Adelaide Upset

by Penny Greenhorn

  Lucas was home.

  Chapter 18

  I unlocked the door for Lucas, using it as a shield of sorts, keeping it between us. I was never exuberant with my greetings, but I’ll admit, I was downright awkward just then. I took my time shutting the door, as if the act required my full attention, and finally, when I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer, I turned to face him.

  He was wearing his green T-shirt, the one with a tear along the collar. His skin peeped through, a few shades paler than his arms and face. Francesca would have disdained this for a flaw, but I liked his tan lines. They were growing more pronounced under the summer sun, and they attested to his lack of vanity. But despite the fact that his hands were always stained with grease, his boots scuffed and worn, Lucas was what I liked to call well made—tall, firm, but undeniably rugged. He was not a manicured dandy like Francesca’s immaculate Conner. No, he was a man, tan lines and all. And he stood, towering in the center of my kitchen, watching me with those inscrutable eyes. “You look tired.”

  “I drank a bunch of NyQuil,” I admitted.

  More silence, it stretched uncomfortably between us. I had to mention the message, had to clear the air, I just didn’t know how.

  Finally I asked, “When did you get back?”

  “This afternoon.”

  Another pause, painful in its length.

  I couldn’t take it, the dam broke, words spilling out as I shifted uneasily. “I wanted to be mature about this,” I said, thinking of my overreaction to the picture. “But I don’t think I’m capable of maturity just now, so I’ll shoot for honesty instead.” I looked him straight in the eye, wanting to see how he would react. “I listened to the message on your answering machine.” No look of confusion, and when he didn’t question me further, I knew that he’d heard it too. “You don’t like to talk about your family. I get that, I don’t like to talk about mine either. But skimming over the fact that your trip was pleasure and not business was a bit misleading.”

  “I wasn’t sneaking around,” Lucas said. His voice was rough and low, hinting at some emotion, but I couldn’t tell if he was angry, offended or impervious.

  “I’m not accusing you of that, and I’m certainly not suggesting that you would cheat. I didn’t... I don’t think you ever would, but that’s just it. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you’ll give me a perfect explanation,” I ranted. “Hearing another woman speak to you like that—” I broke off, surprised by how my emotions seemed to swim to the surface and swamp me so easily. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me it was a wrong number,” I suggested.

  “It wasn’t.”

  I decided to lay it all out there. “I’m obsessed with you,” I admitted quietly. “You know that right? I try to hide it because of the stark difference in our behavior. It bothers me that I’m always hot to your cold, but the fact that you want me around, that you let me into your house, it’s always a surprise. Sometimes I can hardly wrap my mind around the fact that you’re mine, my boyfriend. But when I hear a message like that... she knows you. Whoever she is, she knows you better than I do, which means, in a way, you belong to her.”

  “Her name is Elaine,” he told me. “She’s my ex from the picture.”

  “Did you stay at her house like she wanted?”

  “No.”

  I swallowed thickly. “Did you want to?”

  “No.”

  “Alright.” I sighed, but felt not a bit better. “I’m ready for that perfect explanation now.”

  He took a few steps, pulling out the kitchen chair to take a seat as I hovered near the door, waiting for the verdict. “Elaine was my first girlfriend, my first everything,” he said bluntly. “We were young and I was... different. I’d done some regrettable things and Elaine’s family didn’t like me. There was a misunderstanding and her family caused me considerable trouble. The whole thing eventually drove a wedge between me and my own family. I left and didn’t make an effort to stay in touch, didn’t try to see them, not for years, but Elaine always felt guilty. She wanted to make things right, so I agreed to visit, but nothing good came of it.” He rubbed the back of his head, pushing the short hair this way and that. “And yes, Elaine would have slept with me, but I didn’t respond to her attempts.” His hand dropped suddenly, his eyes clasping mine. “I’m so disconnected, Adelaide, sometimes I don’t remember how I ought to be or what I’m supposed to say, but I can see that you’re miserable. It’s my fault, and for that I apologize.” He took a breath, pausing as if to weigh his words. “Elaine is still convinced she can help, but I’ll call her to explain that I’m not interested. I’ll break off communication with her, because as far as I’m concerned, Elaine is my past. You are my future.”

  I’d never heard him say so much at one time, and I could feel his sincerity, even if I couldn’t really feel it. I wanted to melt, but I refused until I knew...

  “Lucas, I don’t expect for you to reciprocate my feelings, not entirely, but I want you to have some feelings. I mean, you do like me right?”

  He didn’t rush to give an answer. He took his time, thinking for so long that I grew increasingly worried. But then he said, “You know you have a scent? No, not perfume or anything like that, just the smell of your skin. It’s subtle. I have to kiss you to catch it. When I’m away I forget, and that bothers me. It bothers me that I can’t remember the way you smell.”

  “You hurried home to smell me?” I made sure to convey with my tone that I wasn’t upset, that I wanted to erase the distance between us.

  He jerked upright so fast the chair screeched out behind him, disappearing as he ate up the floor in two strides, his figure blotting out the sight. His hands were possessive, and for once so were mine. I wasn’t shy, I was sure.

  Falling into the wall I let him fix his knee between my thighs, his body pinning me in place. The T-shirt with a tear came off, and I went to work on his belt next. Luke stopped me though, pulling back.

  “Don’t,” I whined.

  “I don’t want to stop,” he ground out, his eyes a pair of burning coals. He studied my face. It mirrored his own, flushed and hungry. “Alright, if you’re sure.”

  I nodded.

  “I have to run back to my place for a minute,” he said, the words almost a groan of frustration.

  “Go,” I said, shoving him at the door. “I’ll be upstairs.”

  But things fell apart the second he was gone. First of all, the ghost dog appeared, blithe, carefree, but something of a buzzkill for my libido. I didn’t waste time searching under the couch for its stash of dog toys. No, in a moment of lust-fueled madness I opened the silverware drawer, grabbed a handful of spoons, and dropped them to the ground, kicking them haphazardly to get the creature’s attention.

  “Have at it,” I said, bolting down the hall, through the living room and up the stairs. But I don’t know what happened after that. The next thing I knew I was drooling on my pillow and it was morning. Congratulations NyQuil, you ruined my life.

  * * *

  I mulled over all the things I would rather do than meet Stephen’s mother, drawing the line at self-mutilation. Although I freely admitted that getting crapped on by a bird would be preferable, gross but true. There was just no stopping it. I was driving in that direction, not quite nervous, but definitely uncomfortable.

  I had rolled over to an empty bed this morning, no sign of Lucas. Hours of sleep had not left me feeling refreshed but rather unsettled, so I knew the nightmares had come, even if I couldn’t remember them. Therefore I was a bit groggy in my rush to Luke’s, staggering over the fence in pursuit of evidence. I wanted to make sure he’d really come home, that we’d talked things out, because if memory served, it was all a little too good to be true.

  But his unopened duffel bag was marooned in the center of his bed, confirming his return. I’d pulled everything out, setting aside the dirty clothes to start a load of laundry. After that I’d wandered through the house, a meditation of sorts, reasserting myself,
trying to take the place back after that awful message had driven me out. I was insecure when it came to Lucas, apart from him I never second-guessed.

  By the time I quit dawdling around his house it was still early, and having successfully wrapped up one drama I’d decided to move on to the next. Nancy Bristow had mentioned some weeks before that the weeping woman could help me unpuzzle Smith’s story. So I was going to have to buck up and face Stephen’s mother once and for all.

  I pulled up to their house, idling at the curb as I worked up the nerve. They lived in a rancher, the screen door squawking as I opened it to knock. I wasn’t sure who, if anyone, would answer, but I had a plan, though it was rather thin. If I was lucky both Stephen and his mother would be out, the house empty. One could only hope...

  But of course the door swung open, revealing a forty-something woman. When I looked at her I saw Stephen’s mother, not Smith’s wife. She’d continued to age, her skin becoming loose and her hips collecting weight. I tried to see her as Smith’s partner, but couldn’t picture them paired up together. He was stuck looking young and fit, while she’d become... old. And her hair, it was that terrible poof, sort of a floating bubble, a helmet really, that just accentuated her drooping jaw.

  “Can I help you?”

  Shit! She’d caught me staring.

  “Hi,” I said, channeling the sweetest version of myself I could muster up. “We never officially met, I’m Adelaide Graves. I work with Stephen at Sterling’s Motel.”

  Her face didn’t actually sour, but her emotions sure did, her disapproval clouting me hard. “Yes, I know who you are.”

  “Is he here?” I asked, playing dumb to her negativity.

  She shouldered the door, blocking the entrance as if I were trying to dive in. “You’re a bit old to be socializing with my son, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, no, this isn’t a social visit. He borrowed something that belongs to my friend Francesca and I’m just dropping by to pick it up.”

  “Francesca,” she repeated distastefully. “Is that the dark haired one?”

  “Yes, and I know what you’re thinking. Francesca can appear quite...”

  “Worldly,” she accused.

  “I was thinking sophisticated,” I replied, knowing just how to handle the situation. “Did you know she’s about to be engaged? Yeah, and I keep telling Stephen to set his sights elsewhere. I mean, him and Francesca?” I made a face. “If he paid more attention to girls his own age then he’d have a chance.”

  My disparagement of Stephen did the trick. She relaxed, her emotions turning less intense, almost unsure as she thought things through. I’d made it clear that Francesca and I thought of him as a brother, while younger girls might not. So then, was it bad that he spent so much time with us, considering the alternative?

  “Come in,” she said, pushing the door open to gesture me through. “I’m Amy by the way. What was it you were looking for?”

  “Uh, it’s a penny. Stephen thought there was something interesting about it, so Francesca let him hold on to it. Maybe he left it lying around?”

  “A penny?”

  “A wheat penny, maybe?” I lied.

  “Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll go check his room real quick.”

  I didn’t take a seat though as she disappeared down the hall. I wandered the living room, drinking in pictures. There were many. Stephen through the various stages of youth: a chubby baby, the tripping toddler, or more recent, an awkward teen, zits and all. But no Smith. I’d unconsciously been searching for his face, wanting to see him alive.

  “I found some change in his pockets,” Amy said as she breezed into the room. “But no wheat pennies.”

  “That’s alright,” I replied, forcing a smile. “It’s no big deal, I’m sure he’ll bring it to work with him later.” Before she could usher me out, I pointed to one of the pictures. “Is that Stephen’s dad?”

  I knew it wasn’t. The man had a thick, wiry black beard, his face tanned and leather dark. He was holding a small Stephen, nothing more than a wisp in bundled cloth.

  “No,” Amy said easily. I feigned the good listener, turning my head and leaning in close, urging her without words to continue. But she only said, “That was his friend, Marks.”

  Standing so near, it was easy to gauge her reaction. When I turned her thoughts toward Smith there was no anger or resentment, no sadness. No nothing. After ten years or more she had truly moved on.

  “Marks?” I inquired politely.

  “Ed Marks.”

  “He certainly looks like a father figure,” I said, well aware that I was pushing it. “Is he still around?”

  “No. He and Stephen’s father argued and there was a falling out,” she said vaguely. I felt Amy’s momentary distraction, her thoughts pulled to the past. An emotion slithered forth, something like... disgust, but not so strong, just a hint of something wrong or dirty, as if she was repelled by her own thoughts. Vanishing in an instant, the emotion was gone. A nice trick, one I had yet to master. It suggested repression, an ability to bury painful things and in her case, to will away the past. Maybe she hadn’t moved on after all.

  Amy Smith believed that her husband left her. What woman wouldn’t want to forget a thing like that? But that sour taste of her emotion was still tart on my tongue, begging the question: What if that feeling sprung up for another reason? What if Amy had something— No. I wouldn’t get paranoid. I was trying to help Smith, help Stephen. Suspecting her was no help at all.

  “I was on my way out before you dropped by,” Amy hinted.

  She was wearing a saggy cotton blouse and paisley slacks, an outfit which could loosely be interpreted as business casual. Stephen had mentioned in passing that she worked at the visitor center. I’d caught her leaving for work, how convenient.

  “I won’t keep you then,” I said, heading for the door. Amy grabbed her purse and keys as she followed in my wake. “It was good to finally meet you,” I added in parting when she opened the door.

  “You too,” she replied, not really meaning it. I may have thwarted her hostility, but she was by no means a fan.

  As she locked up the house, giving me her back to do so, I was quickly forgotten. Amy was preoccupied, thoughts of work and life keeping her company as she went about her daily habits. I walked to the curb, surreptitiously monitoring her as I rummaged through my bag, pretending to search for my car keys, buying time. Amy walked the length of the awning, slipping under the carport before ducking into her van. I gave her a little wave as she backed out of the driveway, pretending to unlock my car. She didn’t notice, cutting the wheel to be on her way.

  I waited until her taillights disappeared before returning to the house. I’d dropped Stephen off enough times to know that when he needed the spare key he always reached behind one of the decorative shutters. It was there, balanced precariously on a thin piece of slanted wood. I accidently knocked it off with my blind grasping, but was quick to pick it up and sneak through the door.

  Unsure of Stephen’s whereabouts, I had to hurry. I would do a quick run through of the house and be gone before he returned. Remembering Smith’s mention of a tape I honed in on the entertainment center, poking through movies and games, but all were in disc form. If the tape he’d mentioned was a VHS, then it had likely been thrown out at the turn of the century along with the rest of them.

  I skimmed through each room, pausing briefly when I saw Stephen’s, but forced myself to move on. I wasn’t here to snoop. Well, I sort of was, but not on him. I went into the master bedroom, glancing through Amy’s closet, but finding only a woman’s things. I checked her drawers, did a sweep under her bed (craft junk, baskets, etc.) and investigated her private bathroom. Not a trace of Smith. Had I really expected her to hold on to his belongings after he supposedly abandoned their life together? But they’d had a kid; surely she would’ve saved something for Stephen to have. But where?

  Dangling down in the hallway, between the two bedrooms, I suddenly
noticed a thin white string. Out of sight and out of mind—the attic. I lunged for the cord, grabbing the plastic end and dragging it down. The folded steps erupted from the ceiling, dropping waves of dust and bits of insulation for me to choke on. I swatted the air, coughing until it cleared, then began my ascent.

  The light up there was dim, trickling in through the large vent, a massive fan covering the slats, spinning in lazy circles. The ceiling was slanted, insulation sprouting from the rafters. It was wedged in every corner, only a narrow walkway of creaking floorboards kept me from touching the stuff. The pinched passage extended from one side of the house to the other, and I took mincing steps, moving around baby toys and holiday decorations. Shoved all the way to one side was a medium size box, the flaps half open. The cardboard made a soft shushing sound as I dragged it to the vent, scraping trails in the dust.

  By thin ribbons of light I dug through the box’s contents, squinting to see. There was a pocket knife, golden cufflinks, and a delicate Bible with a variant of David’s surname filigreed under the front cover, a family heirloom maybe? Hadn’t Stephen mentioned something about a family heirloom? A watch? I got distracted by the pictures, half a dozen, each featuring Smith. I held them up to the light, eager to see, but my hands sort of floundered in the air. It was an eerie feeling I got, the feeling of being watched. And then I saw it, the figure of a man, large and dark, standing just over the ladder.

  How long had he been watching me?

  Chapter 19

  I was hindered by my position on the floor, kneeling over the box and unable to run. Twisting to the side I groped around for a weapon, and when I turned back to face the attic entrance I had a brittle cedar shoe rack in my hand. Only the man was gone.

  As I whirled about, shifting in panic, my knee slipped off the floorboard and into a springy bed of insulation. I lost my balance and tipped to the side, sprawling into a fluff of pink. Before I could so much as blink I was pulled upright and propped to stand on my own two feet. Smith’s fingers were still latched on to my upper arms, his murky hazel eyes glossy in the dark.