Stranger in the House

by MacDonald, Patricia

  “What time is it?” she called after his disappearing back.

  “Almost eleven. I figured you needed the sleep.”

  Anna leaned back against the pillows and smiled at the tray on her lap. Then she gazed around the sunny bedroom. The wedding ring quilt was wadded up at the end of the bed, and their clothes were strewn on the bedpost and the floor, the telltale trail of lovers’ impatience.

  Yesterday, after they had gotten back from the tennis court, they had spent the balance of the day on the telephone and sharing with family and friends the incredible news. Thomas had gone out for Chinese food and brought it home at about nine o’clock. Tracy had pleaded an upset stomach and closeted herself in her room for the rest of the night. At about midnight Thomas had unplugged the phone and hustled Anna up to the bedroom, where, with an enthusiasm and a sense of urgency she had not seen from him in a while, he made love to her as if it were their last night together. At his moment of climax he had let out a cry so close to anguish that it startled her. She soothed him until he fell asleep, but she was awake most of the night, thinking about the miraculous news with a heart and mind so full that they would not admit sleep. It was nearly dawn when exhaustion finally claimed her.

  The door to the bedroom opened again, and Thomas came in, carrying a small creamer of milk. He placed it on the tray and sat down carefully beside her on the bed. “Damn the crumbs, let’s eat!”

  Anna reached over and stroked the side of his face. “What a sweet thing to do,” she said.

  Thomas shrugged. “I thought we should celebrate. Besides, we hardly had a moment together yesterday. It was so crazy around here.”

  “Where’s Trace?”

  “She took off early on her bike. She left a note saying she was going to Mary Ellen’s.”

  “I think she’s upset by all of this,” said Anna. Thomas stirred the Bloody Mary with a celery stalk and handed it to his wife. Anna obediently took a sip.

  “It’s a big change,” said Tom. “It’s a big change for all of us. But she’ll be happy about it when she sees what a difference it’s going to make in our lives.”

  Anna sighed and smiled at him. “I think so, too. Our son. Back home with us, and safe.”

  Thomas nodded and took a bite of the eggs. “We’ll have a normal life again. Like other families.”

  Anna nodded, but she spoke a little defensively. “Well, we’ve had a pretty normal life, under the circumstances.”

  “I know,” said Tom quickly. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “It will just be that much better a life for having Paul back with us,” she explained.

  “I just meant,” said Tom, “you know, that all that awful business will be over. You running off to every corner of the country every time we heard of a child somewhere. Those late nights on the phone and all that endless searching, contacting people. Nuts calling up every hour of the day or night with useless information. Reporters and police and psychics. If I never see another one of any of them, it will be too soon.”

  “They were all trying to help,” Anna said.

  “I’m sure they were, but they put you through a lot. You have to admit it. Now the…now our boy will be back, and we can stop thinking about it. We can get back to living our lives the way we should.” He reached over and squeezed her arms. “You don’t know how I’ve missed it.”

  Anna looked at him seriously. “I missed it, too,” she said. “But what other choice did we have?”

  Thomas picked up a napkin and wiped his lips. “Right. Right,” he said. “Now you eat those eggs,” he ordered, “before they get cold, and then I think I might just crawl back under those sheets with you.”

  Anna laughed and picked up a forkful of eggs. “These look good,” she said. “I may let you have this job since you do it so well. Has Buddy called yet? He was going to arrange for us to talk to Paul today. I’m surprised we haven’t heard from him.”

  “I don’t know if he tried,” Tom said. “I’ve still got the phone unplugged.”

  “Tom,” Anna protested, “Paul may be trying to reach us.”

  “I wanted you to sleep,” he said ruefully. “You were so tired.”

  Anna put the tray to one side and leaned over to the phone on the bedside table. “Plug it in for me, will you, darling? I’m going to call Buddy right now.”

  “Why don’t you eat first?”

  “Just let me find out.”

  Thomas removed the tray from the bed with a soft sigh and placed it on the floor. Then he bent down beside the night table and plugged the phone into the jack.

  Anna leaned over the edge of the bed and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks.” She picked up the receiver and started to dial.

  The arrangements, red tape, and waiting seemed interminable to Anna, but finally they passed. Now, by the light of the early-morning sun through her kitchen window, Anna sat planning the homecoming dinner. The butcher-block surface of her table was littered with open cookbooks. She could feel her cotton shirt already beginning to stick to her back. The August day had started to heat up early. There was usually a breeze that ran through the house, keeping it comfortable, and there were only a few days a year that she even thought of air-conditioning. She hoped to herself that this would not be one of them. She wanted everything to be perfect for Paul’s first night home. She wanted him to like it here.

  Anna returned her attention to the cookbooks. He was not coming until about nine tonight. She had to make something she could keep warm, or cook at the last minute. It was hard to know what to make, what he liked to eat. There was a recipe for lobster that looked good. Lobster was something special, and cool. But what if he had allergies to seafood? Lots of people did. She realized that she had no way of knowing about her own son.

  She rested her chin on her hand and gazed out over the profusion of plants on the kitchen windowsill. She wondered what he was like now, how he looked. During the last eleven years she had seen him everywhere. On every playground, swinging on the swings, at street corners as she whizzed by in her car, coming toward her down the corridors at Tracy’s school. Her heart would leap to her throat as she spied him, sure it was Paul. His name would be on her lips when, as she looked harder, the vision of his face would dissolve, and she would see before her some strange child with honey-colored hair whom she did not recognize at all. She would turn away quickly, before the little one could see the horror and woe in her eyes.

  But tonight she would open the door and he would be there. Tonight.

  Tracy, wearing zip-up black spandex and sneakers, entered the kitchen and slumped into a chair without a greeting. Anna pushed the cookbooks aside.

  “Did you sleep well?” Anna asked.

  “It’s been so noisy around here it woke me up.”

  “Oh, I hope I didn’t disturb you, darling. I got up early because I had so much to do,” said Anna, ignoring Tracy’s gloomy expression. “I dusted, waxed the furniture, and then I baked this.” She got up, walked over to the counter, and lifted the lid on the cake dish. She held up the cake she had baked for her daughter’s inspection. It read “Welcome home, Paul” in blue letters arching around the top half of the cake’s chocolate icing. “I made chocolate. I figured all you kids like chocolate. Well, what do you think?”

  Tracy stared at the blue writing and then looked up at her mother. “You made that?”

  Anna nodded. “Does it look good?”

  Tracy folded her arms across her chest and stared sullenly in front of her. “Yeah. Sure.”

  Anna returned the cake to the counter and replaced the lid after one last look. She wiped her hands on her apron and turned to Tracy. “What do you want for breakfast, sweetheart?”

  “Nothing,” said Tracy.

  “Well, you should have something. You can’t go out on an empty—” “Juice.”

  “How about some cereal? I can get you some—”

  “No! I said juice.”

  Just then Thomas walked into the kitchen, still buttoning
a cuff on his shirt. He stopped short and looked at his daughter. “It’s too hot to eat,” Tracy insisted to him.

  “There’s no need to yell,” said Thomas.

  “She tries to force me to eat when I’m not even hungry,” Tracy muttered.

  Anna placed a glass of juice in front of her daughter and turned to Thomas. “You had such a restless night,” she said. “I hope I didn’t wake you getting dressed this morning.”

  “I woke up for a minute. It was pitch-black out. What time was it anyway?” he asked.

  “It must have been about four thirty, quarter to five. I couldn’t sleep,” said Anna. “I was too excited.”

  Thomas put his arms around her and squeezed her, kissing her on the forehead.

  “What do you want for breakfast?” Anna asked.

  “I’m running late. I’ll get something off the cart.”

  “Oh, Tom…”

  “What’s all this?” he asked, glancing at the pile of cookbooks.

  “I’m looking for something to make tonight. I guess I should look through some of those magazines of mine, right?”

  “I thought you were saving those for a special occasion,” he said.

  Anna smiled happily at the appropriateness of one of their standard jokes. “I’m so worked up I can’t even think straight.”

  Tracy scraped back her chair and stood up.

  Anna tried to get her daughter’s attention. “What do you think we should have, Tracy?”

  “I’m leaving,” Tracy announced.

  “Playing tennis this morning?” Anna asked.

  “Mmmm…” Tracy mumbled.

  “Before you go, dear, I want you to go upstairs and take your stuff out of the guest…out of Paul’s room so I can clean up there.”

  “I’ll do it later,” said Tracy. “Bye, Dad.”

  Thomas smiled at her. “Good luck,” he said.

  Anna picked the glass up from the table. “I want you to do it now. I need to get into that room.”

  Tracy stiffened in the doorway. “I have a game this morning.”

  “It won’t take you long,” Anna insisted. “You’ve known you had to do this all week. There are things more important than your game. Your brother is coming home tonight.”

  Tracy turned on her mother, her small jaw hardening stubbornly. Her hazel eyes were icy with rage. “I don’t care,” she said. “I’m leaving.”

  Anna was momentarily speechless, stung by the cold defiance in her daughter’s eyes.

  “Tracy,” Thomas ordered, “Do as you’re told.”

  “Shit!” Tracy exclaimed, stamping out of the kitchen. “You both stink.”

  Anna shook her head and sat down. “God, she is really in a state about this thing. I don’t understand it. Have you tried to talk to her? She just puts up a wall with me.”

  Thomas sighed, putting his newspaper in his briefcase. “No,” he admitted. “It’s the same with me.”

  “Maybe she’s jealous of all the attention to Paul. You know, she feels usurped,” Anna speculated.

  “Well, it does seem to be the only thing anyone has talked about all week,” he said.

  “I know,” said Anna, “but that’s only natural. This is a miracle. Of course we’re all excited about it.”

  “She might be feeling it’s going to stay that way once he gets here,” said Thomas.

  Anna looked at her husband quizzically. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know,” said Thomas, dismissing it.

  He looked at his watch. “She’ll come around,” he said. “Listen, Anna, we’d better run.”

  Anna nodded, even though she wished they could continue the conversation. She got up and found her car keys in the little teacup she kept beside the sink. Their second car was in the garage for repairs; that meant she had to drive him to the station.

  Thomas shrugged into his jacket and picked up his briefcase.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go in today,” she said wistfully.

  “It’ll keep my mind occupied,” he said. “Besides, I better not lose this job. I’ve got another kid to put through college now.”

  Leafy limbs of ancient maples canopied the quiet back roads of Stanwich. Stately houses overlooked manicured lawns, separated by orchards and stone fences. Few cars passed to disturb the tranquility.

  Anna drove and Thomas rode in silence. He had his briefcase open on his lap and was leafing through the reports it contained.

  “Tom…” she ventured. “Are you looking forward to tonight?”

  Thomas rested his hands in the open briefcase and nodded slowly. “Yes, of course I am.”

  “I still can’t believe it. It’s incredible, really,” she continued. “Our son finally coming back to us. We’ll all be together again, the way it used to be. I’m just afraid…I hope that Paul will be…all right.”

  Thomas looked at her warily. “Why shouldn’t he?”

  Anna twisted her lip and did not reply immediately.

  “Ever since we heard about Paul, I’ve been thinking,” she began. “Worrying actually.”

  “About what?”

  Anna hesitated. “Well, I was thinking it might be a good idea if we had some protection…for him.”

  She kept her eyes on the road, but she could feel his eyes scrutinizing her.

  “What for? I don’t follow you.”

  “Well, I just can’t help worrying about him.”

  “Paul?”

  “That man.” She shuddered.

  There was a silence. “Rambo,” Thomas said.

  “He’s running around loose somewhere. We know the man is mentally unbalanced. We have no idea what he is capable of. He might decide to come after Paul. He might have some crazy idea that Paul is really his and come looking for him or something.”

  “I don’t think we should borrow trouble, Anna. We have no reason to think he’ll do anything of the kind.”

  Anna turned and stared at him. “How can you be so sure of that? He took our son once, didn’t he?”

  “Watch the road, Anna,” Thomas cried.

  The car swerved slightly as Anna came around a curve and then evened out.

  “Look,” said Thomas, “the police have told you…even your friend Buddy told you…the man is probably going to run as far and as fast as he can. He has a kidnapping charge to face if the police get him. The last thing he’s going to do is come around here. Even Rambo is not that crazy. I think you should just forget about him.”

  “I understand all that about the kidnapping charge. But I also think that we’re not dealing with a rational, predictable person. I mean, was it rational for him to take our son? How can you predict what a person like that will do? We know that he had a history of mental illness—”

  “All right,” Thomas interrupted her, “but if he knew enough to run away when he found out that his wife was planning to spill the beans, I think we can be reasonably certain that he is not going to walk directly into the arms of the police.”

  Anna gripped the wheel tightly. “Maybe you’re right. But I have a bad feeling about it.”

  “For God’s sake, Anna,” Thomas said quietly as the railroad station came into view, “I thought now that you had the boy back, you would finally stop all this. I mean, do you get pleasure out of this constant worrying? Why can’t you leave well enough alone?”

  Anna pulled the car up beside the platform and shifted into neutral with the motor still running. “No, I do not enjoy the worrying, and you know it. But I won’t just forget about this. Not after all we’ve been through. And your criticizing me about it doesn’t help.”

  “All right, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” said Thomas. He opened the car door and got out. A rush of uniformly dressed commuters passed on each side of the Volvo. Thomas came around to the driver’s side, glanced at his watch, and then bent down beside the open window. He kissed Anna’s hair.

  “Try to come home early,” she said. “It’s going to be a very happy night.”

&nbs
p; “I know.” Thomas gave her a strained smile and turned away from the window. Anna watched her husband disappear into the ranks of commuters who milled around restlessly on the platform, their eyes searching the tracks for the train to the city.

  The mingled smells of toasting bread, greasy bacon, and potatoes frying oozed through the grimy wall fan in back of the luncheonette and into the parking lot behind the little row of stores. The man who stood in the early-morning shadows was tantalized by the smells. He plucked at the skin on his face with rapidly moving fingers, leaving red blotches across the surface of his pasty skin. Inside the diner, the waitresses and the short-order cook ribbed each other above the clatter of dishes. Although he heard their words, the man could not understand their joking. He never understood what was funny about the things people said to one another or why they laughed.

  None of the other stores on the street were open yet, but behind the grocery store sat a squat green metal garbage Dumpster—the reason he was here.

  He moved deliberately across the backs of the stores to where the Dumpster stood. For two days he had had nothing to eat besides candy bars purchased in gas station machines. He had hardly any money and had been sleeping in his car in cul-de-sacs he found off the main highway. Finally he had had to stop. The voices had been so distracting that he had almost driven into a divider on the highway. He decided to put up for a few nights in that dumpy motel, but if he did that, he didn’t have enough money for food, too.

  Grocery stores threw out food, though. There was bound to be something in the Dumpster. Looking all around him, he lifted the heavy metal lid and held it up with one hand. The smell of rotting and decaying food wafted up from inside. He stuck his head under the lid and examined the loose garbage. Below a rumpled newspaper he saw an open egg box with three cracked eggs and two whole ones in it and, beside that, an open box of crackers with paper stuffed inside it. He reached in past a ripped and soggy milk container and fished for the egg box. He pulled out the newspaper first and threw it on the ground. As it fell, he saw the picture on the front page of his son, staring up at him.

  Albert Rambo heaved a disgusted sigh and bent down to pick up the paper. He read the latest news article about Paul Lange’s happy reunion with his family which was about to take place. His lip curled as he scanned the story. On the inside page was a picture of the Langes’ house, a monstrous palace in the town of Stanwich, Connecticut.