In the House On Lakeside Drive

by Corie L. Calcutt

  “You could have stayed home.” Sam jabbed his cane through another thigh-high drift, trying to get it out of the thin layer of ice that had formulated during a warm day in-between storms. “No one said you had to come.”

  “Yeah, but how would you have gotten home?”

  “I know where the corner store is. It’s just around the bend on the other side of the beach.” Smoky breath wafted out of Sam’s mouth, and he pulled a little at the scarf that was steaming up his nostrils with each spoken word. “I need some milk for the potatoes.”

  “I could’ve gone and got it.” Josh trudged on, following in the footprints Sam left.

  “Josh, last time anyone sent you to the store you forgot half the shopping list. Remember eating dry toast and pudding made out of water?”

  “It’s not my fault I forget things.” The round face began to pout, and Josh’s bright brown eyes began to water. “Damn wind!” he said, wiping at his eyes with his gloves. “We should have waited for Miss Rachel and Evan to come back.”

  “Think about that a minute. If we’re snowed in around here, don’t you think that they are snowed in over in Campbell, where they went for the weekend?” Sam willed his patience to hold on as he fought the sharp bite of cold air blasting against his lanky frame. He knew on a good day that it took about fifteen minutes to walk to the little store near the beach that many around the lake’s west side used for simple items. In fact, the owner of the place actually called it The Little Store, as a joke. Sam usually chuckled every time he said the name. “Besides, we’re almost there.”

  “Uh, no,” Josh said as he put on a burst of speed to catch up to his housemate. “We haven’t reached the bend in the road yet.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Sam cried. He stuck his cane in a foot of snow and leaned a little on it. “No. Now I’m determined. I am not going two days without milk.”

  “Sam, we’ve…we’ve got soup, and…and a couple of those things to make nachos.”

  “I bought a pot roast before Miss Rachel and Evan left. I want mashed potatoes. I need milk to make them.”

  “Well, just make the kind in the box then!”

  “I still need milk to make them, Josh. I can’t just add more water.”

  “Why not? I always do.”

  Sam turned toward his young companion’s voice. “Really?”

  “Well, yeah.” A small hand laid on Sam’s shoulder, and a pair of lungs gasped for breath in the wind. “I mean, it’s all liquid, right?”

  Sam sighed as he continued onward. “That explains why the potatoes are a puddle on my plate when it’s your night to cook.”

  “Macaroni and cheese, now that’s better,” Josh said, oblivious. “Easy.”

  “And it doesn’t go with pot roast.”

  The sound of quick footsteps against icy snow crunched behind the pair, and a yelp escaped Josh’s lips as Sam’s right arm jerked backwards. Remy asked, “What in the hell are you two doing?”

  “Getting milk. We haven’t got any.” Sam shrugged off the hand that held him and put his foot in front of him, moving forward.

  “Are you nuts? It’s freezing, Sam. Come back to the house.”

  “Remy, I am not going two days without milk. Not when there’s a store within walking distance. I’ll be fine. Take Josh back, though.”

  “And when you fall into the lake, or down the ravine about fifty feet in front of you, who’s coming to find you?” Remy gently pushed Sam to the left, where the blind man noticed a shift in the ground slope under his feet. “The road is about thirty feet up the hill.”

  Sam swore under his breath. “Oh, fine.”

  “Well, seeing as we’re all out, and about halfway there, we might as well get the milk, right?” Remy said, taking hold of his friend’s nondominant arm. “Besides, we’re out of chocolate and ice cream too.”

  “We’re out of ice cream?” Josh parroted. He followed his housemates up the hill, overtaking them as they cut a path toward the deserted road above.

  “Because you ate it all,” Remy teased. “That was supposed to last the weekend.”

  “I did not eat it all, Remy Lavelle,” Josh retorted. “I saw how big your bowl was.”

  Sam started to laugh as he followed Remy’s gentle guiding and Josh’s booming voice. “What’s so funny?” the youngest of them wondered as he started down the road.

  “Us.”

  “Us?”

  “Yeah. We’re walking through a windstorm in the middle of January, through snow up to our eyeballs, to get ice cream and milk.”

  “Well, I can’t drive,” Josh pointed out. “Neither can you two.”

  “I would hope I don’t,” Sam said, chuckling louder at his own joke. “Can you imagine me driving the van?”

  Josh thought about that a minute. “Oh, God. Please don’t try that.”

  “Yeah, don’t,” Remy said. The mirth had vanished from his tone, and he grew unnervingly silent.

  “Sorry about that,” Sam said quietly, barely over the howl of the wind.

  “I know. Part of the reason I don’t drive.” Remy trudged along next to his friends, making sure Sam stayed on the road and Josh didn’t get too far ahead. The light of The Little Store shone in the distance, and as they reached the door the three of them hurried inside, glad for the warmth.

  “Was just about to close up, boys,” came the deep voice of the owner, a man called Papa Jack. No one was really sure if it was his real name or not, and he never answered to anything else. He was a giant of a man, his dark eyes and complexion offset by the mound of silver hair that sat atop his head in tiny ringlets.

  “Don’t blame you,” Remy said. “It’s cold out there.”

  “And treacherous,” Papa Jack replied. “Daughter called, told me to close up and she was comin’ to get me. Drives one of those SUVs that doubles as a Sherman tank.”

  “Well, that might work, especially with the ice out there,” Sam said. “I’m glad we’re walking.”

  “Not safe, though. Especially with it getting so late. What brings you boys out here, seeing as you could have gotten a ride?”

  “We ran out of milk,” Josh piped up from the back coolers. He held a gallon of milk in one hand and had two cartons of ice cream tucked under his arm.

  “Milk, huh?”

  “Yeah, milk. And Evan and Miss Rachel are out of town.”

  Papa Jack looked at the darkening sky, the wind howling around his door. “You three want a ride back? Daughter wouldn’t mind.”

  “That’s okay,” Remy said, just as Josh blurted out a “Yes.” The elder of the three glared pointedly at the youngest, his blue eyes sparkling when it looked like Josh would protest. “It’s out of your way, and hers.”

  “Not a problem, boys. Miss Rachel, she’d box my ears if I let one of her kids go missing or get hurt. Especially all of them under her roof at once!” A deep laugh rolled from the stocky man, and his eyes crinkled warmly.

  “No, it’s okay,” Sam said. “It’s not that far. Plus the wind would be at our back, so it won’t be as cold.”

  “Fine, fine,” Papa Jack said over the dinging of the little bell signaling another customer entering the premises. Two black men came in, one thin as a reed and the other looking like he could shoulder a small planet with no problem. They both made a beeline for the small liquor room in the back. “Closin’ in five minutes, guys,” the owner called after them. “Make it quick, yeah?”

  The customers mumbled their assent. The three housemates made their purchases, Sam pulling neatly folded bills out of his wallet. “Always wondered how you kept it straight, son,” Papa Jack said. “I mean, bills all feel the same.”

  “I have an app on my phone that helps. I can scan the bill and it tells me what kind it is. Then I fold each one a different way, depending on how much the bill is worth. Keeps everything straight.” Sam showed him a couple of them, pointing out how the ones were folded in half and the fives nearly rolled. A flat bill in the neat wallet turned out
to be a twenty.

  “I’ll be damned. Talk ’bout organization.” A handful of coins were deposited in Sam’s hand, and he dropped them in his pocket along with his wallet. The man then handed a slip of paper to Remy. “Daughter’s cell number, and my home phone. Call the minute you get in the house, okay? Like I said, Miss Rachel, she’s protective of her kids. Evan is too.”

  “Thanks. I will.” A set of headlights flashed in the small parking lot, and Papa Jack waved to his waiting daughter. “You take care getting home, okay?”

  “Daughter drives like a race car driver met a traffic cop,” the proprietor joked. “It’s not me I’m worried about.” The men emerged from the liquor room, and he rang them up as the boys left the warm store for the chilly walk back to the house on the lake.

  Chapter 21

  “Yes, we just made it,” Remy said, making good on his promise to call the old store owner as soon as the three renters reached the house. “We’re fine. Little cold, but fine.”

  “Good to hear, son,” the man replied. “Thanks.”

  “You too.” The sounds of snow crunching and doors opening raced through Remy’s ears as flyaway strands of his signature ponytail began to blow into his face. The wind had picked up near the lake, and the cold had escalated in the half hour it took to make it home in one piece. As he closed the door, an instant blast of heat radiated from the heating vent that stood in the front hall near the stairs.

  “Boy, I’m glad to be home!” Josh said, putting the milk in the refrigerator and the ice cream in the freezer. He snuck out the chocolate bar he’d purchased and put it on the bar table, hoping no one would notice.

  “Me too,” Sam said as he walked into the kitchen. He made a beeline for the cupboard and pulled a box out of the pantry, feeling the little Braille label that had been put on it once it hit the shelf. “Mashed potatoes,” he said, putting away a box of brownies and pancake mix. “Put this out for tomorrow, throw the pot roast into the fridge to thaw.”

  “Can’t you just put it in the oven?”

  “No, Josh. It’s going into the slow cooker.”

  “Well, that too. Just let it cook overnight like that?”

  Sam’s palm planted itself square in the middle of his forehead. “The meat’s frozen, Josh.”

  “It’ll thaw when it cooks?” Josh’s eyes widened, his tone questioning.

  “It’s a solid block of meat-filled ice,” Remy said as he came in, reaching for the frying pans underneath the stove. “And slow cookers cook things from the outside in. What do you think will happen to that roast if you cook it like that all night?” A long dirty blond ponytail shook in disbelief. “Use some of those problem-solving skills Miss Rachel and Mr. Everson try to teach you in class for once.”

  Josh pouted. “I dunno. It’ll burn?”

  “Tough on the outside, more than likely raw on the inside. A waste of meat and ten bucks.” Sam put the hotly debated object in the refrigerator. “And I’m not about to find out.”

  The sound of eggs cracking into a frying pan filled the air, and soon Remy was reaching for the shredded cheese. Since the events of Christmas Eve morning, he had been experimenting with eggs and found to his surprise that he liked omelets with cheese and leftover bacon in them. “Anyone want omelets?” he called out, fully prepared to eat the whole pan of eggs himself if need be.

  “Sounds good,” Sam said, feeling in the crisper drawer for the baby carrots. “I’ll have some.”

  “Me too,” Josh piped up. He opened the cupboard and got out the paper plates. Remy watched as he set three of them on the bar table, complete with forks and knives. “Cheater,” he said, motioning toward the paper dishware.

  “Well, I don’t wanna do dishes. Sam, you wanna do dishes?”

  “Not really.”

  “See?” Josh stuck out his tongue at Remy, causing the elder tenant to laugh.

  “Don’t let Miss Rachel find out. You know the rules.”

  “I know, I know. Picnic food gets paper plates. But still. We use ’em when I have dinner at Walter’s.”

  Now Remy fell into a full-blown laughing fit. “Josh, Walter’s parents don’t own real dishes.”

  “Yeah, they do. I seen ’em.”

  “Where? In a photo album?”

  “No. In the china cupboard. Needs a key.”

  “They lock the china cupboard?” Sam asked, puzzled.

  “Longorias are a…well, they’re a strange family,” Remy started to explain.

  “They’re not strange! They’re nice!” Josh’s round face turned red with indignation.

  “Hey, I’m not arguing with you there,” Remy soothed. “But it’s also not uncommon for one of ’em to lose it one day and start throwing random things around the house. I had to go in with Evan one time to get a socket wrench he left there, and it was busy being used to put holes in the back screen door.”

  Sam’s face scrunched further in confusion. “Why?”

  “Because the lock was busted, and Mr. Longoria wanted to get it open. We ended up there about a good two hours getting the lock off for them. They paid Evan with a case of beer. That he ended up giving away because no one here drinks.”

  “I see what you mean,” Sam replied.

  “Like I said, they’re nice people,” Remy reiterated. “Just…strange.”

  The omelets were finished, and Remy slid giant egg pancakes onto the paper plates before him. “Well, my cooking day is done.” He smiled.

  Sam smiled, and Josh busied himself with putting forkfuls of egg, cheese, and bacon into his mouth. “This is good!” he said between bites.

  “Mmm hmm,” Sam said in reply.

  The three were still eating when a sharp crack filled the room, and a sudden burst of cold air shot through the windows. “What the hell?” Remy said, looking around to see what had caused the sound.

  “It was a rock,” Josh said, holding up a medium-sized stone in his hand. The young tenants stood deathly still inside the lighted kitchen. “Someone’s coming,” Sam whispered finally, turning his head toward the kitchen door.

  The sound of breaking glass startled everyone, and for a brief moment all heads turned toward the living room where the sound originated. “What the hell is going on?” Remy said again, a nervous tone to his voice.

  In an instant the room erupted in a cacophony of sound: wood splintering, feet stomping, shouts and plaintive cries. “Hold still, brat,” a voice said, its owner’s face covered by a thick ski mask that only showed the eyes. Thick hands were grabbing onto a squirming, shrieking Josh as he fought to escape his attacker’s grasp.

  Nearby Remy was doing his best to fend off another masked man with the small frying pan he’d used to cook the omelets. “Don’t you dare touch me,” he shouted, swinging the object like a baseball bat. The assailant circled Remy, forcing him toward a cluttered corner of the kitchen. At Josh’s screams, Remy turned his head, losing his focus. Seconds later he too was caught up in a strong grip. “Sam, run!” he yelled, struggling for release.

  The blind man heard the cries and screams of his friends, and the crashes and bangs of the people who had broken into their house to attack them. He tried to focus his ears for a way out, and he clicked his tongue toward the front door, hoping to find there was a clear path that way. He backed slowly, reaching for his cane, which he’d left lying in the front hall.

  “Looking for that stick of yours?” a voice said behind him, startling him into crying out. It was Southern, thicker than the one Evan had. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “What…what do you want?” Sam spun on his heel, reaching for the banister he knew was five steps from the kitchen entrance.

  “Not to worry. We found what we’re looking for.” Strong hands grabbed Sam’s arms, and the teenager fought with the assailant he couldn’t see. “Take ’em,” the Southerner called out to his accomplices, and the sound of thundering footsteps and objects being dragged by his friends in an attempt to anchor themselves filled his ears. Sam kept sear
ching for the mobility device he knew was within reach, trying desperately to fend off the hands that pulled him toward the door. “Let go of me!” he cried, struggling to get out of the man’s grasp. “Let go!”

  Something cold laid against Sam’s throat, and the sharp edge bit into his skin. “Let me make this perfectly clear,” the Southerner called out, his voice echoing through the living room. “You two keep fighting, and this one learns what it’s like to lose more than his eyes, understand?”

  Within seconds the house fell eerily silent. “No,” Remy said, his voice hoarse. “No, don’t…”

  “Then cooperate,” Sam’s assailant said sharply. “You too, brat.”

  Sam heard his best friend’s mouth open, and then shut itself again. Soft whimpers were streaming from Josh’s lips, but he worked to keep them quiet.

  “See, I thought we might come to an understanding,” the Southerner said. “Now, shut the hell up and do what you’re told. First you’re going to put those hands in front of you. Then you’re going to walk outside quietly and get in the van.”

  “We…we’re not going anywhere,” Remy said, finding his voice. “This is kidnapping.”

  “I know. But see, there’s rules now. First one: if you don’t follow directions, someone gets hurt.” The blade pushed further into Sam’s neck. “I would hate to have to prove that point early.”

  “Remy!” Sam hissed, trying not to spook the man who held him. “Do what he says!”

  “I’d listen to your friend, I was you,” the man said, his Southern accent setting off alarm bells. “Don’t make me prove I’m a man of my word.”

  “Remy?” Josh asked, his thin voice almost pleading. “Wh-what do we do?”

  Remy looked at his friends, then at their attackers. It was hopeless to fight them; not with Sam about to become a poor imitation of Irving’s horseman. Behind him, he could hear Josh’s frantic breaths and the very slight sounds of struggle as Josh tried to move away from the assailant that held him. The iron grip that held Remy grew tighter until he yelped in pain. “All right! All right. We’ll go.”

  “Smart choice,” the Southerner said. “You heard him. Let’s go.”