by Louise Corum
DIGGING TO CHINA
ALSO BY LOUISE CORUM
Any Man: A Fictionalized Account of a Mysterious Disappearance
DIGGING TO CHINA
Louise Corum
Reverberator Books
Digging to China. Copyright © 2012 by Louise Corum.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher. For more information, email [email protected].
Published by Reverberator Books.
eBook ISBN–13: 978-1-938107-22-1
eBook ISBN–10: 1-938107-22-5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
For the lonely.
Contents
A Secret Buried in the Backyard
Years Earlier
A Life of Nothing
Someone New
New Love
Take Your Medicine
At Peace
Over the Next Few Years
The Knock at the Door
Would You Like to Know What Happened?
What Happened
A Secret Buried in the Backyard
Maybe he would wake up and it would have all just been a dream. Maybe he would open his eyes—any second now—and the police would simply disappear. He blinked but they were still there swarming in and out of the kitchen and into the backyard. Several of them were bent over the deep hole, the shallow grave he’d dug so long ago it had almost escaped his memory.
They weren’t going away, it seemed. He took a deep breath and turned to study his wife, her reaction to the unfolding events. How was she going to take this? What would she say? How would she feel? What would she think about him? He wanted to tell her so desperately that it was all just an accident, that he’d done it for her, even. However, none of the words he wished to convey would come and he stood mute, even when she turned to him and asked the question he’d been dreading since the day he’d dug the grave years ago.
She stared at his handsome face and asked, “Is it true, John?”
He struggled to answer her, but the words would not leave his mouth. His mouth was so dry his throat began to ache for water. He went to the tap and grabbed a glass and, with shaking hands, held it under the stream. He got a little in it, downed it, and then went for more. But he couldn’t swallow it and instead threw up in the sink. The sickness just came out of him and, afterwards, he was ashamed of it.
“Are you okay, honey?” she asked and rushed over to him, touching his arm.
He shook his head and stared at her, at her pretty face and petite body. There she was, his wife, the woman he’d longed to have for so long, though now he’d have to give her up. She’d leave him when she found out what he’d done.
“John?” she asked and squeezed his arm. “Tell me, honey. Is it true?”
He nodded feebly and again tried to speak but nothing would come out his mouth. Was this his punishment? This inability to defend himself? He didn’t know but it seemed almost impossible to express himself.
She let out a sob that came from deep inside and held her fist to her mouth to stifle more coming out. She stared up at him in disbelief and then her shoulders dropped. She’d accepted the truth, just like that, with no fight, with no argument. He was responsible for this big mess. But, as she stared at him, the wheels in her mind seemed to turn and something changed in her expression. She was now starting to question everything. Everything about him, that is.
“Why?” she screeched, overcome with emotion. “Why?”
Why? He couldn’t tell her why, could he? He couldn’t tell her he’d done it for her, for them. He couldn’t tell her he had done it because he loved her, that her love meant more to him than anything. Could he? Could he tell her that? Yes, but he doubted that she’d believe him.
“I just don’t believe it,” she said but backed away from him, taking in this new John, this John with a past, with a secret buried in the backyard. “I don’t believe you’d do anything like that.”
“Kathleen—” he began but suddenly she screeched and ran from the room. He started to follow her but a policeman grabbed his arm and shook his head.
“You need to stay right here, sir,” he told him.
So he did, even though he could still hear her shrieks as she ran up the stairs.
All of a sudden there was a move towards the backyard and much commotion. He went to the window and saw that not only had they dug her out of the ground but they had almost unearthed something else.
“There’s more than one body!” someone yelled.
He gulped. He’d only buried one.
Years Earlier
The dread always began about two in the afternoon. The dread of going home, the dread of dinner, the dread of her.
“Mr. Cashman,” his secretary said. “Mr. Cashman?”
“Yes?” he asked and his head jerked up.
“You need to sign these invoices, sir,” she said and handed them to him.
“Of course,” he replied and opened the folder.
She started to back out of the room but hesitated. “Mr. Cashman?”
He was getting agitated but he held it back. “Yes, Lois?”
“Is there anything bothering you, sir?”
He stared at her and wished, oh how he wished her could tell her. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t confide in anyone.
“It’s just you’ve been a little tense lately, sir,” she said. “And I was wondering if it was anything I’ve been doing? You know, to upset you.”
“No, Lois,” he said, staring at her rather plain face. “You’ve done nothing to upset me. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”
She nodded. “Very well, sir. Just let me know when you finish those.”
He nodded and she left his office. He stared at the invoices for some time, then bit the bullet and started signing them, scanning them for any discrepancies as he went along. In about thirty minutes he was finished and he was back to thinking about going home.
The truth was he wasn’t dreading going home to a nagging wife who complained about cooking his dinner. He wasn’t dreading going home to hollering children and he certainly wasn’t dreading going home because there was no one there. There were no kids and she wasn’t his wife. She was his sister and he dreaded seeing her today as he had for everyday of his life since their mother had passed away years and years ago. And he especially dreaded that he would inevitably end up fixing dinner. He shuddered at the thought.
Lois knocked on the door and stuck her head in. “All done, sir?”
He nodded and she retrieved the invoices and started out, but paused and turned to him. He sighed and said, “Yes?”
“I just want to make sure you’re not upset with me.”
“I’m not upset, Lois.”
“I know it’s short notice, Mr. Cashman,” she said and seemed near tears. “But I have to do this, you know? I think it’s for the best.”
He nodded and said, “It is, Lois. You should stay home now that you’re expecting a baby. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She smiled a little. “It’s just that I’ve so enjoyed working for you, sir. I would love if I could keep working, but then I… I got this little surprise.”
He stared at her and wanted to tell her how lucky she was that she was getting the hell out of his company, the same company his father had built and then chained him to. He wished he was the one moving on with his life. He wished he had a spouse who wanted him home to care for things. He wished he had just a tad bit of normalcy in h
is life, but he just didn’t.
He stood and grabbed his hat off the coat rack beside his desk, put it on and said, “Lois, I am very happy for you. I hope that you have a wonderful life. I don’t want you to think that I would have you stay in a job when you are needed at home.”
She nodded a little and said, “Early day today, sir?”
“Yes, I think so,” he replied and then started out the door.
“Oh, sir,” she called after him. “I’ll be sure to find my replacement so you’re not without help.”
Without turning around, he said, “Thank you, Lois. I appreciate that.”
“Yes,” she said. “I just wanted you to know that I’ve enjoyed working for you for all these years. I just… I just hate to give this job up, you know? It’s so hard for a woman to find good work here in Knoxville.”
“I know,” he said. “Perhaps one day you might be able to come back and work for me. You know, when your baby is bigger and all.”
Her whole face lit up. “Yes, maybe I could do that. Maybe even after I get him or her in school or even if I could find a good babysitter when it gets older.”
He almost smiled at her, then stopped himself. He didn’t smile much. He didn’t know why he was so stingy with his smiles but he didn’t like to waste them. “I’ll be going then,” he said and left.
“Well, have a good afternoon, sir,” she called.
“You too,” he muttered and made his way out of the office, then out of the factory, ignoring the machines which were new and the best 1957 could offer. He ignored the workers. He ignored everything and went straight to his car and got in. He peeled out and headed down the street to the seedy bar he often frequented and had two shots of whiskey and several cigarettes. The bartender nodded once at him as he served him but they didn’t engage in conversation. They never did and John had been coming to this place for years. He walked in, sat down, had his drinks, his cigarettes, then he left a few bills on the bar before going home.
What an awful thought that was, going home. He put his head in his hands and groaned. He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to face her tonight. He didn’t want to see her and he certainly didn’t want to fix her supper.
“Hello.”
He looked up to see a woman near his age smiling at him. He knew what she was, a prostitute, and what she wanted. He studied the lines on her face and wondered if he looked that old. He figured her to be about thirty-six or thirty-seven. He was thirty-eight, never married and lonely. As he stared at her, she stared at him, taking in his handsome face and his deep blue eyes, then his dark hair. She liked what she saw, an easy buck.
He glanced at his watch. It was almost time to leave; in fact, the time to leave had come and gone. “No, thank you,” he said.
“Stuck up,” she spat.
He ignored her and stood.
“Like I’d want you anyway,” she snarled.
“You’re right,” he said. “Like you’d want me anyway.”
Her mouth dropped open. He almost wanted to do something with her, to take her to a cheap hotel and then pay her. He almost wanted to, just to do it. Sometimes he did that, with prostitutes. He sometimes picked them up in this bar and had his way. He didn’t do it because he had to; he did it because that was the easiest way to fulfill his needs. He didn’t have time for relationships and sending flowers or taking someone out to dinner. He ran his company in the day and at night he went home.
What a sad, empty life he led, but there wasn’t anything that he could do about it. He wanted to partake in sins of the flesh today but he couldn’t. If she’d shown up a little earlier, then maybe. But not now. He had to get home. He felt a pang of regret but he had to go. His sister would be up soon. She was fine during the day because she mostly slept and he had made sure to administer her medicine last night. But as soon as she was up, she was running through the house, acting deranged. If he wasn’t there, she could burn it down and then where would he be?
“Just asking, that’s all,” the prostitute said.
He again felt that little feeling spark up inside of him. Maybe it wasn’t longing, maybe it was regret that his whole life had passed him by and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it now. He hated that this woman, this prostitute and the others like her, would be the closest thing he’d ever have to feeling love. He didn’t feel love for her, or for any of the women he paid to sleep with him. But he did sometimes feel himself longing for that feeling of completion he thought love would give him.
“Afternoon,” he said and walked out.
“Yeah, bye,” she said after him.
A Life of Nothing
John lived a life of nothing. All work and no play, aside from the occasional visit to the bar and the occasional prostitute. All he did was work and care for his sister. He pulled up to his house and sat there for a moment staring at it. It was three stories and huge. His father had built that house years ago for his mother. He’d wanted to fill it with children but only had two before he fell over dead with a heart attack when John was much younger. His father had waited to get married and have children and didn’t have much time to enjoy them before his death in his late forties. John sometimes wished that his parents had had more children, many more, so someone else could occasionally lift the burden from his shoulders.
He stared at the back door, the door to the mudroom, which led to the kitchen, the kitchen where he entered the house every single day. The thought of opening it and going in made him almost physically sick. He was so sick of it, so sick of seeing her. He didn’t have to, did he? He could just turn the car back on and back out of the drive. He could leave, set off for the west, or at least Nashville, and start a new life.
A new life? What would that be like? He couldn’t even comprehend such a thing.
He sighed and stared at the house, shaking his head at the shape it was in. The house had been his father’s pride and joy, his prize for working hard his entire life, his gift to his new bride and a roof over his children’s heads. The house had been the talk of the town since its inception. It was one of the largest single family residences ever built in the city, made with the finest materials, the best of everything from the marble in the bathrooms to the wood floors which ran throughout. The mantles were imported from France and all the furniture had been hand selected by his mother from only the finest stores. There were silk couches, leather chairs and Persian rugs. All eight bedrooms had the finest handmade furniture. There was expensive art on the walls and the most delicate china in the cupboards.
At one time, the house had looked like a showpiece, a museum of riches. Now it was getting old. Now it needed to be taken care of. It needed someone who cared enough to put some time and effort into it. Right now it looked a little sad, as if no one was paying attention to it. However, due to its size, it still rose up in glory but it was getting tired, just like John was. The stone was graying and needed to be cleaned. The paint on the porch railings and doors was peeling and needed to be tended to. A few shutters were falling off. The shrubbery needed to be trimmed and the back garden needed to be weeded and cleaned out. The wrought iron fence that surrounded the front lawn was getting a little rusty and the high stone wall that surrounded the back of the property was getting overtaken by ivy. For a second he felt an urge to leap out of the car and do some maintenance, mainly because his father had had so much pride about this house and his mother had loved it so. But then he realized that he just didn’t care. He didn’t care what state of disrepair it got into. He could care less about that house. He wished it would rot and fall down, or burn.
Let it burn, he thought and found himself smiling at the thought. Let it burn to the ground… Then he would have no choice but to put her away. The decision would simply be out of his hands.
He didn’t let the thought sink too deeply into his mind, lest he be too tempted to follow through with it. He got out of the car and went inside, taking his hat and coat off in the mudroom. It had turned chilly a
nd soon it would be the holidays. John sighed and thought about that. After that, winter would set in then it would be spring once more. Then summer and back to fall, where he was now. Time, time, time. So much time to fill. He sighed at the thought, at all the long, monotonous time he had to fill in the coming years and shook the dread from his mind. He walked into the kitchen to find her.
She was up and sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by pots and pans, dishes, glasses and silverware. He noticed she had the best crystal out and was pretending to clean it with a dirty old rag she’d obviously found under the sink in the mop bucket. And there were all kinds of pots and pans and dishes all over the kitchen counter. What a mess, he thought, a mess I’ll end up cleaning.
“Hi, honey,” she said. “The kids aren’t home yet. Oh, and dinner will be late.”
That was her latest fantasy. They were married with children that didn’t really exist. John wondered how she qualified this in her mind, but was too tired to give it much thought. “What are you doing, Elka?” he asked.
“Just a little organization,” she said. “Oh, and by the way, the maid quit.”
He groaned. It was so hard to keep help. And was he expected to clean the damn house now, too? He felt his fists ball up and he felt like hitting her. But it wasn’t her fault. Her medicine wasn’t working like it used to. He supposed she’d awakened early and scared the living daylights out of the maid, just as she scared all of them. She was just too damned crazy and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep her from harming someone or herself.
“Did you hurt her?” John asked, studying her.
“Oh, no,” she said. “But she was just trying to steal some money and I chased her out of the house with a knife.”
He groaned and wanted to slap her. That woman, the maid, had heard about her, about her craziness and he’d had to pay her double what she charged everyone else. And he’d promised that his sister would sleep all day, which she used to. He’d have to tell the doctor to up her dosage as she was getting more and more tolerant of the medicine.
“Good thing I caught her before she robbed us blind,” she said and polished an already shining pot.