The Good Girl

by Barritt, Christy

  I turned off the light in the kitchen, then moved into the great room and tugged both lamps off. It was June, and I was too stubborn to turn the AC on. After all, I’d escaped the stifling heat in Florida, where opening the windows up made the house feel like a sauna. The weather here in Minnesota beckoned me to enjoy it. During the day, the house had felt perfect after I’d cracked the windows and let a gentle breeze roll through. Right now, the house was warm, but I didn’t dare keep any windows up. The thought of someone cutting the screen and sneaking inside as I slept was too vivid in my mind.

  Not that anyone could sneak up on me with these squeaky wooden floors, I comforted myself. The oak-stained planks might be beautiful as they stretched across the entire level, but they were old—original to the house maybe?—and every other step I took was announced with a squeak or a groan.

  The light from my bedroom illuminated my path. I cracked one window by my bed, only because there was a safety latch that allowed it to stay open a mere three inches. No one could fit through that opening. A crisp breeze crept inside.

  I stripped down to my underwear and a tank top, threw back the thick comforter, and crawled between the cool sheets. Once I was settled, I calmed myself by taking inventory of Lana’s bedroom decor. Lana had probably been thinking of a summery white when she decorated the monotone bedroom. It boasted an alabaster comforter on a silvery, metal bed, billowy ivory curtains, paintings of pasty white roses in pale frames, a snowy-colored rug on a light oak floor. The gang at HGTV would be proud of her overall look. To me, it was all...spooky, ghost-like.

  I ignored my shivers and hesitantly reached for the light by the bed. My fingers lingered on the twist. I held my breath, then turned the plastic knob and ducked under the sheet before I had time to stare the blackness in the face. My heart raced, and I listened for any suspicious sounds.

  A car zoomed past on the street outside. A dog barked. The alarm clock hummed on the nightstand. The house creaked. It was just settling, I told myself. Old houses did that.

  I’m still here.

  The words from the note echoed in my mind. What if someone was still here? What if they were hiding in the basement or the attic or the garage? Had the police considered that? Had they checked those places?

  The sheets still covered my head. I should move them down, act like a grown woman. Instead, I breathed in and out. My breath hit the silky fabric around me, warming my nose and cheeks. My hair tickled my face. My heart pounded in my ears.

  I closed my eyes, willing myself to think about something else.

  My hand skimmed across the empty space in the bed beside me, and I thought of Peter. It was a toss up which subject was less appealing—ghost or ex-husband. But my thoughts went where they went.

  Though we’d only been married for two and a half years, I still felt like Peter should be beside me, protecting me from anything the world threw our way. That’s what marriage was about, right? Being there for each other in the good times and bad. In sickness and health. In times of peace and in times of ghostly hauntings.

  Everyone said we were cut from the same cloth, a perfect match. Unfortunately, they were right. We’d both cared too much about what people thought of us. When Peter had the chance to distance himself from the disaster surrounding my life, he’d done just that. I, on the other hand, had been stuck with myself.

  At one time, I’d thought Peter was charismatic, confident, and righteous. Somewhere along the road, those qualities had morphed into being flighty, arrogant, and judgmental. Funny how your perspective changed with experience.

  I had to admit, I hadn’t been the easiest person to live with after I’d been arrested. I’d withdrawn. Bottled up my emotions, trying to hide the fact that I felt sorry for myself. I did feel sorry for myself—I’d just decided not to let anyone else know that.

  Yeah, that’s me. Good Girls Rule #23: Always appear strong even when your muscles are jelly. Kind of similar to wearing a girdle to look skinny and then taking it off and letting your flab flounder.

  I wish now I’d cried more, opened up more, saw the counselor more than once.

  Maybe things would have turned out differently if I hadn’t been in denial about my problems and my marriage.

  Tears wet the pillow in my cocoon, and I knew I should peek my head out of the covers. Thinking about Peter was not a good alternative to thinking about the creepy things that had happened today. But I was frozen.

  The same fear haunted me every night. The fear of someone breaking into my house, watching me while I slept. I couldn’t get the image out of my mind before, and I certainly couldn’t now.

  I forced my breathing to steady. This fear was just my overactive imagination, after all. There was nothing to be scared of. Gaga would protect me.

  The thought made me smile. I tugged the sheets down and let the fresh, cooler air fill my lungs. But I still found myself holding my breath again.

  On the count of three I’d open my eyes.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  I yanked my eyes open, and the stark-white room came into focus. It was empty. No spooky ghouls or unwanted visitors were staring at me from the foot of the bed.

  The clock on the nightstand read 12:28.

  I tried to relax against the mattress. When would I ever get over this childhood fear? I turned over, dug my head into the fluffy, feather pillow, and searched for the sleep that felt so elusive.

  Metal clanged outside.

  I tensed and gripped the covers. Was it just my imagination? No. This wasn’t my imagination. Something clicked and squeaked and groaned.

  I sucked in a deep breath. I knew exactly what the noise was. It was the rusty gate leading into Lana’s backyard. I’d heard it earlier in the day when I’d let Gaga outside. I distinctly remembered fastening the stubborn thing. Someone was either going into or coming from my backyard.

  Logic told me to peek out the window. Fear told me to freeze. Fear won.

  Why would someone be entering or leaving the backyard at 12:30? Why would someone be going into the backyard at all?

  I forced myself to practice yoga breathing for calm. There had to be an explanation. Maybe Cooper’s little boy had tossed a toy into the yard and Cooper was going to retrieve it. That made sense.

  But not at this hour.

  Maybe he’d thrown something into the yard earlier and Cooper just now found the time to get it.

  I convinced myself it was a plausible possibility. Tomorrow, I’d ask Cooper and he’d explain it. Then we’d have a good laugh. I’d chide myself for being so silly.

  I pulled the covers tighter, listening for any more telltale sounds. It was silent. Shivers attacked my limbs as the note continued haunting me.

  I’m still here.

  Who? I wondered. Who was still here?

  Would I live to find out the answer?

  Chapter 5

  Lying in bed the next morning, I watched as gray turned to orange outside. The tropical colors eventually morphed into a hazy, lazy white. I remained under the covers, wishing I’d doze off again.

  My head felt as if it were stuffed with tiny lead beads. When I’d finally drifted off to sleep, somewhere around 2:30, Gaga had jumped in bed with me. Of course, I’d thought it was an attacker. My heart raced for the rest of the night, yet some invisible chain had kept me in bed and unable to move.

  I glanced around Lana’s room again. The white did look pleasant in the sunlight. In the daytime, everything seemed so much friendlier and my fears seemed so unfounded. Still, there was the butcher knife, the note, the supposed ectoplasm, and the squeaky gate. Add that to my already-in-place fears, and I was done for.

  Gaga barked at my feet. “What? You need to go outside?”

  She barked again. I threw on some shorts and a robe and followed Gaga to the backdoor. The morning sunlight looked so glorious that I couldn’t resist stepping outside.

  My gaze meandered over the grass and patio set and garage. My peru
sal skidded to a halt when I saw the gate. The open gate. The noises last night hadn’t been my imagination. Someone really had been in the backyard. A shiver zinged up my spine.

  I walked barefoot down the brick sidewalk and closed the gate, thankful I’d followed the dog outside. Otherwise, Gaga might have run away and Lana would never forgive me. Sure, my sister acted like the dog was an accessory half of the time, hauling her around in rhinestone-studded bags and buying her designer clothing. Sometimes I thought Paris Hilton was her role model. But I did think that deep inside, the dog was Lana’s baby. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have left me a note, asking me to tell Gaga a bedtime story every night—not that I would ever actually do that.

  I had closed the gate yesterday, hadn’t I? I stared at the latch, remembering how difficult it was to force down. Yes, I’d definitely closed it.

  And some ghost had opened it while I was sleeping.

  “Good morning.”

  I half-gasped, half-screamed and threw myself back toward the house. My foot landed on a sharp rock in the process. I grabbed it, rubbing the indention. When I looked up, Cooper stared at me from the fence, amusement dancing in his eyes.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t,” I started. I dropped my foot and shook my head. “Well, you did, but not by any fault of your own.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

  I nodded and pulled the robe closer. Though I was wearing shorts and a tank top, I felt exposed. “Fine. You?”

  “Just enjoying some coffee and watching the sunrise.”

  “You’re an early riser, huh?” When I stepped outside, it had been nine a.m. The sun probably rose three hours ago, at least.

  “It’s ingrained from my days as an Army Ranger.”

  I nodded. “You seem like a special ops guy.”

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Cooper raised his chunky blue mug to his lips and took a sip. I needed some coffee, I realized. As soon as possible, for that matter. It was my wonder drug, just as addictive as all those other substances I’d cautioned those younger than myself to stay away from. My urge to pump some caffeine into my system nearly had me plotting to snatch away Cooper’s to take a sip. A good girl would never, ever do something like that, though, as per rule number 41. We’d just fantasize about it instead.

  Cooper tilted his head, his eyes still twinkling.

  “A little of both,” I finally answered.

  He chuckled. “At least you’re honest.”

  I pulled my arms over my chest and drank in the fresh morning air. “Nice neighborhood. You said there’d been some break-ins?”

  “A few, which is unusual for this area. I’ve always felt safe. I know you might have a totally different impression based on your start here. That’s generous that you can dog sit for your sister. Your job must be very forgiving.”

  If he only knew. “That’s the nice part about having the summer off from teaching.” It was true. I was a teacher, and I did have the summer off. But I’d also been fired prior to that. I cleared my throat. “How about you? What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a security systems analyst. I test out security systems to see if they’re as solid as they claim to be.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  He smiled. “I enjoy it.”

  I cleared my throat, knowing I needed to ask him something that might make me sound like a lunatic. I decided to ask anyway. “You didn’t go in my backyard last night, did you? Like at midnight or a little past?”

  “I try not to make it a point to sneak into my neighbor’s backyards at night.”

  “Is that a no?”

  He smiled. “It’s a no. Why?”

  Because a ghost just might be haunting this place after all. I didn’t say that, though. Instead, I shrugged. “Just wondering.”

  “Maybe your friend opened the gate when he left last night.”

  All moisture vanished from my throat. My eyes. My entire head, for that matter. “My friend?”

  His smile disappeared, and he squinted, almost as if he were trying to read me. “I saw someone leave your porch, probably around eleven or twelve. He didn’t appear to be sneaking around or acting suspiciously, so I thought you’d had someone over.”

  My hand went to the fence. I had to hold on to something so I wouldn’t fall over from the fear that threatened to seize each of my muscles. Cooper must have thought I was a party animal like Lana. Not me. “I’m not like my sister, and I don’t know anyone in Minnesota.”

  His blue eyes remained on me a moment, again appearing like he was trying to figure me out. Finally, he nodded slowly and decisively. “Considering everything else that’s happened since you’ve been here, I’d be careful, Tara.” There was no tease or lightness to his voice. No, this man I hardly knew looked genuinely concerned.

  That realization caused chills to whiz up my spine.

  What if someone had found me here? What if they were trying to scare me off, to get me out of their safe little neighborhood? Was that what this was all about?

  I cleared my throat. “So this man...he just walked off my porch? Did it look like he came from inside?”

  “I couldn’t tell.” He shook his head sympathetically.

  My childhood fears seemed to come to life. “Okay, I’m sufficiently freaked out now. What should I do?”

  He tilted his head. “Get a security system.”

  I sighed. Cooper probably had just the right one to recommend to me, too.

  ~*~

  I’d spent most of the day catching up on my work as a virtual assistant. Since leaving the school where I’d taught, I’d been helping my father with his radio show and my uncle with his mission organization. I did things like Twitter updates, blog entries, and other online campaigns. The work had kept me out of the public eye, allowed me to earn some money, and gave me something to occupy my thoughts. I’d continue working while I was here in Minnesota.

  After I’d finished my work to-do list, I’d cleaned out Lana’s refrigerator, dusted the house, and swept her wood floors. I’d opened the windows and let fresh air flood inside. I’d done crossword puzzles and taken a shower.

  It was only five o’clock, and I was completely out of ideas of what else to do, so I sat at Lana’s kitchen table with a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich in front of me. Two dead yellow daisies had begun to wilt in a jar on the table, the sight strangely gripping. Sometimes I felt like those daisies. I’d once been cheery and bright, but the life was slowly draining out of me. I couldn’t bring myself to throw the flowers away when I cleaned. Instead, I slid one from the glass jar holding it and twirled the flower between my fingers.

  Had Lana’s boyfriend given these to her before they left? I hoped that she’d found someone who would make her happy, who would treat her right, because being treated poorly by a spouse ranked high on my list of the quickest ways to bruise someone’s spirit.

  I ran my fingers down the row of petals, causing a few to flutter to the floor. Gingerly, I plucked one of the yellow petals that had still been hanging on.

  “He loves me,” I whispered, dropping the delicate leaf to the ground.

  I plucked another one. “He loves me not.”

  I went through several more and then glanced down at the confetti-like petals at my feet. I didn’t bother to pick them up—not now, at least. I would in a few minutes because I was a self-professed neat freak who liked everything to be in place. I liked my house clean, my outfits neat, and my schedule planned.

  Peter had never understood my need for order. He said I just didn’t get it. In all truthfulness, I still didn’t get it. I didn’t get how we went so wrong so quickly. I didn’t get how the only thing I’ve ever failed at was the one thing most important to me.

  I plucked another petal. “He loves me.”

  All I’d ever wanted was to get married. I wanted to be a mom with lots of kids and a minivan. I wanted to clip coupons and sort through hand-me-down
s.

  After high school, I’d gone off to a Christian university to get my degree in education. I’d had big dreams of meeting my husband there, and I figured he’d be someone like my dad—strong, committed, and respected. While in college, I began volunteering with a youth organization that promoted abstinence before marriage. That’s where I’d met Peter.

  He was a volunteer also. He was a business major at a secular university an hour away. He’d been introduced to Christ through a Christian organization at his school. God had turned his life around, and he’d jumped right into whatever his cause-of-the-moment was. It had worked to my advantage at the time because transforming himself from his old life of worldliness to a new life of purity had been Peter’s one goal.

  I’d embodied that purity as I’d been an outspoken promoter of saving yourself for marriage. Peter had never lived a wild life before he’d become a Christian, but he’d lived by a different set of values—values that led him to drink and begin keeping a list of all the women he’d ever been with. He’d turned himself around, though.

  We’d dated the standard year and had a respectable six-month engagement. I shook my head as I remembered our early days together. Peter wasn’t a bad person. He didn’t grow up with the same foundation I had. His parents had been divorced. They didn’t go to church. He’d never been shown what to do when the going got rough.

  Maybe I should have seen the signs. Just because we’d made so much sense on paper didn’t mean we’d actually work in real life. He’d always had a bit of a temper underneath his smooth exterior. He liked to jump around from job to job, from commitment to commitment. That should have given me a clue.

  No one ever thought that I would get divorced. I had a good head on my shoulders and a bright future ahead. Peter fit right into that future, and everyone said we made the perfect couple.

  I dropped a yellow piece of the flower to the floor. “He loves me not.”

  Then life had fallen apart. Until then, I’d always considered myself a little better than everyone else—the rule breakers. No, I never told them they were sinners or that they should have tried harder to do right. I never told them they were living halfheartedly with one foot on both sides of the fence. But in the secret room of my mind, I’d thought it. I knew God loved me just a little more because I followed all the rules. I was a good girl.