Lee sent Mrs. White a card thanking her for her kindness and asking if there was something she could do to repay her.
Mrs. White sent a note back that said, “No need to thank me for the care of your mother. She was a pain in the ass, but it made me glad to think of you free, and hopefully happy. I'll keep an eye on the house until you can make it down here. Stay in touch. Warm regards, Ellen White.”
Lee took a last sip of her milkshake and pulled back onto the freeway, resigned that her destination was the only option left.
Chapter Four
It was the middle of the morning when she turned onto the dirt road to her mother's house. Large puddles jostled the car and splashed the windows as she drove the last corner and turned into the driveway. The white farm house, built in the mid-century, was perched on a slight hill, with a large front porch and two cherry trees on each side. Lee parked the car next to the house and stared out the window for a few minutes at her last possession, her inheritance from her mother. It surprised her to see the yard looked well kept even though no one had lived there in over a year. The wild grass outside the small fenced front garden and the patchy grass inside the dilapidated fence were cut short. Against the covered front porch the cherry trees were in full bloom, their pink flowers fluttering against the chill of the early March breeze. Ellen White's doing, she supposed.
She took a deep breath and tried to move, but her limbs were lead. This place made her numb. She stared unseeing out the window, remembering the day she and Linus had come up with the plan that had brought her to this moment.
The day after Dan's funeral she found Linus on a stepstool in her kitchen, putting away wine glasses.
He looked into her face and gave her a quick hug. “You slept.”
“Those little pink pills are powerful.” From the window over the breakfast nook she could see snow scattered on the jutting peaks of the Olympic mountain range. She sat on the white wood bench of the nook and gazed out the window. “There's a guy watching my window in a car across the street.”
“I saw him too.” Linus's face was red as he pushed his coffee cup to the middle of the table. “How could Dan do this to you?”
She hadn't seen before that Linus was angry. She put her hand on his arm and watched a drop of rain drip down the outside of the window.
Linus's hands shook on the tabletop. “What do you want to do?”
“I've got to figure out how to get the money.”
“I'll give you everything I have in savings and stocks. It's about 150k.”
“I can't take your money, plus it's not enough to make a dent into this.” She took his hands and they were silent for a moment.
“I'm late.”
He flinched and his neck flushed red. “Late, late?”
“Yeah, that kind of late.”
“How late?”
“Two weeks.”
“It's probably just the stress. That can cause missed periods, right?”
She put her head in her hands. “I'm sure that's it.” It was the forgotten birth control pills the month before that worried her but she kept that to herself, afraid to even say it out loud.
After a moment she pulled her hands from his and tapped her fingers on the surface of the table. “I have an idea of what to do, how to get the money. I did some calculations and I think if we could auction all my stuff and this condo I could come up with at least half the debt.”
Linus raised his eyebrows, his eyes full of fear. “What about the rest?”
“Did I ever tell you I inherited my mother's house in Oregon?”
He looked surprised, raising his hands in the air with a flutter. “Uh, no, I don't think you mentioned that.”
“It's in the middle of nowhere.”
“Like the country?”
“Right, the country. I could fix up the house and sell it for the rest of the money.”
“You think you could sell it for a half a million?”
“I don't know. I'm sure it's a mess. My mother never threw anything away and never left the house.”
“I saw somebody like that on Oprah. There's a name for it, but I can't think what it is.”
She said without thinking, “Agoraphobic.” She went on, wringing her hands. “My grandfather built the house in the ‘40's. It has an old fashioned front porch on twenty acres and a river runs through the property. The land alone must be pretty valuable.”
She put her hair behind her ears and took a big breath, reaching into her pocket and pulling out Von's card. “I'm going to call this guy and see if I can buy some time.”
She punched in the number and Von picked up on the second ring. “It's Lee Johnson. I have a few questions.”
“Yeah?”
“I can get you half of the money in a week but I need more time for the other half.”
“How much time?”
“Couple of months.”
“Listen, lady, my boss wants the money now. He's waited long enough. Meet me on Tuesday, 10 p.m. in front of your building. Bring the full amount.” He clicked off and Lee put the phone in the charger and sat back at the table, shaking and staring into space.
“He wants all of it next Tuesday. What am I going to do?”
Linus got up and paced in front of the refrigerator. “This house, where is it exactly?”
“Southern Oregon. It's a one stoplight town and my mother's house is about ten miles out.”
“Has anyone ever heard of this place?”
“Not really.”
“So, you could hide out there while you're fixing up the house?”
She looked at him. “How would I get there without them following me? These guys have me staked out.”
He sat across from her at the table. “We've got to figure that part out.”
She went to the sink and filled a glass with water. She felt tears start again and let them flow, hanging her head. Linus stood behind her, patting her shoulder. “This is going to be alright. We're going to get you out of this. I'm going to call all my gay friends and have them help us organize an auction. They love this kind of thing.”
She nodded, wiping her face and turning to look at him. “Linus?”
“What is it?”
“What did he look like? When you identified the body, I mean?”
He backed up from her, putting up his hands. “No, don't go there.”
“I need to know how he did it.”
“Why? It's better not to know.”
“I thought that, but it isn't true. Please, tell me how he did it.”
“I'm not talking about this.”
She grabbed his arms and shook him. “Yes, I deserve to know. I want to know how he did it.” She shook him again and then pushed into his chest with her open palms. “Tell me how he did it.”
“He put it in his mouth.”
Lee dropped to the floor, hugging her knees and wailing. “Why? Why did he do this?”
Linus was on the floor next to her and he pulled her to him. “I don't know. I don't know.” He held her, rocking her in his lap like a child.
There was a thump on the window and Lee jumped, startled out of her memory. It was Ellen White, older, grayer, but the same. She wore a cotton dress with work-boots and held plastic kitchen gloves between strong fingers. Lee opened the car door and slid to the ground. Mrs. White grabbed her and for a moment Lee thought she might hug her but instead shook Lee's hand in a brisk, firm handshake. “Good to see you. I was in the kitchen cleaning and saw you drive up.” She smelled of Palmer's cocoa-butter lotion and cookies.
She went on, pushing back a bit of stray gray hair from her forehead. “You can't believe the amount of crap in that house.” Her face was etched with wrinkles, but her body was still lithe and muscular, radiating youthful energy. She squinted, looking at Lee from head to foot. “You look about the same as the day I drove you to the bus station.”
Lee grimaced. She took Mrs. White's hands, forcing herself to smile. “I've changed a little, haven
't I? I have contacts now.”
Mrs. White looked at her again, cocking her head as if examining a rare specimen. “You're just as pretty as a picture. I knew you would be.”
“It's good to see you,” said Lee, fighting back tears.
“Sure was pleased to get your letter last week.” Mrs. White still had the long braid, gray now, and coiled on top of her head. “Was shocked as could be to hear you were coming for a visit.” She peered around Lee into the van. “You bring much?” She still had the efficient way of speaking and moving that made Lee feel like a child ready for a nap, inept and incompetent.
“It's in the back.” Lee opened the back of the van and grabbed the large suitcase. Mrs. White took the other, smaller bag.
“That it? Thought you were staying for awhile?”
“Traveling light these days.” Lee gestured to the yard. “You've cut the grass?”
“Sure did. Bought myself one of those rider mowers when I turned seventy.”
Chapter Five
They hesitated at the top of the stairs. Lee looked down the hallway at the doors of the two small bedrooms, the bathroom and master. The house smelled of mildew, dust, and the bottom of an ashtray after the butts have been emptied. Mrs. White pointed to the doorway of the master. “Better sleep in there.”
“You mean the shrine?”
Mrs. White chuckled and moved down the hall to the master bedroom. “The other rooms are full of junk.” As if it was decided, Mrs. White flung open the master bedroom door. The room was empty but for a mid-century four poster bed, bureau with a round mirror and faded yellow cotton curtains. “Your mother got really bad about the stuff at the end, but she never touched this room.” Mrs. White pulled back the curtains and pushed open the windows. The outdated faded wallpaper peeled at the corners and the pine floorboards were dull and nicked. “The stench isn't as bad in here. I've had the windows open the last several days.”
The room possessed the feel of frozen time and expectancy, like its mistress and master might still return. As if she read Lee's thoughts, Mrs. White nodded her head. “Yep, feels like the room's waiting for something. I never understood why she didn't move in here after your grandparents were killed. Shoot, that was the year you were born and what are you, thirty-four?”
“Thirty-five.”
“Holding on to the past never works you know, people gotta move on. Not that I was a good example, mind you.”
Lee wondered what she meant but was too tired to invite conversation by asking. She moved to the bureau and looked at the framed photo of her grandfather in his World War II uniform. Mrs. White dusted it with the front of her cotton dress. “Your grandfather built this house with his bare hands. They don't make houses like this anymore. He'd turn over in his grave if he saw how your mother let it go to pot.” She picked up the other framed picture, of Lee's grandmother, and held it near Lee's face. “You sure look like her. Rose was a redhead too. Both of us were red heads, y'know? We used to laugh about that. All that fiery temper in one room.” She gestured towards the bed. “There was some money hidden in the cookie jar downstairs, left over from what you used to send every month, so I got you a new mattress and sheets. Hope you don't mind but I knew you couldn't sleep on the old one.”
Lee raised her eyebrows and stuttered. “Gr...Great. Thanks.”
“I used to take two-thirds of the check you sent every month to pay her bills and buy groceries and leave the rest in the cookie jar. I plumb forgot it was in there. Eleanor got so she didn't trust the bank and of course you know she didn't leave the house, so that money just sat in there, except for what she used to buy the booze.
“Let me guess, someone, out of the kindness of their hearts delivered that to her door?”
“The derelict who owns the Rusty Nail. Used to drop a box the first of every month. Bastard knew your checks came like clockwork.” She walked to the bed and smoothed the top of the patchwork quilt, the squares each a pattern of a geometric red flower. “Washed your grandmother's homemade quilt and it's good as new.”
Lee fingered the thread along one of the squares, imagining her grandmother's fingers pushing the needle through the fabric. “Do you know what happened to my grandparent's clothes and stuff?”
“I came and packed them up the year after they died.” Mrs. White lowered her voice, as if someone were listening. “Matter of fact, I used to come up here and clean when I brought groceries and such to your mother. She used to space out in front of the idiot box in the afternoon.”
“I snuck in here one time when I was a kid. Looking for clues about them.” She sat on the side of the bed and shivered. “But all I found was the back of my mother's hand.”
Mrs. White plumped a pillow, eyebrows knitted. “I could tell you anything you want to know.”
“I'd like that sometime.” Lee shivered and jumped from the bed to shut one of the windows. “It's raining.”
“March. Nice one minute, cold the next.” Mrs. White pulled on the front of her dress and crossed her arms over her chest. “You hungry?”
Lee shrugged and walked towards the door. “A little.”
They moved in silence down to the kitchen. The counters and floor looked scoured, as did the appliances. Mrs. White gestured towards a chair. “Sit, I'll fix you something before I go.” On the table was a fresh pie, berry juice seeping though the top of a browned crust. Mrs. White hustled about the kitchen and Lee, feeling like a guest, sat in one of the metal chairs and watched. Mrs. White pulled a carton of eggs from the 1950's refrigerator, yanked an old frying skillet out of the cupboard, poured oil in the pan, turned on the burner, and hands on her bony hips, watched the pan heat. “Shoulda got you some bacon. I didn't think you'd be so skinny.” When the room filled with the smell of hot grease, she cracked two eggs into the pan. They sizzled and snapped and she flipped them in the air without using a spatula. She slipped the eggs onto a plate, set it in front of Lee and then poured a glass of milk. “You need your calcium if you want to be moving around when you're seventy.”
Lee poked the egg with her fork and the yolk squirted onto the flowered surface of the old plate. Her stomach turned and she felt the crackers make their way to her throat. She ran to the back door, yanked it open and vomited into the wet dank earth of the flowerbed next to the back steps. She wiped her mouth with her hand and limped up the steps into the kitchen. The smell of fried egg lingered in the air. She went to the sink, turned on the water and slurped from her cupped hand. A branch of a cherry tree, dripping with pink flowers, wavered outside the kitchen sink window, rain beading on the soft pink petals. She splashed the frigid water over her face and then collapsed onto the chair.
Mrs. White stood at the stove and watched her. “Please don't tell me you're a drunk?”
“What? No, of course not. I don't drink.”
“Thank God. Y'know, they're saying now it's hereditary.”
“Don't touch it. Always figured it was best not to start, given mom.”
“I'm awfully glad to hear you say it. I worried about you up there in that mean old city all these years. The temptations are many, I imagine.” She put her hand on Lee's forehead. “You don't feel hot. You think you're sick?”
“I've been feeling kind of sick all afternoon but I'm probably just tired. It's been a hard couple of weeks.”
Mrs. White scrutinized Lee for a moment and then sat in the other chair. “What happened to bring you here?”
“Dan died. Unexpectedly.” Lee watched the sprinkles of rain turn to drops outside the kitchen window, staying silent until she was sure the tears weren't about to start. She made her tone matter of fact. “Shot himself.”
“I see.” Ellen crossed her arms over her chest and matched Lee's understated tone. “What was wrong with him?”
“It's complicated.”
“It always is.”
“He took a loan from someone he shouldn't have but couldn't get our product to work in order to pay it, the consequence of which was the loss
of our company. I guess the idea of that kind of failure was too much for him.”
She shook her head as if she'd heard the same story many times before. “Son of a bitch. Gosh durn selfish bastard.”
“Dan was so driven, Mrs. White. Crazy half the time over this idea of making it. He just took me along for the ride. I didn't know about the construct of the loan, or any of the details of it. The sad thing is, his product was good. It was a game for serious gamer types. Do you know what that is?”
“Sure, it's those pasty stooped shouldered idiots that play ridiculous games instead of living their lives.”
She smiled. “That's right.”
Mrs. White grinned, patting her bun. “I stay informed for an old lady.”
Lee looked towards the ceiling, trying to control the wobble in her voice. “I've lost everything.”
The way Mrs. White looked at her, Lee saw she had it figured, how desperate she was, how broke, how alone. “Except for this beat up old house,” said Mrs. White. She swept her hand against the tabletop in a half circle. “Well, it's something to start with.” She traced the rim of her coffee cup with her pinkie finger until she reached the crack above the painted rose. “My husband was killed in a logging accident in the woods when my son was ten years old. I had enough money to last exactly two months. Your grandmother helped get me through it. We ate dinner at this very table every night for I don't know how long.” She paused and patted the top of her coiled bun. “You'll be alright.”
Lee's eyes filled with tears and she wiped them with the back of her hand. “How? I don't see how.”
Mrs. White looked out the window, tapping her finger on the surface of the table. “Y'know, I had to, that was one thing. My boy needed me. But, the thing I did then was go back to work. I'd been trained as a teacher and I started subbing at first and then they hired me on to teach full-time. Then I'd come home and take care of my place and my son. I guess work got me through, now I think of it.”
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