by Jeff Shelby
“I know. I’m just asking. If you went to jail, would we be allowed to visit?”
I threw my hands up in the air. “I don’t know. Yes. I’m sure we could arrange visitations. Probably Sunday mornings. I think that’s when they let kids come visit the criminal moms.”
He thought about that for a second. “Cool,” he said, nodding. “I’ve always wanted to see what jail looks like.”
And to think I thought he was worried about my well-being.
ELEVEN
I called the girls down for cookies and, after they decimated half the supply, sent them back on their way to play. I finished cleaning up the kitchen all while managing to avoid being accused of any more crimes during the afternoon.
Victory.
I stowed the washed cookie trays and cooling racks and settled on to the oversized couch in the living room. I closed my eyes for a minute before I reached for my laptop. For the next half hour, I searched for anything related to Olaf and Olga. I came up with a big fat nothing. They’d apparently done nothing that would cause Google to sit up and take notice because, other than their addresses and Olaf’s old profile on Around the Corner, there was no other information available about them. I didn’t know what I was hoping to find, but I’d thought I’d learn a little more about them besides the fact that they both resided in Moose River. I sighed and copied Olga’s address, pasting it into a document just so I’d have it.
I closed my computer and tried to put it all out of my mind for awhile. I didn’t want to admit that I was still rattled by her accusations. I called all three kids down, as much for a diversion as because it was time for them to do something other than play. The girls picked up their guitars and practiced for a while—they were determined to learn how to play so they could form some sort of sisterly super group—and Will, after some grumbling, pulled out a math textbook and worked through some problems.
Emily trudged into the house twenty minutes later, just after the other three had gone back upstairs She dropped her massive backpack full of books on the table and pointed her thumb back over her shoulder. “They’re still here.”
I was at the dining room table, waiting for the printer parked nearby to spit out some sheet music I’d found online for the girls. “Yes, they are.”
“When are they leaving?” she demanded.
“I have no idea. When they’re done, I guess.”
She sighed like the world was positively, absolutely about to end. “Everyone knows. Everyone. I hate this.”
“Who is everyone?”
She gave me the perfectly executed teenage look of disdain. “Uh, my friends? Everyone at my school? Those people.”
“And why exactly does that matter?” I asked.
She made a face and unzipped her bag. “Because I’m tired of everyone looking at me like I’m a freak.”
“Maybe your hair was a mess.”
She rolled her eyes but her hand immediately went to her head. She ran her fingers to the end of her long, smooth locks. “And I’m tired of everyone asking me what happened or what’s going on. I’m like, I don’t know people. I can’t help you. Mind you your own dumb business.”
“Well, that’s all you can say,” I said.
“I’d like to be able to say they’re gone and we’re moving to a normal house that doesn’t have dead bodies in it,” she said.
“Well, the body is gone…”
“Mom. You know what I mean.”
If anyone had been against buying the old house, it had really been Emily. And I understood. She was a teenager. Appearances mattered. Space mattered. Her room was small. Privacy was at a minimum. The house didn’t look quaint or historic to her. It looked old and freaky. Her friends lived in the newer neighborhoods in newer houses with big yards and wide streets. Like our old house. And I knew that it embarrassed her a little. Not enough to make me love the house any less, but I tried to be sympathetic.
She also hated the ghost, but not everyone was as pro-ghost as I was.
“They’ll be gone as soon as they can,” I said. I gathered the sheets of paper and tapped the stack, aligning them as best I could. “That’s all I can tell you. I’d think no more than another day.”
She pulled a binder from her bag and dropped it on the table. “And then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“Then what happens?” she asked. “How do they find out who put that guy…down there?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. They’ll do whatever it is that they do. Probably examine the body and look for…”
“Ew, gross,” she said, wrinkling her nose, then holding up her hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“Glad I could help,” I said.
She reached into her bag again, pulling out her phone this time. “There’s a basketball game on Friday night. Can I go?”
“In town or away?”
Her thumbs danced across the screen. “Here.”
“I don’t see why not,” I said. “Who are you going to go with?”
“Just, um, you know. Some people.”
“Em,” I said, my voice sharp. “Who?”
Her cheeks flushed pink. “Well, I don’t exactly know yet,” she said. “Bailey and Noelle, for sure. And maybe Nathan.”
“Nathan?”
Her cheeks were now the color of tomatoes. “Nathan Sizemore. He’s the one who told me about the game.”
I processed that for a moment. I knew Nathan. He was a nice kid. Tall, skinny, not as awkward as the other fourteen year old boys we knew.
“Sooo. Are you asking to go with Nathan?” I asked. “Like on a date?”
“No,” she said loudly, giving me another eye roll. “He’ll just, like, be there.”
“And do you like him?”
“Mom!”
“Well, do you?”
“Mom, God. Stop.”
“I’m just asking,” I said. I smiled at her. “It’s okay to like a boy, you know. I’d expect you to like boys by now. Or girls. You know I don’t care…”
“Oh my God, Mom!” she said, squeezing her eyes shut. “Seriously. Don’t be gross.”
“There’s nothing gross about liking boys. Or girls. It’s perfectly natural.”
She scooped up her bag and binder. “I’m going to my room now.”
“Okay. We can talk about who you like later.”
She groaned, then made a screaming sound through her teeth. Her room was just off the dining room and she slammed the door behind her.
I smiled.
Messing with your kids was one of the biggest benefits of being a mom.
TWELVE
Jake was home just after dark and we all sat down at the table for meatloaf and tater tots. Except for Will, who, again for ethical reasons and stubbornness, refused to eat meat. Instead, he piled his plate high with a mountain of tater tots and gave a running critique as to how they were the third best tater tots he’d ever had. Afterward, the kids cleared the table and then scattered in different directions; Emily to do homework, Will to sneak in another game of Minecraft and the girls to plan the third Barbie wedding of the week.
I retreated to the kitchen to tackle the sink full of dinner dishes. I was standing at the sink, scrubbing the loaf pan that had contained the meatloaf, when Jake came up behind me and snaked his arms around my waist.
“Hi, wife,” he whispered in my ear.
“Hi, husband.”
He kissed my neck and I shivered. “I missed you today.”
“I miss you every day,” I told him.
“It’s not a competition. And that’s what I meant.”
I chuckled and ran the dishes under warm water. “Right.”
He nodded his head at the faucet. “Any issues with that today?”
“Nope. Your mad skills with the hair dryer worked.”
He chuckled and pulled me tighter. “Will just finished grilling me about visiting hours at jails,” he said.
I stiffened.
“Anything you want to share with me?”
I’d avoided telling him about my confrontation with Olga because I didn’t want to get into it at dinner with all four of the kids around. I wasn’t keeping it from him, but I didn’t want four other opinions about what happened either and the kids would’ve felt obligated to offer their best advice.
I shut the water off. “I was going to tell you.”
“Before or after you were arrested?”
“Stop.”
“Just saying. Didn’t know what your plan was.”
I dried off my hands and turned to face him. “I was going to tell you as soon as we were alone.”
“So when Grace moves out?” He pretended to do math in his head. “Ten years from now?”
I tapped him lightly in the chest. “I was going to tell you when little ears weren’t listening.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “It seems clear now.”
So I told him about Olga and our confrontation and her accusations.
He blinked several times. “You pushed another woman?”
“She pushed me first.”
“What grade are you in again? I forget.”
“Jake, she pushed me first,” I said. “And she was standing on the sidewalk, saying terrible things about me. I wasn’t going to just let her do that.”
“Did you do those terrible things?”
“Of course not.”
He smiled. “So then they were irrelevant and you probably didn’t need to start a brawl on the street.”
“It wasn’t a brawl.”
“Streetfight. Sorry.”
“We didn’t even push each other that hard.”
“But to be clear. You did end up wrestling in the snow?”
I thought for a second. “I think we more just fell down in it.”
“And had to be separated by officers of the law, correct?”
I put my arms around his neck. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Don’t try to use your feminine wiles on me,” he said, pulling back. “I’m trying to find out exactly what went on here and…”
I kissed him hard on the mouth and he made a sound like a moan before kissing me back. We came up for air and he blinked again several times.
“I forget what we were talking about,” he said.
I grinned. “Feminine wiles win again.”
“Like always.”
A small stampede crashed down the stairs and we both turned toward the living room. Will leapt from the bottom step and then careened into the couch. The two younger girls followed and pinned him to the sofa.
“Help!” he screamed. “Mom! Help!”
“Why?” I asked.
“He took our Barbie wedding cake!” Sophie yelled. “It’s in his pockets!”
“I’m gonna pull your pants off!” Grace yelled, yanking furiously on his sweatpants.
“Be quiet!” Emily’s voice was muffled from behind her closed bedroom door. She was the only one with a main floor bedroom. “I’m trying to study!”
The other three ignored her, hooting and hollering. Will tried to keep a straight face but burst into laughter as both girls held him down. They started laughing, too and soon they all fell to the ground, a squirming, giggling mess.
I untangled myself from Jake’s arms and reached for the stack of mail on the kitchen counter. “Forgot to tell you. We got something from the window people today.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “I’ll bet it’s not a refund.”
I plucked the envelope from the stack and held it out. “I don’t know because I didn’t look.”
He took it from me and tore it open. His eyes scanned it for a moment and his expression soured.
“What?” I asked.
“The estimate to replace the upstairs windows went up by a couple hundred bucks,” he said, shaking his head. “Because we have lead-based paint and I don’t know what else.”
“We don’t have to get them,” I said. “We can wait.”
He tossed the letter on the table. “No, we can’t. It’s too cold up there. We need them replaced.” He sighed. “I just need to rob a bank or something.”
“No more crimes!” Will yelled from the floor of the living room.
“Yeah, Will says we are going to be going to visit someone in jail soon,” Sophie says Her glasses were perched precariously on the bridge of her nose. “Are we going to get to go to jail?”
Will’s face colored.
“I want to wear handcuffs!” Grace yelled, sitting on top of Will’s chest.
“No one’s going to jail,” Jake said, shaking his head again. “And I was kidding about robbing a bank. Sort of. But this house has turned into a complete money pit.”
“Stop being so cranky,” I said, hugging him from behind. “And we can wait on the windows.”
“No, we need it done,” he said over his shoulder to me. “But this house is a money pit. The more we put in, the more it needs.”
“Should we move?” I asked.
He turned around, a half-smile on his face. “What would you do if I said yes?”
“Use my feminine wiles again.”
“So, see, there’s no point.”
I squeezed him.
“This house isn’t a money pit,” Will announced, tossing Grace onto Sophie and scrambling to his feet. His hair hung in front of his eyes and I reminded myself again how badly he needed a hair cut.
“What is it then? Jake asked.
He grinned. “With the dead guy in the coal chute? It’s a murder pit.”
THIRTEEN
“How many books can we get, Momma?” Grace asked, unbuckling her seatbelt.
“Five,” I said. “Five each.”
It was the next morning and it was library day. Not some recognized national day, but our family’s library day. We tried to go at least once a week and every one of the kids looked forward to the trip. When Emily started school, it was one of the things she actually voiced that she missed about being homeschooled. I’d felt nothing but satisfaction at her admission. Reading was a source of pride with me, always had been. I’d forced books on my kids from the day they were born and, as it turned out, it had been completely unnecessary because all of them liked to read. Or maybe they liked to read because I’d read aloud nearly every children’s book in print. Sophie was a voracious reader, too, and she’d happily announced that being able to go to the library during the day was just about her most favorite thing ever about homeschooling.
We hustled into the single-story, brick building, our empty cloth bags billowing like kites, the cold air rushing into them and lifting them skyward. The heat enveloped us as soon as we stepped inside and the kids peeled off their jackets, hanging them on the hooks mounted in the makeshift coat closet. I carried the full bag of books to the return window and Sophie and Grace scampered off to the children’s section. Will rounded a different corner, headed toward the non-fiction titles and, after the books were safely on the return belt, I wandered over to the adult side of the library to find something for myself.
There were other patrons there that morning but most were sitting at the bank of desks, parked in front of computer monitors. I headed toward the display of new fiction titles and perused them, picking up one or two to scan the back covers and read the blurbs. A woman joined me, her back to me as she scanned the shelves nearby. I picked up another book and she turned to look at me, a quick glance before turning back around to face the shelves.
I pretended not to notice her, but I knew she kept looking at me every few seconds. The couple of times I tried to meet her gaze, she looked away, her gaze locking in on the books on the shelf. I walked around the new release display and down the next aisle. She followed. I stopped and pretended to be very interested in a water gardening book I found on the shelf. Right before I could ask her what she was doing, she came several steps closer to me, smiling.
“You’re Daisy, right?” she said, her bright red lips spreading to r
eveal even brighter white teeth. “Daisy Savage?”
“I am,” I said. “Who are you?”
“I thought so,” she said, the smile growing. “I didn’t mean to stalk you. I just wasn’t sure if it was you or not.”
“And you are?” I asked again.
She held out her hand. “Helen Stunderson.”
I hesitated, then shook her hand. “Olaf’s wife.”
“Ex-wife,” she corrected, still smiling. “Very much the ex-wife.”
“Right.”
The smile dissipated. “The police contacted me. About finding Olaf in your home.”
“Technically, he wasn’t in our home,” I said. “He was in the coal chute.”
“Yes, that’s what they told me,” she said, nodding. “That is just…bizarre. I was so sorry to hear about it.”
“I’m sure,” I said. And then, because I didn’t know what else to say, I added, “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, we weren’t still in love or anything,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “It was over a long time ago. I know Olaf didn’t want it to be, but it was. Sad, really. I tried to be gentle, but it’s difficult when one person wants out and the other doesn’t.” She touched my elbow. “I’m sure you understand.”
“Well, I—”
“I mean, it’s so hard,” she said, talking right over me and giving my elbow a gentle squeeze. “You don’t want to break someone’s heart. You don’t want to tell them no. But, my goodness. I deserve to have some happiness, too, and being with Olaf…well, that just wasn’t going to do it for me. And I was, of course, afraid I’d make him miserable.” She forced something resembling an empathetic smile onto her face. “I just tried to let him down easy. That was all I could do. But again. You’ve been there, right? You know what it’s like.”
“Well, it was a little different for me because—”
“I mean, what do you do?” she asked, squinting at me and again ignoring my attempt to answer her question. “It hurts to do that. You feel like the bad guy. And I’m certainly not the bad guy. But I didn’t want to stay in a relationship that wasn’t good for either of us. But it was so hard to have him keep coming back and coming back and asking if we could give it one more shot. My heart wanted to say yes just because I hated seeing him so sad, but my head told me it was just best to cut the cord.” She made a snipping gesture with her fingers. “Quick and neat.”