by Steve Frech
There’s no resistance.
Whatever it was must have fallen off.
The rake head quickly rises out of the water, and dangles from the end of the rope.
No cinderblock. No weeds. No ring.
Damnit.
*
After a quick shower, I change my clothes, and get started on dinner. I’m taking it a little bit easier than yesterday with some chicken and veggies. Caitlyn sits at the alcove, scribbling in one of her new notebooks.
“How was today?” I ask while sautéing some vegetables.
“It was okay,” she says in a manner that suggests it was not.
I stop tossing the vegetables. “What happened, sweetheart?”
“Nothing.”
“No. Not nothing. Come on. Tell me.”
She fidgets and puts down her pencil.
“Caitlyn?”
“A boy was making fun of me at recess.”
“A boy was making fun of you?”
“Yeah. Peter Sanders.”
“What happened?”
She fidgets again.
I turn off the burner and go and sit across from her in the alcove.
“Sweetheart?”
“He was making fun of someone and I told him to stop.”
“That’s good, Caitlyn. That’s what you should do. Did he stop?”
She’s trying not to look me in the eye.
“… No.”
“Did you tell Ms. Hancourt?”
“… No.”
“Do you want me to talk to Ms. Hancourt?”
She quickly shakes her head.
“Are you sure?”
She nods.
“Okay, but you tell me if you want me to talk to her, okay?”
She nods again, but I can tell she’s not going to do that.
It’s probably because I’m a little bit raw after these last few days, but this pisses me off. Screw this Peter Sanders kid.
“And if he still doesn’t stop, maybe you show him who’s boss. You know, rough him up a little bit.”
She looks at me with her jaw dropped, which I’ve earned. Even I can’t tell if I’m joking, but she would never do that. Caitlyn is far too nice and caring, but I want her to know I’ve got her back, and I’m sure I’ve said the right thing because her shock melts into a smile.
“Okay, besides the smelly Peter Sanders, how was the rest of school? You have any homework?”
“Yep.”
“All right, dinner’s going to be ready in a few minutes. Let’s get started.”
*
We knock out her homework as we eat dinner. Her assignments are light. After all, it was only the first day of school. Most of it is orientation stuff.
Then, it’s some boardgames and a movie on the couch.
This is exactly what I needed to get my mind off Nicole’s ring. I still have the best thing we ever did, which is this little munchkin sitting next to me.
The prince and the princess begin waltzing around the castle, the music crescendos, and the credits roll, ending the movie.
“Okay, Caitlyn,” I say. “Eight o’clock. Time for bed.”
Without much of a fuss, she hops off the couch and heads upstairs.
While she gets ready for bed, I turn on the light in the Writing Room and fire up the computer for some background writing music. I’m going to try to get some writing done to make up for this afternoon, but first, I head upstairs to tuck Caitlyn into bed.
I enter the room just as she’s crawling under the covers.
I go over and kiss her on the forehead.
“Good night, pumpkin.”
“Good night, Dad.”
“Know what?”
“What?”
“I’m really proud of you for standing up to that Peter Sanders.”
She smiles, unsure of how to respond.
I kiss her forehead again, go to the door, and remember to hit the night-light.
“Get some sleep. Love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
She snuggles deeper into the covers.
I close the door and head back downstairs into the Writing Room, when I sit in my chair and grab the pen.
“All right. Let’s try this again.”
*
I don’t get far.
It’s not bad. My main character is trying to find out who sent the hitman after him. This stuff should be riveting, but I can’t get into it. Thoughts of Nicole’s ring elbow their way back into my mind.
Maybe I’ll try again with the rake tomorrow.
No. I’ve got to accept it. It’s gone. I’ve got to stop thinking about it. This is what I need to focus on.
But maybe one more throw with the rake. Just one.
No. Move on.
I keep going back and forth until I have to put my pen down. I need to concentrate. I’ve got to reset my brain and focus on this hitman. I stand up, jump around a little bit, shake out my hands, and take some deep breaths. The clock on the computer monitor says that it’s 11:30 p.m. Damn. I want to finish this chapter before going to bed and at this rate, the sun will be up before that happens.
My muscles ache from a night in the office chair and pulling the rake through the mud. My throat is parched. Some aspirin and a glass of water is what I need to get this chapter going.
I pause the music on the computer and step out of the Writing Room.
The darkness combined with the silence is a bit too eerie, but that’s quickly remedied by turning on the table lamps in the living room as well as the light in the dining room on my way to the kitchen.
I pour myself a glass of water and shake two pills out of the bottle from the cabinet. It’s a cloudy night and I can barely see past the deck into the yard through the window.
Final decision made: no more fishing for Nicole’s ring.
It’s gone and I have to face it. Also, I’m not sure my body and sleep-deprived brain can handle another day of that.
I pop the aspirin in my mouth and wash it down with a gulp of water. I down the rest of the glass, load it into the dishwasher, and leave the kitchen.
As I cross the dining room, there’s the sound of giggling from the Writing Room.
“Caitlyn?”
Silence.
I shake my head. I’m hearing things.
I walk into the Writing Room and plop back down in my chair.
“All right. Here we go for real this t—”
I stare down at the desk.
There’s a silver butterfly necklace with two tiny blue stones on a silver chain with a broken clasp, sitting on the notebook. It’s clearly been left for me to find.
I look towards the door.
“Caitlyn?”
She must have come down the stairs while I was in the kitchen, left it, and went back upstairs. I guess I really did hear her giggle. I’ve never seen this necklace before, but I’m sure I don’t know every bit of jewelry Caitlyn has.
Necklace in hand, I walk upstairs and open Caitlyn’s door.
She’s asleep, or at least pretending to be. What is she doing? I walk over to her bed and whisper. “You lost this, pumpkin. I’m going to leave it right here.” I place the necklace on the nightstand, next to her medallion.
I wait for her to open her eyes but she doesn’t. She must have fallen right back asleep or she’s doing an amazing job of faking it.
We’ll talk about it in the morning. Right now, I need to get this chapter done.
As quietly as possible, I go back downstairs into the Writing Room, and plop into the chair. I go to grab my pen, but stop.
Sitting on the notebook is a silver butterfly necklace with two tiny blue stones on a silver chain with a broken clasp.
12
The toast jumps from the slots in the toaster as I flip the bacon in the skillet. The eggs are already on the plates, waiting for Caitlyn to join me.
I can’t get the necklace out of my head.
Did I just imagine that I took it up to Caitlyn’
s room and actually left it there in the Writing Room? Am I really that tired? It’s possible, I guess. That’s the only thing I can come up with, or, at best, I went upstairs to Caitlyn’s room and forgot to bring the necklace with me, but that adds to a whole other problem that I can’t ignore; I really might be starting to lose it. The lack of sleep, the visions. I’m not only seeing things that aren’t there, I’m hallucinating actions that I’m not really taking. This can’t be simple, run-of-the-mill processing of grief, and if it keeps up, I’m going to have to talk to someone. I know there’s no shame in it. Under the circumstances, it’s understandable, but it just adds another level of difficulty to everything. I suppose I can try to keep it a secret from Caitlyn and go to therapy sessions while she’s at school, but I don’t want to sneak around or lie to her when I want her to be honest. Merely thinking about it is giving me a headache and I’m not there, yet. I’m simply allowing myself that option if this keeps up.
Last night, I slept on the couch, again. I got some sleep but only three or four hours. That chapter that I wanted to finish before going to bed? Yeah, that didn’t happen. Not even close. Instead, I crashed on the couch, lights on, thinking about the necklace.
Caitlyn walks into the kitchen, dressed and ready for school.
“G’morning, pumpkin. How’d you sleep?”
“Good,” she replies, sliding into the alcove.
“I’ve got scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. You want juice or milk?”
“Juice, please.”
“You got it.”
I pour her a cup from the fridge and set it on the table.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I bring our plates over from the counter by the stove and sit across from her.
“Listen,” I say, scraping some butter across a wedge of toast. “That necklace you left on my computer? I really appreciate it, but why did you leave it there for me to find?”
She bites off the end of a strip of bacon. “I didn’t leave it there. It was my friend. She said you were sad about losing Mom’s ring. She said you could have the necklace and wear it like Mom’s ring.”
She’s making things up, again, but how can I be upset? She’s trying to do a nice thing. I have no problem letting this one slide.
“Well, you can tell your friend that’s very sweet, but I’ll be okay,” I say with a knowing nod. “She can have the necklace back.”
Caitlyn just munches her bacon and takes a sip of juice.
I take a bite of my toast. “So, what’s going to happen on your second day of school?”
“I don’t know.”
“You gonna learn how to be a rocket scientist?”
“Dad, I told you I want to work with animals.”
“Rocket animals?”
“What are ‘rocket animals’?”
“I don’t know. I guess today, you have to learn how to build them.”
“They don’t teach you how to make rocket animals in second grade.”
“Einstein made rocket animals when he was in second grade.”
“Who’s ‘Einstein’?”
I’m clearly failing as a parent.
“Are you gonna make some friends?” I tentatively ask. I want to nudge her in the direction of making some real friends as opposed to the imaginary ones.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs with a little more uncertainty than I’d like.
“You should try,” I say, attempting to be encouraging without being pushy. “It’s exciting, getting to meet all these new kids. A lot of them probably like the same things you do.”
“Maybe,” she replies, looking down at her glass of juice. “What if Peter Sanders makes fun of me, again?”
“Hey, pumpkin, look at me.”
She does.
“You don’t worry about what Peter Sanders says, okay? He’s just a bully. Bullies try to make other people feel bad and do you know why?”
“No.”
“Because they feel bad about themselves. You are amazing, Caitlyn Nicole Price. Peter Sanders ain’t got nothing on you.”
She smiles.
“And, if you work hard this week and we get your homework done right when you get home, we’ll go swimming in the pool this weekend.”
“The pool?”
“Yeah,” I say with a nod towards the window.
“You mean the lake?”
“I thought you said it was a swimming pool.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“I’mmmmm pretty sure you did.”
“No, I didn’t!” she laughs.
“Oh, no. You called it a puddle.”
“Dad!”
“Okay, okay, okay. Fine. Let’s finish up breakfast. The bus is on its way.”
*
I close the front door as the bus pulls away.
After talking and joking with Caitlyn over breakfast, this morning is a lot easier than yesterday.
Before getting to writing, I grab the necklace off my notebook in the Writing Room. Finding it there when I thought I had taken it upstairs last night had really messed with my head, so I decided to have nothing more to do with it.
I carry the necklace up the stairs and into Caitlyn’s room.
The place is a mess, again. All it took was one day for some dirty clothes to find their way back to the vanity. I pick them up, taking a second to check my reflection in the mirror, and then toss the clothes into the closet.
Holding the necklace in my hand, I scan the room.
I don’t even know where Caitlyn keeps her jewelry. I’ve never seen a jewelry box or anything of the sort. There’s not one on the vanity, window seat, or in the closet.
Finally, I set it on the nightstand, next to the medallion, which is where I thought I put it last night. That being done, I step over the stuffed animals and toys that litter the floor as I make my way to the door …
Know what?
Instead of leaving, I turn around, begin picking up the items on the floor, and putting them away. A few minutes later, her room is neat and organized.
I know it’s her mess, and she should be the one to clean it up, but she was looking out for me by giving me the necklace.
It was a really sweet thing to do and I’ll look out for her, too.
June 12th, 1900
The pharmacy has become a perfect balance of anticipation and despair.
On one hand, I’m forced to endure this endless boredom, working behind the counter. The throngs of customers still haven’t arrived. It’s gotten to the point that Father has been forced to make a decision. He had promised Carol that we would never sell alcohol at the pharmacy, but he had to go back on his word. Carol was furious. Father tried to argue that we would only market it as a medicinal remedy and not for recreation. When Carol continued to argue with him about how expensive it would be, he said that we would buy cheaper alcohol and repackage it. I know all of this because their voices easily carried through the curtain that separates the storeroom from the store. They only stopped when a potential customer opened the door, was startled by their voices, and promptly turned and left. Finally, Father said that we didn’t have a choice if the pharmacy was to survive. After that, Carol left without saying a word.
The only joy I get from the pharmacy is the anticipation I feel at the possibility that Mr. Carrin—Thomas will place another order, giving me an excuse to go to the Nightingale House to see him, or that he may drop by the store.
Throughout the day, I constantly watch the window, hoping my wishes will be answered.
Instead, almost every day, I have to see Patricia Fleming and her herd of friends take their lordly stroll across the green. I have to watch as they stop and speak to the nobility of Kingsbrook. I can imagine her put-upon tone and her laughing as she spreads what I’m sure is unfounded gossip about the person she spoke to only moments ago.
Why should someone so horrid be blessed with such a leisurely life while I’m stuck here, in this Hell?
&nb
sp; I often dream of what it would be like to have wealth, stature, and peace … to have Thomas. He is all those things wrapped into such a striking package. That’s exactly what he is to me—everything that I want.
I find myself constantly fiddling with the necklace, wishing it was a magical amulet that could summon him at my will.
But I guess I shall have to wait.
It’s all I can do, besides dream of Thomas and the Nightingale House …
13
“Come on, Dad!” Caitlyn cries as she races towards the water’s edge.
“I’m coming,” I call after her. I’m really dragging.
It’s Sunday. At least, I think it’s Sunday. The days are starting to blur.
I’m honoring my promise to Caitlyn that we would go swimming today, but I made that promise before I had endured endless sleepless nights, and before I spent this morning clearing the weeds from my search for Nicole’s ring, but Caitlyn held up her end of the bargain with her homework throughout the week.
She runs into the water and falls down with a laugh.
I gingerly dip my foot in the water and pull it back.
“It’s freezing!”
“No, it’s not!” Caitlyn says, slapping her arms on the surface.
“It’s ice-cold, you polar bear!”
“You promised!”
“Ugh. Fine.”
I’m not joking. It feels like it’s subzero. I hesitantly ease myself forward, hissing as the water creeps up my legs and let out an audible gasp as I submerge my … waist. The sand below my feet is coarse, but gradually becomes a soft mud as I advance.
I continue my theatrics of adjusting to the water as Caitlyn slowly swims up behind me.
“Come on, Dad! You just gotta go under real quick and it’ll be over. It won’t be cold.”
“Yes, it will!”
“No, it won’t,” she says, creeping closer.
I point a finger at her. “You stay away from me.”
She giggles and swims, like a shark approaching its prey.
“Stay away!”
“Daaaaaad …”
“Noooooooo!” I pretend like I’m going to run for the shore, but I go really, really slowly. “Leave me alone!”
Caitlyn swims up behind me and launches onto my shoulders.