Madness in Brewster Square

by Narielle Living

  “I’m just not sure it would be prudent for me to join you,” Charlie said, almost as if she hadn’t heard me.

  “He said it looked like the end result of Make It Pretty.” I knew I was getting very close to sounding whiny, and I tried to stop myself. Nobody wanted to hear that, including me, but I really didn’t want to do this without her. Sometimes being with Charlie gave me a kind of false courage, an ability to do things I might not normally do. She was sleek, fun and always willing to try a new adventure. I was cautious, precise and usually thought things through very carefully before making a decision. Charlie, on the other hand, was the kind of caution-to-the-wind girl that you see on television shows. We’re even somewhat opposite in looks, my long red hair and voluptuous figure a direct contrast to her short, blonde and ultra chic skinny look.

  But none of that mattered, because we were best friends.

  “I have to be more careful of outward appearances,” Charlie said, looking at the floor.

  “Is your future father-in-law harassing you again?” I asked. I liked Charlie’s boyfriend Fred, but his father was an uptight pain in the patootie.

  “He’s not my future father-in-law if Fred doesn’t ask me to marry him,” she said.

  “He will,” I reassured her. “He’s just one of those guys who’s waiting for the exact right time.” I sometimes wondered if he was waiting around for his father to kick off, then felt really bad for thinking a thing like that. I knew Fred truly loved Charlie, and everybody who saw them together knew they were a perfect match. Fred’s mother loved Charlie and often spent time with the two of them, dropping broad hints about grandbabies, stopping just short of buying baby clothes. But Fred’s father was an entirely different story.

  Fred came from a family that had lots and lots of money, the kind of money that around here was considered “old” money. All that meant was that they’d been rich since they stepped off the Mayflower and claimed all the loot for themselves. Fred’s father Win took their station in life very seriously and had long ago decided that his son needed to marry for strategic reasons. Empires uniting, that sort of thing.

  Good old Win (short for Winthrop) might have had his way, too. When Charlie met Fred he was dating someone who was his social and financial equal, a very nice but boring woman whose name I could never remember. But Charlie, as I’ve said, is gorgeous and sweet and funny, and Fred couldn’t help himself. I think he was in love with her before he even asked her out.

  Now everything was almost perfect, except Win was always looking down his nose at Charlie and making comments about how she should act and dress and behave at all times. He was an annoying ass.

  “Stop listening to that guy. He has no connection to reality,” I said. I tried to steer the conversation back to where I needed it to be. “So I was thinking we could go out for a drink or something after this thing with my brother tonight. Girls’ night out. We’ll be done early, so we’ll have some time to ourselves.” By speaking in the present tense with a positive tone of voice I hoped it would encourage her to say yes. I’d learned that technique from watching one of those videos about self-empowerment.

  “I’ll do it,” Charlie said, “but not because you’re using that positive voice thing with me. I’ll do it because I know you’re scared.”

  “Am not.” Crap. Maybe a little, but I didn’t need to admit that to the whole world. Charlie was great as a best friend, but she knew a lot about me.

  “Do you really think he’ll ever ask?” Charlie said.

  I tried not to sigh. As I’ve said, my friend is sweet and gorgeous, and she really is smart except for this one little area. She doesn’t realize how much Fred loves her and constantly tries to analyze what he’s going to do next. This wasn’t typical behavior for her, so it always made me a little irritated when she started playing this game. But she was my friend, and she had agreed to go along with me tonight, so I really had to do my part.

  “I’m sure he’ll ask you to marry him when he feels the time is right,” I told her, like I told her every time she asked this one question.

  “It’s been three years. I’m ready. Do you think I should push the issue?”

  I didn’t think she should push the issue at all, but I did think she should talk it over with Fred and let him know how she felt. I’d already said this to her a gazillion times before, so we were going over old ground at this point. Why was it so easy to hand out advice to others about dating when I couldn’t even be in the same room with someone I liked without acting like an idiot?

  “Never mind,” Charlie said, “I know what you think. You’re right, I’ll talk to him.” I leveled a look at her, knowing what that meant.

  “Soon,” she added. “I’ll talk to him soon. What’s going on with you and Stanley?”

  I wanted to tell her there was nothing going on, that I couldn’t even speak normally in front of the guy, and could she give me some pointers on how to be sophisticated. I figured it was as good a time as any, since we didn’t have to be at the house for a couple of hours, and I wasn’t expecting anyone else at my apartment.

  As I opened my mouth to tell her what an abject failure I was at flirting, the sound of sharp knocking interrupted me, making me jump.

  It sounded again, an impatient rapping, making me wonder who the heck was so anxious for me to open the door.

  Chapter Six

  I don’t know why I was so spooked. Must be because I agreed to help my brother’s lame group again. Deep inside, I knew who it was before I even opened the door.

  “You really should ask who it is before you open the door,” my Aunt Maria said. She walked into my apartment, carrying a large plate of cookies. “I brought these for you and your friend.”

  “Thanks, Auntie, what’s the occasion?”

  Aunt Maria walked into my kitchen, presumably to put the cookies away. I have three maternal aunts—four when I count Claudia— all of whom live in the same building as I do. Aunt Estelle, Aunt Maria and Aunt Sophia lived on the first two floors of the building. Aunt Claudia was Estelle’s partner, although they’d only recently come out, a source of great amusement to my large family that had never once believed that they were just friends. I loved Claudia, and I always thought she and Estelle balanced each other.

  “You didn’t have to come all the way up here. You could have called me to come get the cookies.” I was the only person in the family able to take the third floor apartment. In a building this old, there was no elevator, and nobody else wanted to walk up three flights of stairs. My mother came from an extended Italian family, and my name, Ava Maria Sophia Cecilia, reflects that. My first three names are family names; the fourth name, Cecilia, is because my parents are big Paul Simon fans.

  “That smells so good,” Charlie said, sniffing the air like a dog.

  “Eat!” Aunt Maria said, shoving the plate at Charlie. “You need energy for tonight.”

  Charlie shrank away from the plate as if it were a writhing mass of venomous snakes. “I can’t, I’m on a diet.”

  A moment of absolute silence shrouded us as my aunt and I looked at her, my friend who had no obvious weight problems and would probably disappear if she turned sideways. I squinted my eyes, trying to see something. Nope, no fat rolls, the couch didn’t sag, and she still had one chin. That could only mean one thing.

  “What did he call you?” I asked.

  Charlie tried to look everywhere except at me. My aunt’s eyes narrowed and she started muttering in Italian. We didn’t know exactly what she was saying, but we didn’t have to. Some languages are universal.

  “Nothing,” Charlie hedged, watching my aunt.

  “He told you to lose weight, didn’t he?”

  “He said only common people gained weight, and people of a higher class have to make sure they look good.”

  My aunt had more to say about that, and louder. I cringed, thinking it was a good thing I didn’t know what she was actually saying because I was probably too young to hear it, ev
en at the age of twenty-eight.

  “Stop letting him run your relationship and your life. Your future father-in-law is a bully, and you need to stand up to him. Once you do that he’ll stop,” I said, knowing she wasn’t ready to hear it but compelled to say it anyway.

  “She’s right, and he’s no one to talk with his background.” I wondered what my aunt meant by that, but before I could ask she continued talking. “So you girls ready for your night at the Laurence house?”

  “I think Giuseppe must’ve told you the wrong house,” I said. My aunt wasn’t usually wrong about anything, but there’s always a first time. “We’re going to the creepy old McAllister house tonight.”

  “It’s not the creepy old McAllister house anymore,” Aunt Maria said. “The Laurence family bought it, and I heard it looks really nice inside. Kind of like one of those television shows.”

  “Make it Pretty?” I said.

  “No, the other one,” she said. “Anyway, you’d better get used to calling it the Laurence house, because that’s who lives there now.”

  “How do you know these things?” I asked.

  Aunt Maria shrugged. “It’s a small town. Anyway, you girls be careful, and don’t get scared.”

  “I’m not scared.” I don’t think either Charlie or my aunt believed me, based on the looks they gave me. “I don’t believe in ghosts, so there’s nothing to be scared of. C’mon, let’s get going. I don’t want to be late.”

  Although the house was well within walking distance, we decided to drive, since we were going out later that night. Charlie drove, mostly because she has a nicer car but a little bit because I’m not always the best driver.

  I get distracted easily, which can affect my driving. At least, that’s how Charlie phrases it. I know she’s just trying to be nice, because the truth is that sometimes I forget to watch the road when I’m behind the wheel.

  Not watching the road can be a problem, which is why I usually let my friends drive whenever possible.

  For the short amount of time it took us to get to the house, I checked and double-checked my cell phone reception, wondering if I should just go ahead and call Stanley. Did the don’t-call-boys rule still apply when you’re in your late twenties? I wasn’t sure, so I put the phone away.

  Charlie drove the speed limit in her shiny new red mini cooper while I sat back and watched the familiar buildings roll by. I’d grown up in Brewster Square, and although I’d gone to college in the neighboring state of Rhode Island, my heart has always been here. I’ve travelled to a good number of places, and although my destinations have always been English-speaking—mainly because I’m too chicken to travel alone to a foreign language place—I can honestly say I’ve always been glad to come home. I never planned on escaping Brewster Square, I never saw any reason to get out, and I’ve always thought this was a darn good place to live.

  Maybe all this makes me unusual, but I like it here. I like the New England style of the architecture, the no-nonsense, practical approach of the people, the rocky shoreline, the golden air of autumn and the smell of lilacs in early summer. This part of the world has an atmosphere that’s half magical, a sense that perhaps this is the enchanted land I’m living in. Maybe it’s just me, but that’s okay, too. After all, I’m the one who lives here.

  Soon—maybe too soon— the old house loomed before us. It looked as creepy as I remembered from my childhood days. “I thought they fixed this place up,” I muttered. A couple of cars were parked on the side of the street, and I saw someone carrying boxes inside.

  “Is that a police car backing out of the driveway?” Charlie asked.

  “Keep driving,” I said. Maybe the owners had changed their minds and called the police to have everyone kicked out.

  “Good idea. If we delay a little they’ll have everything all carried inside and wired up by the time we get in there.”

  Charlie drove around the block a couple of times, staying well under the speed limit. When we finally pulled up and parked in front of another car on the street, Giuseppe was standing in the driveway with an impatient look on his face.

  “Why were you driving in circles?” he demanded as soon as we got out of the car. “There’s work to be done, let’s go.”

  Usually I had a smart retort for my brother, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, my attention was riveted to the person standing behind Giuseppe, the last person I’d expected to see on a ghost hunt.

  Chapter Seven

  My hand instinctively reached for my cell phone when I saw him, as if my thoughts of calling him had conjured his presence.

  “Hey, Stanley. What are you doing here?” I hadn’t meant to sound confrontational. I was going for more of an interested tone. Good thing for me he didn’t seem put off by my words.

  “Hi, Ava, I just thought I’d stop by and see if there’s anything I could do to help,” he said.

  “I’m going to help your brother with that box,” Charlie said, disappearing like any good friend would at a time like this.

  “So, this should be an interesting night,” Stanley said, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. He wore a lightweight jacket, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was freezing. I was, and I had on a fleece pullover under my jacket. “This house kind of reminds me of a book I read a long time ago. Daphne DuMaurier.”

  I knew what he meant immediately, because I’d been thinking the same thing when I saw the house. “Rebecca.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, but I don’t know why.”

  “I know,” I agreed. “The house doesn’t look anything like the description of the one in her book, and there isn’t enough land, but still …”

  “Maybe it’s the architecture, but there’s a mysterious quality here that makes me think of that book,” Stanley finished for me. For a moment we stood and simply smiled at each other. “Would you like to go out with me sometime?”

  I was frozen to the spot, and I couldn’t speak. At least his asking me out took care of the question of whether I could call him. I wanted to say yes and was horrified that I hadn’t jumped at the opportunity. Then again, maybe it was best not to appear too eager.

  Giuseppe staggered by with a suitcase full of equipment. “That looks heavy,” I said. “Do you want some help?”

  “No, I want you to say yes to Stanley and go out with him already.” My mouth dropped. How the heck did he hear what Stanley said to me? Giuseppe wasn’t anywhere near us when he asked me out.

  “I mean it, little sister,” Giuseppe called over his shoulder as he walked toward the house. “Go out with him, or you’re fired.”

  What an ass. “I was going to say yes,” I told Stanley.

  He smiled at me, reminding me he had the cutest dimple on his face, and looked like he was getting ready to reply when he was interrupted by some woman with big gray hair, a purple tunic and a long orange skirt. She walked past us, waving her arms in the air. “I can feel them already.” She spoke loudly enough for people in the next town to hear her. “Can’t you feel that they’ve gathered?”

  “Maybe we can have dinner this week?” Stanley was ignoring the crazy lady, but she’d already distracted me.

  “I’d really like that.” There was a long moment of silence while we stared at each other. Finally, I broke the spell. “Who is that lady?” I asked.

  Stanley turned and watched the woman walk into the house, hands flapping as she talked about seeing spirits. “I don’t remember her name, but she’s one of those weird new-age health people.”

  “Looks like she’s seeing things before the show even starts,” I said.

  “Listen, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Stanley said.

  A young couple floated by, eyes bright with excitement. “Can’t you feel them gathering?” the woman asked her friend. I didn’t know these people, but I watched them carefully. I could see his eyes glistening, and I wondered if it was moonlight or if he had a fever. “We’ve been waiting for this… look, on the porch!” He pointed at
the porch, but I couldn’t tell what he was talking about. It looked like the same old crumbling porch to me, except … I squinted. Yep, sure enough, new rocking chairs and tables were up there. The new furniture was a start, but I didn’t think that was what everyone had been waiting for.

  “I didn’t mean to be insulting. It doesn’t really matter to me if people are into that whole New Age thing.” Stanley’s countenance was serious, as if we were discussing matters of world diplomacy.

  “Does it seem like there’s something wrong with them?” I asked.

  Stanley looked taken aback by the question. “Um, no,” he stammered. “I mean, they might believe in some strange things, but they’re basically harmless.”

  “Not the New Agers,” I said. “Them.” I pointed to the crowd gathered on the front porch, animated about something. “They’re all talking about seeing ghosts or something gathering. They seem a bit …” I searched for the right word.

  “Frantic?” Stanley suggested.

  “Maybe,” I admitted.

  “Worked up? Excited? Foaming at the mouth?” The corners of his mouth turned up a bit.

  “On the edge of lunacy?” I added. “Rabid?”

  We smiled at each other, a moment of connection that was nice to share. “Seriously,” I asked. “Being the mayor, you must know lots of people. Do these people seem a little off? More than usual?”

  Stanley’s eyes darkened for a moment, and he seemed to struggle with what to say. “Ava, I’ve got to tell you something.”

  My heart sank. I knew that tone, and it usually meant I was about to hear something I didn’t want to hear. He had a girlfriend, he had a wife, he had a boyfriend, he was actually a woman trapped in a man’s body … the list was endless, and I’d already heard a lot of it from others.

  “It’s about being mayor,” he continued.

  “You’re doing a good job.” I could at least be encouraging.

  “The truth is, the only reason I’m the mayor of this town is because I sprained my ankle.”