by Glen Krisch
He wanted to forget he’d ever heard the woman’s voice in Poppa’s room, but he couldn’t. And he could no longer deny whose voice ushered from the lightless void—it could’ve only been his grandmother. He’d recognize her low lilting tone anywhere.
Jack considered heading off to his own bed, but he would never be able to sleep. He needed to get out of the house. After making a beeline for the front door, he flipped the deadbolt and stepped outside. The air was refreshingly cool, and he could breathe.
Nighttime sounds swept over him: crickets and cicadas, a lone owl’s call.
After ripping open the Velcro on the pocket of his shorts, he removed the pint. He broke the seal and took a long pull, which burned like fire. Poisonous, purifying fire. He sucked in deep droughts of cool, humid air as he drifted from the house toward his truck. He took a shorter pull off the bottle and pocketed it.
Jack glanced back at the house and opened the passenger side door. With the tip of his car key, he removed the speaker cover from the door panel, then let the speaker dangle on its wire like an eyeball forced from its socket. From inside the gaping hole, he removed a cough drop tin. He sniffed but couldn’t smell anything. The wrapped foil tucked inside the plastic baggie wouldn’t stop a K9 dog from popping him, but he felt some amount of reassurance that at least his son wouldn’t accidentally discover his stash.
A loon called from the lake, low and mournful. It sounded heartbreaking, so entirely alone. When a second loon replied, Jack felt an odd sense of relief.
He replaced the speaker and closed the truck’s door. The bottle sloshed in his pocket, his head fuzzy. He’d already had three major buzzes today. He was getting to be an expert riding the waves, riding them from peak to shore without going over the edge. He could turn up the driveway and simply walk wherever his feet took him. While it sounded like an excellent idea, he wasn’t nearly so drunk as to explore that particular whim.
Jack tapped his fingers against the metal box in his pocket, liking the reassuring ping. He gazed at the front of the house for a long time, daring his mind to empty, to erase from his memory what he had heard inside Poppa’s room. Not only that, but what he had witnessed almost two years ago, the day Nan died. He again considered simply ambling away down the road, but he couldn’t. Trevor was asleep inside the house. How could he be so foolish to have brought him back here? Why couldn’t he have just stayed away?
Was his life in such ruin that this place represented a respite from what he had become?
Jack stared at the darkened windows, at the porch swing swaying almost imperceptibly in the breeze.
CHAPTER 9
The nearly full moon idled so low it appeared to sit atop the upraised branches of the surrounding trees. Angled moonlight cut through the wooden blinds, filling the bedroom with the brightness of dusk. It was after two in the morning, and Krista and Neal’s tangled bodies caught the warm yellow light as they moved with a nearly painfully intense rhythm. At first, Krista had wanted to keep things quiet, but when Neal knocked the headboard one too many times against the bedroom wall, she pushed him over onto his back and took charge. Now they were drenched in sweat, even though the bed hardly moved beneath them.
Their muscles were taut and pressed against each other, and from the look in Neal’s eyes Krista knew he was close. She rocked her pelvis against his, their sweat and heat mingling. When he groaned, she clamped a hand over his mouth.
“Shhh …” she whispered, and then giggled as he grunted in frustration.
He panted against her palm and bit the meat below her pinky finger.
“Ow! ” She gasped, but only for a moment.
Neal took hold of her hips and guided her, still ever so slowly; the intensity was euphoric.
Krista ran her fingers through his sweaty hair, massaging his scalp, before pressing her palms against his chest. He began to buck beneath her. She soon joined him, her senses funneling into waves of riotous but glorious physical sensation.
When it was over, she remained on top, her hands resting on his shoulders for balance. Eyes closed, her head swam with the warmth, with unguarded love.
She opened her eyes and found him staring up at her.
“What was that about?” He ran his fingers lightly over her smooth belly, to the curves of her hips.
She took hold of his hands and kissed them. “I just … needed you.”
“Well, you can need me anytime you like.”
She leaned over until her head came to rest on his shoulder. She could smell him—them both—and it made her smile.
Neal brushed her hair back from her face and said, “Are you okay?”
“I am now. I don’t think I could’ve come here without you. I know it’s difficult taking time away from the firm—”
He shook his head to waylay her guilt. “This is a hard thing to do—seeing someone you love drift away—for anyone it’s hard, but for you, especially under the circumstances … having avoided this place for so long, and the bad memories it must hold for you … I couldn’t let you do this alone.”
She kissed his cheek. “Well, I’m grateful.”
“And a little drunk still, I believe.”
“A little? More like a lot.”
“You haven’t been like this since our first New Years together in Chicago.”
“Oh, don’t remind me. I think I’m still partially hungover from that night.”
She ran her fingers across his chest. Neal had never been musclebound. He was lanky, but strong, and she liked how their bodies fit so perfectly together. She wanted this moment to last, for the outside world to recede to the horizon.
They were both verging on sleep when Neal mumbled something she didn’t quite hear.
“Hmm …?”
“Do you think anyone heard us? God, that would be embarrassing.”
“I don’t think so. At least once I decided to take control of things. You and that silly headboard …”
“Good.”
“You know, I better pee before I fall asleep.”
“Good idea. Go for me too.” He chuckled, his hand stroking her back. His eyes at half-mast and fading.
“Sure, I’ll get right on it.”
She reluctantly pushed away from him and stood, too fast for her present condition, and the walls began to spin. She almost had to sit down on the bed, but the walls started to behave.
“Take some aspirin … for your head.”
“Do you want any?” she replied.
“No, I’m stone-cold sober.”
“You don’t sound like it.” She grabbed her robe from the rocking chair next to the bed.
“Trust me, I am. Didn’t have even a sip of beer after, like, nine o’clock. I’m groggy because you just screwed any sense out of me.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
She normally wasn’t so demonstrative in their lovemaking. She had to admit that it gave her sometimes flagging self-confidence a goose in the right direction.
With his eyes fully closed, he raised his hand. She slapped him a high five and then slipped into her robe. By the time she had it cinched around her waist, Neal let out a soft snore.
Krista opened the door a crack and listened. All she heard was Neal’s snoring. She padded out into the hallway, feeling like a kid getting one over on her parents. She remembered exactly where to place her feet to avoid creaky floorboards. It wasn’t exactly a direct path down the hallway, but she was still so buzzed she probably couldn’t negotiate a straight line anyway.
After being immersed in the bedroom’s moonlight, the hallway’s darkness was so absolute the air seemed flooded in sooty shadows. The surrounding cityscape always suffused their Chicago apartment with a liminal brightness, which made it difficult to pinpoint time. It would take a few days to get reacquainted with the western Michigan dead of night.
She heard giggling fr
om next door. She reached for the doorknob, ready to reprimand Heidi and Clara for being up so late. When she opened the door, moonlight revealed a tent in the center of the room made from one of her grandmother’s handmade quilts. After a couple of seconds, the girls stopped giggling, and a heavy stillness filled the room.
Krista grinned as she closed the door as quietly as possible and hurried across the hall to the bathroom. After finishing up, she flicked off the bathroom light, ready for her warm bed. All she wanted to do was curl up next to Neal and sleep.
She again heard the girls’ voices. Yes, they were using hushed tones, but from the rush of syllables, they were nowhere close to falling asleep.
Her daughter was so serious sometimes that Krista hated ruining any amount of fun she was willingly engaging in, especially with her sweet cousin. She pictured both girls crabby and irritable all day tomorrow from lack of sleep. Against her better judgment, she again opened the door. Again, the voices quieted.
“Girls, it’s almost 3 a.m. You’re going to have to get some sleep or you can’t share a room.”
The room remained silent, unnervingly so.
“Got it?”
The quilt tent collapsed on itself, the four corners pulling taut in opposite directions until it lay flat on the bedroom floor. Cold air gushed from beneath the flattened fabric, buffeting her brow and billowing the sheer white curtains at the window.
Krista gasped and flicked the light switch near the door.
No one was there.
“Girls?”
Her palms became clammy. Thick pain throbbed at her temples as she took a step inside the room. The room looked unremarkable and obviously unoccupied; there was an antique bed with a white painted metal frame, a wardrobe cabinet. She checked beneath the bed, saw stars in her eyes from the sudden blood rushing to her head. Nothing. The wardrobe contained a few vinyl garment bags, a hatbox, and the pungent odor of mothballs.
“Girls?”
Desperation tinged her voice. She was alone, knew she was alone. But then again, she had seen what she had seen. Right? The quilt remained where it had fallen, appearing ready for a picnic or a child’s pretend tea party.
There was no other place for the girls to hide.
Krista hurried from the room, not caring if anyone heard her footsteps. She went past her and Neal’s room and turned the corner.
They have to be … somewhere. Please, let them be—
She pushed open the door to her left. The hinge squealed, but no one called out in response. Two shapes in the deep of night. Two blanketed shapes snuggled together on two twin beds pushed together. One of the shapes moved.
Krista exhaled a pent-up breath. She inhaled deeply and the room started to spin. She leaned against the door frame until she regained her equilibrium and her eyes adjusted.
Clara and Heidi slept nearly nose to nose, as if they had fallen asleep while sharing conspiratorial whispers. She wanted to sweep them both into her arms, to hold them and feel their warmth. They looked so at peace, like angels. She smiled, happy Clara had allowed herself to bond with her cousin.
Krista eased the door shut and let out a ragged sigh. Her hands were shaky and a thin sheen of cold sweat swathed her skin. When she reached her own bedroom door, she kept going. She would never fall asleep now, not after what she’d seen.
At the threshold of the spare bedroom where she’d heard the voices, her fingers trembled a bare inch from the knob. She pressed her ear to the oaken door, heard nothing but her own reverberating heartbeat. Her breathing slowed with the chill of her cooling sweat.
Before she could have second thoughts, she turned the knob and hurried inside, throwing the light switch as she moved.
The room was empty, at least as far as she could tell. Moonlight illuminated the tidy bed. But the wardrobe’s door was now closed. And quite disquietingly, her grandmother’s handmade quilt was no longer on the floor, and now folded and neatly appointed to the end of the bed.
Krista almost screamed, but some fragment of her sober brain held it at bay.
Nothing is out of place, she thought. There is no reason to freak out over absolutely nothing. Because nothing had been out of place just minutes ago. I’m drunk. The walls are still spinning, goofy woman.
She embraced her inebriation, for only that could logically explain everything.
Krista retraced her steps, making sure to avoid the squeaky patches in the floor. She tried her best to ignore the image of the quilt hanging in the air, perfectly shaped like a tent any child with any modicum of boredom would take upon themselves to build. She tried to squeeze the stress from her hands, clenching and unclenching her fingers.
Looking back over her shoulder, to the room, was out of the question; she couldn’t possibly look back while holding her senses together.
Neal’s snore was reassuring and grounding as she climbed into bed. She placed her head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, muttering about aspirin. She’d forgotten the aspirin but wasn’t about to leave her bed till morning.
Coiled into her husband’s warmth, she doubted she could possibly fall asleep before dawn. Just as she completed the thought, she did just that.
CHAPTER 10
When Jack ventured back inside, he remembered to throw the deadbolt. Guess I’m not that far gone. He couldn’t face his bed. Not alone. Not without the fear knowing he wasn’t alone.
Come here, son. Let me get a look at you!
A chill ran down his spine, and he dug his fingers into his palms to keep his fear at bay. He had challenged his memory of hearing that haunting voice enough times that he had begun to doubt its veracity. He had been drinking all day—pretty much the last six months—so everything got muddled after a while, both the good and the bad.
Someone had turned on the kitchen light while he was out at his truck. A half-empty glass of water sat on the kitchen island.
He found Leah on the deck, leaning with her elbows against the railing.
She turned around, as if sensing his closeness. Leah had always had the subtle ability to know things just … because, as if her sensory antennae were more attuned to underlying stimuli. She smiled and he held up his cough drop tin and shrugged. She rolled her eyes and waved for him to join her.
He stepped outside to the haunting call and response of the loons.
“You chatting to your people?” Jack said. He stood next to her, mimicking her pose with his elbows braced against the railing, his body leaning out over the edge into the darkness.
“Who’s that?”
“The loons, silly.”
She laughed her throaty laugh and slugged him in the shoulder.
One loon’s call quieted as it flew away, while the other sounded almost desperate.
“I’d forgotten about them,” Leah said. “There’s wilderness in downstate Illinois, but nothing like this.”
“I never liked hearing them when I was a kid, but I kinda like it now.”
Neither said anything for a minute or more. A breeze rushed through the surrounding woods; height-of-summer foliage rattled like uprooted beasts prowling the lakeside hills.
Leah pointed to the cough drop tin. “I see nothing’s changed.”
“This?” He shook the tin, then popped it open. He opened the baggie and unwrapped the foil bundle. He removed a joint, twisted one imperfect end and stashed it behind his ear.
“Yeah, I remember you used to hide your weed in a Sucrets tin just like that.”
“Until Nan found it.”
“Oh, she was so mad at you!”
“The only time she ever laid a hand on me. Any of us really. And it was a single hard smack on the ass. Just that one, and I knew it would take a long time for her to forgive me. I’d just gotten my driver’s license, but the look she’d given me? I wilted like a four-year-old.”
“
Oh, that woman. Did she have to be so perfect? She kept us all fed and clothed. Kept the house spotless. Not just on cleaning day, but every single day. And I don’t think she ever swore her entire life.”
“One time she stubbed her toe on the kitchen table and I heard her mumble, ‘Oh, dump truck!’ under her breath.”
“Close enough.”
They both laughed.
“She made it look so easy,” she said.
Jack pulled out his pint, uncapped it and took a swig. “Yeah, but it isn’t.”
“No, it’s not. Raising kids. Keeping up on things. Being an adult.” Leah grabbed the bottle and took a drink. She winced and waved a hand over her mouth. “This stuff is nasty.”
He retrieved the bottle. “It does the job.”
“I always tried to be like Nan, always held myself up to her standards. But with everything, you know, with Curtis? I realized I’m not Nan. No one could be her, but her.”
“Preach it, sister,” Jack said and laughed.
Leah’s eyes were clear and unwavering. “Trying to be like her? It was a trap. It’s what kept me with Curtis, long after I should’ve left.”
“So what made you leave?”
Jack sipped from the bottle, then realized he didn’t want any more. He recapped the whiskey and returned it to his pocket.
“You,” she whispered.
“Me? What the heck did I do? I haven’t even seen you guys in months!”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, trust me. You and Trev … I’ve always envied how you’ve taken care of him. You showed me it was possible to raise a child on your own, as a single parent.”
“That was never the plan. I never wanted to be alone, but Sheri never wanted a family.”
“But you made the most of it. You’ve made it work.”
“Then how come it feels like the walls are always tumbling in on me?”
“That’s the thing; that’s how parenting feels even when you have a spouse.”
“Really?” He paused to consider. “But Trev, he’s so …”