Taking Stock

by C J West

  * * *

  The constant thumping of sneakers on concrete put Erica at ease. People spread out all along the river, but no one could pester her while she kept moving. This was her time to feel strong and put the world in perspective. Three miles passed too quickly for her to organize her thoughts on this day. A few blocks past her apartment she turned and walked back to cool down. Inside and up the stairs, she unlocked the inner door and gave it a shove with her shoulder. The chain caught and it jerked to a stop.

  “C’mon, Melanie, let me in.”

  Light footsteps approached. Melanie peeked fearfully through the gap in the door, her eyes timid, ready to run at the slightest provocation.

  Melanie unchained the door.

  When Erica stepped through, Melanie shut it tight and re-chained it.

  “What’s going on, Mel? You ok?”

  She asked if she looked that shaken-up and Erica indicated the chain. Neither of them secured it with any frequency.

  “Someone was in here while you were gone.”

  Erica’s eyes darted around the room. The windows were intact, the kitchen neat, the desk undisturbed.

  “Did you see someone?”

  “No, but I heard him rustling around the kitchen.”

  “The kitchen?”

  “Maybe he was looking for a knife. I’m positive I heard silverware rattling. I came out, looked around and everything looked fine. I chained the door thinking I was imagining it and went back to drying my hair.”

  She paused. Something was coming. Erica couldn’t imagine what.

  “The door slammed shut and I ran back out. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have locked myself in the bathroom and called 911. All I had on was my robe. Who knows what would have happened if I caught him inside. He could have killed me.”

  “Was it someone else’s door?”

  “The chain was swinging. He had to be inside to unchain it.”

  “God, Mel. I locked the door, I know I did.”

  Erica gave her a solid hug. They stood together a long moment. Neither said anything, both wondered why someone had chosen this apartment to sneak into. Nothing had been taken. There wasn’t time. It had to be a random thing. If someone had chosen them, it was because two women made an easy target. They would’ve had a rude wake-up call if Erica had been home.

  She remembered the two men who cornered her in the alley behind the apartment late one night. They’d maneuvered her between the buildings where no passerby could see and sneered their obscene intentions. The accomplice, wobbling a bit from booze, hung back to block her way out. The leader moved in from the other side knife in hand. He never asked for money. He leered instead, closing to a few feet and gesturing with the knife toward parts of her anatomy he yearned to explore. One such jab came close enough for Erica to clamp down on his wrist, break his forearm and disarm him. Confused, he howled in pain and hunched over to protect his arm. She drove her palm through his nose then cracked down sideways against his knee. The man crumpled in a quivering bloody heap. His partner slinked away down the opposite end of the alley.

  Melanie pulled back.

  “Did you check if anything was missing?” Erica asked.

  She hadn’t. She still clutched the phone. She was probably too scared to do anything but huddle in the living room and wait for help. Erica left her there and checked her room. There were sixty-eight dollars in her purse and the checkbook was in its usual hiding place at the back of her underwear drawer. She didn’t own any jewelry worth stealing, but what she had was in and around the inlaid wooden box on her dresser.

  Melanie watched from the hall. “Gregg should be here any minute.”

  “Why?”

  “My mom didn’t answer, so I called him. He was running for his car before I hung up.”

  “Great.” Erica hustled to shower off three miles of sweat and get presentable. She heard voices in the kitchen before she finished toweling off. Her jeans and white tank top were a bit too form fitting. The boy didn’t need encouragement, so she detoured into the bedroom and slipped on a white button-down with thin pink stripes.

  Gregg and Melanie were on the couch with their backs to Erica as she approached. He stood up as she reached them and met her eyes with a look of grave concern. “Are you ok?” he asked.

  He reached out for her hand and she let him hold it a second before sitting down next to Melanie. “Fine. Nothing’s missing.” She left only a sliver of the couch to her left, expecting him to shift over to the low chair facing them.

  He squeezed in, their thighs pressing together. The two women shifted like dominoes, wobbled by his choice of seats. “Has anything like this happened before?” he asked.

  “Nothing. It’s a great neighborhood.”

  “You need to call the cops.”

  “Not a chance,” Erica blurted. She’d hated cops since the night they pried her away from her mother. It was over a year before mother came home; a year Erica spent as an orphan. She’d learned to take care of herself since then and she knew most cops were decent, but she’d never call one unless she was bleeding to death and out of options.

  Gregg looked confused by the venomous reaction. Cops were different back home on the farm for sure. “You need to call,” he said. “What if this guy breaks in somewhere else?”

  “This is Boston. There are break-ins every day. What are the cops going to do besides ask annoying questions and rifle through our stuff? That’s if they even show up.”

  “You should still call.”

  Erica massaged the muscle above his knee and turned to face him squarely. “It’ll be fine. We’ve got you to take care of us. Nothing to worry about.” Gregg was strong, especially through the shoulders, but Erica wasn’t sure which of them would be more useful in a brawl. She was fifty pounds lighter, but ten years of karate had to account for something.

  Erica kissed him gently and eased back into her space on the couch. There’d be no sending him home tonight, but there’d be no calls to the Boston Police either.

  The three of them sat in relative silence for over an hour. Melanie couldn’t shake the jitters. She asked Gregg to stay and he was overjoyed. He’d brought an overnight bag and, ever the gentlemen, he’d left it in the car so he wouldn’t seem presumptuous. He went outside to fetch it, probably dancing all the way down the stairs.

  While he was gone Melanie admitted she was spooked. She was glad Gregg was staying, but with the semester almost gone, she was thinking about going home to her parents. Erica would miss her. She’d been an ideal roommate, though how much of her good nature had to do with Erica paying her room and board, Erica would never know. She was a mature twenty-two, forced to cope with the realities of life when her father was laid-off and she nearly had to drop out. Erica had been forced to grow up much sooner.

  She’d be sad to see her go in the morning.

  Gregg tried to lighten the mood when he got back. He suggested an early trip to the farm, a long weekend to meet his family and see how the rural folks live. Oddly, a weekend with his parents seemed more inviting than a weekend alone in Boston.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Gregg spent the early morning hours watching the red numbers on the desk clock and listening to sporadic comings and goings outside. He’d lived five years in the city and still hadn’t grown used to the constant commotion of cars and voices at all hours of the night. The insect and animal noises around the farm were different, life affirming sounds of one partner calling for another. Here the noises were sharp, chaotic, dangerous; drunken revelers returning home or men like the one who let himself in yesterday.

  Gregg hadn’t slept more than an hour at a stretch when Melanie perched on the opposite chair clutching a cup of coffee. Warm in his sweatpants and the blankets Erica had laid out, he surveyed Melanie without getting up. Her hands shook and she leaned close like she wanted to lie down next to him so he could wrap his arms around her and keep her safe. She acted like this was her first brush with harm. Odd sh
e’d chosen journalism as a profession. If she couldn’t handle a break-in, how would she report the sorts of things that qualified as news? Being the victim had far more impact and maybe the encounter would bring a more humane perspective to her reporting.

  Erica showed no ill-effects from the break-in when she came down the hall an hour later. She hadn’t been inside when it happened and she wasn’t as vulnerable as Melanie. Still, she seemed genuinely glad to have him in the apartment and that was a relief. He’d worried that staying the night might be a strain that would push them further apart, not that things could move any slower.

  She snuggled herself midway on the couch, forcing him to roll to his side to make room. She had left no doubt about where he’d sleep last night, so her coziness was a complete surprise. Melanie was the one who’d asked him to stay, but Erica was glad he was here. Melanie had said she had feelings under there. He hoped they were starting to break free.

  After breakfast Melanie announced she was going home and wouldn’t come back until graduation. Embarrassed by Erica’s generosity and ashamed to leave her alone when she might need help, Melanie wanted to stay, but she was too frightened. She gushed thanks to Erica and credited her for receiving her bachelor’s degree on time. Gregg wondered if Erica had been giving her more than a free room these last few months.

  Gregg called the office and took the rest of the week off. He lugged a few boxes down for Melanie and by the time the car was loaded, Erica had agreed to spend a long weekend at the farm. She packed for three days, a long time away on very short notice. She’d lost her zest for work. He wished her feelings for him had dimmed her dedication, but he knew better. Something had affected her deeply. The odds were on the break-in or her problems with Brad.

  Her Cross Country only had fourteen hundred miles. She rarely had a chance to drive it in the city and he was glad to let her break it in on the trip to the farm. He guided her down the highway and through a series of turns that all looked the same to anyone who didn’t live here.

  The first of his father’s corn fields came into view and he pointed out the long flat row that stretched over a mile, interrupted only by the pond he’d fished in as a boy and the cranberry bogs on the far end. They rounded the corner and climbed a steep hill past the cow barn. She slowed down expecting the driveway and he motioned her to keep going. He pointed out the fields on both sides of the road and she looked back in disbelief that they could still be circling his father’s property. The apple trees on the left were surrounded by piles of brush from the late-winter trimming. She finally turned in past the stand of pine trees, down the long dirt drive and up alongside the massive red corrugated barn. The surprise registered on her face as she looked out over the corn fields below and the roads they’d traveled. They gazed over brown fields, the crimson rectangular bogs and the tall stands of pine trees where the Turner’s property blended into the forest. The bright green fairways of the golf course peeked out of the trees in one corner of the sprawling landscape. She’d lived in the city her entire life and she’d probably never had a yard of her own. Three square miles was unfathomable to her.

  “This whole place is yours?”

  “My dad’s,” he corrected.

  “You don’t even have neighbors.”

  “We do. They’re just a bit further apart than you’re used to.” Gregg indicated the Miller’s house on the opposite side of the field. Erica squinted, but the asphalt shingles were hard to make out among the pines. His brother’s house was closer, a hundred yards down the main road, though he didn’t qualify as a neighbor. She turned in circles, taking in the vastness of the farm.

  Gregg hoisted the bags from the trunk and led her across the dirt parking lot toward the modest ranch he’d grown up in. Gregg’s father, Frank, stood on the back of a pickup and pushed against the huge new heater as Gregg’s brothers guided and pulled from either side. He led Erica over and made introductions. Frank explained what they were doing. Everyone was polite in front of Erica. His brothers would have plenty of comments later.

  He led her through the unlocked front door. Mom had all she could do to stay in the kitchen until they walked the length of the hall. She wore a pale dress covered with a white apron that featured an apple pie with a piece missing on the front. She’d dressed up for Erica.

  She left the wooden spoon in the pot she was stirring, came over and threw her arms around him. After he kissed her cheek, he turned and introduced Erica.

  “Hi, Mrs. Turner.” Erica began to extend a hand and looked baffled when mom hugged and kissed her like a long lost daughter. He should have warned her about that. He’d never seen Erica hug anyone except him.

  Mom held Erica at arms length and looked her up and down. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Gregg’s told us so much about you.”

  “Really.” Erica fired an accusatory look.

  “Why don’t you help me finish up? We can get acquainted. I’m sure Frank and the boys could use Gregg’s help outside.”

  Erica flashed a ‘don’t you dare leave me’ look.

  “I should at least be here to defend myself.”

  “Nonsense.” Mom made a sweeping motion to shoo him from the kitchen. He made a quick appeal to Erica, who gave him a look that said, ‘I’m trapped and you’re going to pay.’

  Nonetheless, Gregg picked up the bags and carried them to two neighboring rooms at the end of the hall. He could hear his mother’s constant chatter and he walked out dreading what she would say. She was a sweet woman with an innocent directness. She used it like a battering ram to get at what she wanted to know. Erica was a closed book. He hoped his mother would figure that out and have the good sense to back off.

  Outside, Gregg pulled on a pair of leather gloves and hopped up on the tailgate. He caught a conspiratorial look between his brothers as he joined them in the bed of the truck.

  “Hey, does your boyfriend let you drive?” Tom asked.

  Gregg ignored him, grabbed hold of the frame and grunted as they all pulled together.

  “Gregg, man, you’ve gone soft from city living. Maybe you should go help mom in the kitchen,” quipped his youngest brother Rick.

  Gregg didn’t argue. He missed the farm. His brothers had married women who played the farmer’s wife perfectly. They cooked, cleaned and raised children while their husbands worked themselves to the brink from planting to harvest. Erica would never fit that mold. She was tough, independent, educated, and not the slightest bit marriage-minded. This bothered Gregg far more than any worn-out one-liner his brothers could throw at him.

  The men jerkily rocked the machine off the truck and onto the tractor. When they jumped down and got ready to move it inside, Tom began again, “You know, Gregg–”

  Frank cut him off and offered some support for his eldest son. “That’s enough boys. When either of you makes as much money as Erica or Gregg with those fancy city jobs, you come talk to me. I thank God your mother stuck to home. She would have been impossible to live with otherwise. Cut your brother some slack.”

  The conversation ended.

  The brothers uttered only a few directional adjustments to Frank as he maneuvered the tractor into the back corner of the barn. They didn’t make even one rude gesture as they guided the heater into place. They were busy hatching new jabs for later.

  As soon as it was aligned, they abandoned the machine and went inside. Getting it hooked up was a job for another day.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Erica found herself alone with Gregg’s mom. He hadn’t said two words about his family on the ride down, instead talking about the farm and what happened there this time of year. She stood in his childhood home wondering what he did here as a kid. Everything about this place was different from what she’d known and she had no idea what his family would expect of her. Mrs. Turner divided her attention between four pots on the stovetop and a roast turkey cooling on the counter, while she sputtered a constant stream of questions that Erica wasn’t ready to answer.

/>   There was a cozy table in the corner that overlooked the expansive brown field. “Can I help you set the table, Mrs. Turner?”

  “Please, Dear, call me Sue.” She showed Erica into the dining room to a cabinet stacked with dishes and a drawer filled with silverware.

  Erica grabbed four forks, knives and spoons and followed Sue back into the kitchen.

  Sue began stirring gravy, but stopped when she saw Erica headed for the breakfast nook. “Not there, Dear. We’ll eat in the dining room.”

  Erica turned back to the room they had left. “Which places shall I set?”

  “All of them.”

  Erica counted. “All ten?”

  Erica’s mother was her only living family. Mother had a boyfriend who’d asked to marry her twice. With his two children the marriage would bring her entire family to five. Dinner for ten on Wednesday was quite unexpected.

  “The whole family’s coming,” Sue said. “Gregg has two brothers, Tom and Rick. Tom’s wife, Dianne, is driving over now. Rick lives next door with his wife, Claudia, and their two boys, Matthew and Justin.”

  “Wow, you have a big family.” Erica repeated the names to herself as she placed silverware around the table.

  Sue peeked in from the kitchen. “Not so big, just two grandchildren. My sister has seven. On Memorial Day we have a cookout and all of Gregg’s aunts, uncles and cousins come. There were over ninety people last year.”

  “How do you remember all those names?”

  “Remember? We’re never apart long enough to forget. In a family this big there’s always something to celebrate. We see each other pretty often. Don’t worry, you’ll learn them easy enough.”

  Erica stared at the first place setting, wondering how Sue turned a three day visit into a lifetime commitment. Or was it Gregg?