn’t naturally given to nerves, barely, if ever, got worked up about anything, and any that he might have had had been beaten out of him in the Navy. But today was causing a surge of shock and nerves that he hadn’t thought he had in him. Blake was wound tight. There was no denying that, but this wasn’t some sympathy emotion he was feeling. She’d been right—he hadn’t truly understood what she’d meant. He couldn’t understand what would make people live like this, make their daughter live like this. Even if he’d been able to ignore the cars and appliances and the decommissioned school bus as they got ever closer to the house, the stench was beyond description. And when they finally reached the house, the sight took his breath away.
TV shows and articles and little clips on the news couldn’t fully describe the horror of it all. The house was worn, in a state of disrepair, paint peeling, rotting beams barely holding up the sagging steps and porch, but those were just ordinary signs of neglect. The real tragedy lay in the way the house seemed to sag with the weight of stuff. He hadn’t set foot inside, for a moment wondered if he had the courage to, but even from the outside, he could see crap was literally everywhere. There was no rhyme or reason to it; it was as if there’d been a tornado of junk that had landed in this one spot. There was trash strewn about, clothes, children’s toys off to one side, what had to have been ten thousand empty cans, yogurt cups, which looked to have been meticulously cleaned and then discarded on the front porch. He rested his gaze on the front porch and shook his head. It seemed to almost crumple with its burden, newspapers, Styrofoam, furniture, everything haphazardly strewn about it.
The chaos of the yard seemed to be embodied in its human occupants. Two EMTs and a firefighter were in the yard and the sheriff stood near the house talking calmly to Blakely’s mother. Her pleasant demeanor from the day of the swap meet was nowhere in sight. She looked disheveled, frantic, the stress apparent on her face and in her stance.
“You heard my husband, Cyrus Thornehill. He is fine. We are fine!” she said emphatically.
“Ms. Bishop, we really should take him to the hospital.” Cyrus gentled his voice. “And we have to talk about the state of the property.”
“The state of my property is none of your business! And neither is my husband!”
“Mama,” Blakely said, stepping between her mother and the sheriff. “Just hear him out.”
Her mother’s expression softened, but she shook her head, turned, and rushed into the house, moving fast for a woman Cody pegged to be in her sixties.
“Don’t go!” Blakely said when Cyrus went to step toward the porch. “Just give me a minute.”
She stared at the house, the angst on her face ripping at him. The situation was so fucked up and, he could tell, not new. He wondered how many years she’d suffered this, been pulled between her parents, protecting them and their destructive way of life.
“I forgot my duct tape,” she said distractedly. “Oh well. I’ll be back, Cyrus,” she said.
Cody was half a step behind her.
“Wait here—”
She stopped short when she turned back to him, for which he was grateful. She may not have wanted him here and truth be told, he didn’t know if he could help, but he wouldn’t let her do this alone.
The rickety porch held his weight, so he pushed ahead and the floor—or rather the collected items that made up the floor—beneath his feet was soft, and he worried he might step right through. He stayed close to Blake as she navigated the unfathomable mess, her shoulders set tight.
He had no clue what was under his feet and didn’t dare examine it too closely, keeping his mind focused on blocking out the horrific smell, which was almost impossible. He couldn’t put words to what the smell was, the mix of decay, mold, trash and waste creating a stifling blanket of scent that seemed to make the air heavy with the weight of it. He thought he might gag, but he managed to choke it back. Then, though he hated to do so, he opened his mouth slightly, praying that shallow mouth breaths might help at least a little. He looked at Blake, who seemed unaffected by the smell, and his heart twisted again.
As they moved through what he assumed was the family room and then down a hallway, objects he could tell hadn’t been disturbed for years began to shift and his worry spiked. One wrong move and he would be trapped in this. It was a horrifying thought, one that sent a surge of panic through him before he could stop it. But after that initial burst, he took a deep breath—a necessary action, though a fully unpleasant one—and forced his mind to go clear. He’d been in far worse situations than this, and he wouldn’t be able to help Blakely if he didn’t stay in control. His sole mission was to get her out of here as soon as he could so he pushed aside everything, the smell, the claustrophobia, the anger that simmered in his gut, and focused on that alone.
When they reached the end of the hall, Blakely swung herself into the room, and he followed suit, landing halfway in, halfway out.
His gaze settled on the older man sitting in…something.
“Daddy, you need to go to the hospital,” she said quietly.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ree. I’m fine; I just have a little cough.” He set his jaw in a firm line that reminded Cody of Blake so much that he would have laughed were it not for the gravity of the situation. “And how I choose to live is no one’s concern but my own,” her father said, voice full of conviction.
“Daddy…” she said, pleading.
“He’s right,” her mother interjected. “This is our home. We haven’t done anything to anybody and they should just leave us be!”
To Cody’s eye, the entire place needed to be torched and then razed, and Blakely knew it too, he could tell. That her parents couldn’t see it, or wouldn’t, was mind-blowing.
Blakely’s mother stood next to her father, her arm on his shoulder, and they both stared at Blakely—and him—as if they were the enemy. Nature took over and Cody was determined to resolve this situation as quickly as possible. Five seconds in this awful room had confirmed that there was nothing Blakely could do to reach them, that there was a possibility that nothing would reach them, so the best outcome he could hope for right now was a quick resolution to the current crisis. Blakely should never have been in this situation and he wouldn’t let her stay in it for a second longer than necessary. He bit back the anger that amped from low boil to raging inferno and set about the task at hand.
As if he heard the direction of Cody’s thoughts, her father turned his sharp gaze toward Cody, looking at him suspiciously.
“And who are you? You’re one of them?” he asked.
“I’m a friend of Blake’s,” Cody said.
“And why are you here?”
“I’m here for her, and I hope you’ll let me help you.”
The older man’s suspicion didn’t wane, so he glanced at Blakely and then her mother, holding the woman’s gaze. Cody took note of the silent communication that passed between them, and of the fact that his presence was more concerning than the mountains of garbage that filled the room or the vermin that skittered around as casual as they pleased. Or that their daughter’s face was a twisted mask of pain and torment so undeniable that he wanted to sweep her into his arms and out of this place and never let her come back.