Terminal House

by Sean Costello

  Scrambling now, Ben started down the ladder, shouting her name at the top of his lungs. When he hit the ground and turned to retrieve his shoes, Melanie was there, droop-shouldered and expressionless. Ben threw his arms around her, but she stood motionless, arms dangling by her sides.

  Taking a step back in his socks, he said, “All right, Mel. I get it. There’s little point if we’re not in the same place.”

  The tears were back, brimming on her lids. “It’s not that, it’s…”

  “What is it, then. Please tell me. I have to know.”

  There was gunmetal in her eyes now, that gentle blue as dark as a thunderhead. She said, “You’re sick, Ben. And I can’t look after you. I won’t.”

  Ben smiled, his heart vaulting out of the mud. “No, no, I’m fine now. Didn’t Roxanne tell you? I’m on a new medication.”

  Now her eyes seemed almost black. She said, “It’s not working.”

  Then she was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Friday, September 15 – Constance Bay

  BEN CHECKED HIS WATCH for the tenth time in as many minutes, the excitement loose in him now like a prancing stallion.

  One hour to go.

  True, she’d only given him a ‘maybe’, but every instinct told him she was coming. He’d heard it in her voice when she called last night. The desire.

  She’s coming.

  She’d called to apologize for what she’d said to him that day under the weeping willow, telling him she’d overreacted, saying maybe they could go back to seeing each other casually if he still wanted to, she really did enjoy his company. But she wouldn’t promise to join him here for dinner tonight. Just like she wouldn’t promise to meet him at the willow tree.

  And yet she’d come.

  She’d jotted his directions to the cottage, too—another good sign—and said if she did come, he’d better behave himself.

  She’s coming.

  He was glad he’d heeded Roxanne’s advice and waited for Melanie to make the next move, as excruciating as that had been. Roxanne had called him that same night, saying Gram had told her what happened.

  “But I can tell she cares about you, Ben. And I know she feels terrible about some of the things she said, which all but guarantees she’ll get in touch with you. She can’t bear that kind of guilt for long without apologizing. She asked me to do it for her, but I refused. Told her she’d have to do it herself.”

  “Wow. Looks like you’ve got a patch of that Anderson grit in you, too.”

  Roxanne laughed. “I learned from the best. So hang in there, okay? She’ll be in touch. You may not like what she has to say, but at least it’ll give you an opening.”

  “She said I’m sick, Roxanne. She said the pills aren’t working.”

  “I talked to her about that, too.” She hesitated. “How have you been doing, Ben?”

  “I’m right as rain. Haven’t had a spell in weeks.”

  Another hesitation. “Are you really the best judge?”

  “I hear what you’re saying. But the boys tell me I’m peachy—I know, that’s like an endorsement from two of the Three Stooges—but I’ve been following up with Doctor Skeen, and he says I’m a hundred percent.”

  “That’s great news, Ben. Look, I’ve gotta go. I’m late for class. But trust me on this, okay? Don’t call her. She’ll come around. And I’ll be working on her from behind the scenes.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “You’d better. And whatever you do, do not spring that engagement ring on her.”

  He’d chuckled at that. “You have no idea how charming I can be.”

  “No one on the planet is that charming. Trust me. If you try that, you’ll never see her again.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. Duly noted.”

  And sure enough—last night—Melanie had called.

  * * *

  Restless now, Ben took another pass through the cottage, checking to make sure everything was just right. Dinner thawing in the microwave: Stouffer’s Chicken in Barbeque Sauce, his favorite. A pricey Pinot Noir chilling in the fridge. Table set for two by the window overlooking the river. Dinner candles ready for the flame. Radio tuned to a commercial-free classical station, perfect for the atmosphere he was trying to create. A crackling fire in the open hearth, almost too hot for the main floor. He’d have to remember to crack a window before she got here.

  He went upstairs next, to the master bedroom, the double bed neatly made. He wished he had chocolates for the pillows, like in the best hotels, a whimsical touch he always enjoyed. More candles up here, scented ones, arranged in threes on the nightstands. A white terrycloth bathrobe for each of them—just in case—hanging from curved brass hooks on the closet door.

  He grinned, thinking, No harm in hoping, the prospect of intimacy, however remote, making him feel like a young man again. It brought to mind the first time they’d had sex, both of them virgins, Melanie leading him upstairs by the hand, saying, “I swear, Benjamin Hunter, if I waited for you to make the first move, I’d end up an old maid.” That first time hadn’t lasted very long—less than a ten-count, if memory served—Santana’s “Soul Sacrifice” blaring on a tinny cassette player by the bed, the feverish Latin rhythms barely matching the urgency he’d felt. He’d gotten the hang of it eventually, though, learning to rein in that feverish rush and bring the same exquisite pleasure to his lover.

  Smiling at the memory, Ben rearranged the throw pillows a few times, then sniffed the air, deciding it was still a bit musty up here. He considered lighting one of the scented candles, then thought better of it. If he burned the place down while they were having dinner, it’d put a serious damper on the evening. He sprayed the room with Febreze instead. Hawaiian Aloha. An appropriate scent for what he had planned.

  Before leaving, he appraised the room from the doorway, thinking, Perfect. Thinking, But God, it’s hot up here. He was filmed in sweat now, a dull ache deep in his chest. Damn it. He tried the only window and found it painted shut.

  He checked his watch again on the way downstairs, wondering if he had time for another shower.

  “Scratch that. What if she shows up early and you don’t hear her knock?”

  Talking to yourself now, Benjamin? His father’s voice, at once reproachful and amused.

  He filled the kitchen sink with cold water and dunked his face, scrubbing it vigorously with his hands. It’d have to do. Feeling refreshed, he dried off with a fistful of paper towels, then checked his watch again.

  Forty minutes to go.

  Time to rehearse his speech.

  He returned to the living area and sat in his place at the dinner table. The chair on the right. He’d have to remember that or his plan would be blown before he got started. Earlier, he’d tucked the engagement diamond and the long-outdated tickets to Hawaii in a plastic baggie and scotch-taped it to the underside of the table. The plan was to keep the conversation light during dinner, then secretly dig the ring out of the baggie, take her hand in the candlelight and say his piece. If she went for it, he’d slip the ring on her finger, pull out the plane tickets and hand them over—with a promise to buy new ones as soon as they’d set a date.

  He was really sweating now, nerves taut as piano wire, but he wanted to get through the speech a few times before she got here. What he didn’t want was to end up stammering like a schoolboy when he made his bid.

  He took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out.

  Then, facing the vacant chair opposite, he said, “Melanie, I realize this is sudden—”

  Jesus, boy, look at yourself. His father’s voice again. Talking to a goddamn chair.

  Ben said, “You’re right,” to the empty room and stood. There was a porcelain opera mask on the wall over the loveseat, bone-white with candy-apple lips and almond-shaped eyeholes. Ben took it down and scotch-taped it to the backrest of Melanie’s chair. He stepped away to inspect his work, and decided it needed something more.

  He found a mop in the utility close
t by the stove, the old-fashioned kind with a wooden handle and stringy gray dreadlocks. Amused now, he wedged the handle between the spindles of Melanie’s chairback, then hung the mask where the face should be and sat again in his spot. A little tall for Mel, but it’d have to do.

  Facing it now, he said, “Melanie, I realize this is sudden…”

  * * *

  Though Ben’s speech wasn’t long, it was direct and intense, and it took him several dry-mouthed attempts before he felt he had it down. Stumbling through it the first few times, he’d barely been able to look his Melanie-mannequin in the eyeholes, never mind how poorly he might have done had she been sitting there in person. But gradually, it all seemed to come together, with just the right blend of courage and humility to convey his sincerity.

  He checked his watch again, startled to discover the appointed hour had come and gone. Melanie was already a half hour late.

  Ben got to his feet, hip joints punishing him for the prolonged inactivity. The hearth fire had diminished to a bed of coals, but the room was hotter than ever. He thought, I’ve got to remember to crack a window in here, but the thought was swamped by a wave of melancholy, a louder voice telling him his guest of honor wasn’t coming.

  He shuffled into the foyer and pressed his forehead to the sidelight, cupping his hands around his eyes to peer through thin porch light into the darkness beyond.

  Nothing moving out there. No headlights picking their way up the hill from the cottage road.

  She’s not coming.

  His cell phone rang, startling him, and Ben felt his heart rise like a sprung blind. It was Melanie, it had to be, calling to say she was running late.

  He almost dropped the phone bringing it to his ear.

  “Mel?”

  “You mean she’s not there yet?”

  It was Quinn.

  Ben said, “She’s probably just running late.”

  “You should call her. Maybe she’s lost.”

  “I told her to call me if she got lost and I’d talk her the rest of the way in.” He glanced at the power bars on his phone. “Look, Ed, I appreciate you driving me up here this morning, and I look forward to seeing you guys for the barbeque on Sunday. But my phone’s almost dead and I forgot the charger at home.”

  “Okay, buddy, I’m off. Are you sure you want me to drag Wilder up there on Sunday? You know what he’s like around free ingestibles.”

  “Bring him, don’t bring him. Either way, I’ve gotta go.”

  “Okay, buddy. Good luck tonight. I hope you get your wick wet.”

  Ben said, “Asshole,” and hung up.

  * * *

  He stood watch by the sidelight for a time, thoughts drifting with the clouds out there, silvery spindles gliding past the moon like longboats. It occurred to him to rehearse the speech again, in defiance of the cynical voice that continued to insist she wasn’t coming (a glance at his watch all but confirmed it), but he wasn’t ready to go down that road just yet.

  His bladder shrilled at him now, and he headed for the bathroom to relieve himself, unclasping his belt as he climbed the stairs. He sat on the john, struggling at first to get his plumbing started…then it came in a satisfying stream. He sighed—

  And thought he heard something.

  Just the cottage settling, he decided, dabbing himself dry with a wad of toilet paper. He got his pants done up, gave his fingers a rinse—and heard it again.

  A crunch of gravel outside?

  Ben dried his hands and returned to the foyer. He peered through the sidelight again, but apart from a bulking thunderhead screening the moon out there now, the scene was unchanged. No car in the driveway. No Melanie waiting on the stoop.

  Accepting the obvious, he switched off the exterior light. She was two hours late. No sense kidding himself any longer.

  She isn’t coming.

  Outside, thunder grumbled.

  And Ben thought, What if she really is lost?

  He decided to call her on the cell phone Roxanne had given her before leaving for Dalhousie. “It’s my old iPhone,” she told him. “I thought it might come in handy someday, you know, in case of emergency. I made Gram promise to keep it in her purse. You might as well have the number.”

  Now where did I put that piece of paper?

  Then he remembered. The inside pocket of his suit coat. He’d left it on the back of his chair at the dinner table, so he wouldn’t forget which seat was his.

  Genuinely concerned now, he hurried down the hall to the dining area.

  Melanie was sitting where the mannequin had been, holding a goblet of Pinot Noir. She smiled when their eyes met, candlelight erasing the decades from her angelic face.

  Ben stood mute in the middle of the room, the stone hearth baking his back, his jaw unhinged. It was that first day at her locker all over again and he couldn’t move a muscle.

  Melanie said, “Benjamin Hunter, you give lousy directions.”

  “Uh...”

  “I let myself in, I hope you don’t mind. I knocked but nobody came.”

  “Uh...”

  “If you’re wondering where your friend is, I put her out on the deck. I don’t mean to be rude, but the girl needs a shampoo.”

  “Uh…you’re here.”

  “In the flesh.”

  “I didn’t see your car…”

  “I got my friend Barb to drive me. My night vision’s not what it used to be.”

  “Shouldn’t we invite her in?”

  “Cute. She’s gone home.”

  Ben paused to relish the implications.

  Still smiling, Melanie shook her head, saying, “Are you planning on standing there all evening or are you going to come over here and join me?”

  Ben hurried to his chair, face cramping from the width of his grin. He took a gulp of the wine Melanie had poured for him and felt under the table for the baggie. Then he saw it on the tablecloth next to her hand.

  He said, “How did…?”

  “Scotch tape let go. And Roxanne ratted you out. I’m assuming the…whatever that was…the mop lady, was a prop of some kind?”

  Ben said, “I was rehearsing my speech,” surprised at how calm he felt now.

  Melanie said, “That’s what I figured,” an antic gleam in her eyes. “Though I fail to see a resemblance.”

  “I’ve got a good imagination.” He indicated the baggie, candlelight dancing in the modest diamond inside. “So you know all of it?”

  “Girls talk, Ben. You should know that by now.”

  “That little traitor. She’ll be getting a stern talking-to over the phone in the morning.”

  “You’ll do no such thing.”

  He smiled. “That’s correct.”

  “So this speech…”

  “Would you like to hear it?”

  She said, “I would,” and reached into the top of her blouse, plucking out something suspended from the delicate chain around her neck. Concealing the object in her hand, she said, “But I have a few things I’d like to say first.”

  “Okay.” He couldn’t believe she was here.

  “You broke my heart, Ben. I was crazy about you, but I always had to compete for your attention. I knew your studies were important, and I admired your drive. And God, look at all the wonderful things you’ve done with your life. All the important things you’ve accomplished.”

  “Melanie, I—”

  “Please. Let me finish.” She was clutching the object in her hand now, squeezing it under her chin. “I wanted a simpler life. Needed it. A small house in a nice neighborhood. A vegetable garden in the backyard. A baby or two. And a companion. Over everything else, Ben, a companion. To talk to. To hold onto in the night.”

  “And I couldn’t give you that.”

  Nodding, she showed him what was in her hand. It was his grandfather’s wedding band, the one he’d given her in their teens when he asked her to go steady.

  “I kept this in a shoebox at the back of my closet. This and the red rose you gave m
e at the Sadie Hawkins dance. And the ticket stubs from the Red Skelton show at the Civic Center. Wasn’t he just the funniest man? And all your letters.”

  Tears stood in her eyes now, and Ben wanted to touch her.

  But he waited.

  “I met Jamie, my first husband, while you were in Edmonton. He was the exact opposite of you. Reckless. Aggressive. Dangerous.” She chuckled and a tear fell. “My mother couldn’t stand him. He drove a motorcycle and wore filthy leathers. She thought I’d lost my mind. And I guess I had. After he got me pregnant with Elizabeth, he told me he wanted to ‘do the right thing by the kid’—his exact words—and God help me, I married the man.

  “Theo was a different story.” She was blushing now, but she held his gaze. “In my whole life, Ben, I never again felt the heat I did with you. That unquenchable passion. It made me insane. It was like a drug.”

  Ben thought, I know exactly what you mean. He was feeling it now, welling up like lava. It was a dream come true.

  Melanie said, “But like any drug that ends in dependency…I ached for you when you were away from me. Those long hours you spent at the university, and then later, at the hospital. I was miserable. Just miserable.

  “So I traded loneliness for danger. And when danger fled, I found Theo. My companion. A man who wanted the same things I did. And he loved me, Ben, with all his heart. He worked nine-to-five at a hardware store three blocks from the house. When the weather was fine, I’d make lunch for us both and bring it up to the store. I felt safe with him. And when he came home at night, he was home.”

  She reached across the table and rested her hand on top of his. “But it wasn’t the same. When I saw you coming up the porch steps with Roxanne that day, I decided right on the spot I’d never let you back into my heart.

  “But here I am.”

  “Yes,” Ben said. “Here you are.”

  She rested her free hand over the plastic bag. “I’m not going to marry you, and I’m too damned old for Hawaii. But I am going to spend the night. Why don’t we start with that?”

  Delighted, shell-shocked, Ben nodded his approval. Unsure of how to proceed, he said, “Uh, I’ve got dinner in the microwave…”