Carol was sitting up. She was very thin. She was wearing glasses, looked older. Her hair was pinned high on top of her head. “Rachel, I have something to discuss with you. It’s very difficult.”
“Okay.” Rachel sat in the green plastic side chair. She forced herself to stare into Carol’s eyes. She deserved this.
“I don’t know how to start this, how to say this, except just to start.”
“Okay.”
“For years, I’ve been aware of you, across the street. We were good friends there for a while, it was a great consoling run we had—and then there was Wally, and we lost touch, sort of, right?”
“Yes,” Rachel said.
“But we were, we were, we were, don’t you think, awfully close, very good friends, before that? With much in common?”
“Okay, right.” The build-up was almost too much for Rachel.
Carol stared at her. Her face seemed cold, stern. “I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time…”
Rachel braced herself. Now it would happen.
“…that I wish I’d done better with our friendship.”
Rachel’s face turned, her eyes went to the wall—she felt herself go pale as she realized she was safe. This stunned, turning gesture appeared appropriate even if it wasn’t. “What a nice thing to say.”
Carol looked down, embarrassed at the intimacy of the moment.
“I’ve felt the same,” Rachel said, “but I did understand, you know. I know how things work. I knew you were still there. I’m sure that if I’d been married, we could have continued on.”
“Well, yes I was, I was still there.”
What now, Rachel thought.
“I’ve watched you over at your house,” Carol said with a deep sigh. “Not spying, you know, but occasionally observing. How do you do it! Everything well-kept and never a missing beat. Hattie’s such a nice girl. And I never hear even a single word. Such a quiet, calm, orderly existence.”
“Well, I play like I’m on a desert island,” Rachel said. “I play like I’m alone for good, except for Hattie and she keeps me going. I take in the sun in the backyard, get nourishment when I can. I listen to a lot of music. I go everywhere alone, except when this guy from Arcola shows up. It’s pretty bad, actually.”
They both laughed. But Rachel sensed it wasn’t quite over.
“I want you to know,” Carol said, changing vectors, “that I have always trusted you.”
Rachel looked down, shifted on her plastic chair.
“Because we’re old friends, and because we had a lot in common. Have a lot in common. Because I’m probably more like you than you even think. I don’t know what I mean by that. Anyway. I trust you—I do. Of all the people I know.”
Rachel tried not to slump in her seat, tried to hold the posture of a friend, a good person, worthy of trust, whatever posture that was.
After a moment, Carol looked at her and said, “I need your help, Rachel.”
“Okay.”
“There’s this woman, a lifelong friend, who has been writing to me for many years. She’s a very good friend. It’s a personal correspondence. Wally didn’t know about this—I never told him, and for years I’ve been hiding the letters.”
“Hiding them?” Rachel asked in a moderate tone.
“I’ve got them hidden so well, in fact, that in my condition I can’t get them—I can’t get to them.”
Rachel watched Carol’s eyes closely. Steely gray, troubled, but direct. So this is how it looks when you know both sides.
“Actually, they’re hidden in a pretty dumb place.”
Rachel laughed. “Where on earth did you stash them?”
“Under the house.”
Rachel laughed. “Under the house?” Quick, she reeled herself in.
“They’re in a suitcase. All you have to do is get the suitcase and take it up to my bedroom. You can put it in the closet. I trust you, Rachel, not to read the letters or open the suitcase. I’ll be home soon, and I can deal with it after that.”
“Okay.”
“Do you know how to get under there? There’s a…”
“I think I do.”
“Yeah. An opening thing, on the south side. Wear old clothes. You’ll be in dirt. The suitcase is locked, and the key is right above it, on a floor beam. You’ll need a flashlight. Once you’re in, turn left and crawl until you hit the second wall. Watch out for nails. There are a few daddy longlegs, but it’s not bad under there really.” She laughed. “Once you get used to it.”
Rachel looked at her.
“I know it’s a lot to ask.”
Rachel looked at Carol, at the hands Nick loved, jabbed with needles and tubes. She tried to see the other Carol Brown, the one in the Florida picture with Nick’s arm around her. “Does this person, does she know what’s happened to you?”
“Probably not. No way of knowing, really.” Now Carol occupied herself by rummaging in her purse. With a reach, she handed Rachel the house key.
Rachel considered not asking the next question but couldn’t stop herself. “Why all this intrigue over a correspondence with an old girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. It made sense at the time—it evolved. The relationship has a kind of tradition of secrecy, something like that. We’re very close, across a couple of husbands for each of us. We share so much. Nothing is held back. I don’t know.”
“Is she your lover?”
Suddenly there were tears.
Rachel pulled Kleenex, handed it over, watched and waited. She understood that Carol was asking her to back off, and indeed she didn’t want to push too far. It was just that the alibi made so little sense. “Why haven’t you called her? I don’t get it.”
“I felt guilty, maybe.” Carol looked down at the hospital sheet covering her legs. “I don’t know.” She wiped more tears. “Just get the goddamn suitcase.” She laughed through the crying, dabbing at her eyes.
Rachel laughed, too. A little tension left the room. She stood up to go. She touched Carol’s shoulder, her hair, kissed the top of her head. There was a trace of their lies in the touch.
•
That evening, a little after dark, Rachel again crossed the street to Carol Brown’s house. As she came between the Fosters’ house and Carol’s, she could see the old couple, Don Foster and his wife Ruthy, at their dinner table, which faced that direction a little too much and on the spur of the moment Rachel decided this wasn’t the time. But she did have her flashlight and was wearing old jeans and finally had to try to act like she had some reason to be there. The Fosters were, after all, waving at her through their window. She smiled and waved back, and the old man got up. Rachel heard the scrape of the chair on the bare wood floor. He came out onto the front porch, leaned over the rail so he could talk to her in the sideyard.
“Hi, Don,” she said. “Carol told me to take a walk around the place and see if it was okay.”
“Yeah, great,” he said. “I wanted to tell you there have been people around over there. I just never know whether to call the police.” He deaver was pointing. “The alley, the backyard—somebody was even under the house the other day—and we had some kids throwing rocks. I’ll be glad when she gets back.”
While he talked, Rachel opened Carol’s crawlspace hatch. “You say someone crawled under here?”
“You bet, few nights ago.”
Rachel practically dove into the dark space, her flashlight ahead of her. “Did they take anything? Did the Browns keep stuff under here?”
“Who knows?” he said, laughing. “You know how people are. Never enough storage.” She heard him come off the porch and stand there in the little stretch of grass between the houses.
Underneath, Rachel slid her way to the west foundation wall. The suitcase was undisturbed since the last time she was there. She reached up and got the key, looked around for anything else. She made sure the suitcase was latched, then slid it ahead of her to the crawlspace opening and left it standing up against the foun
dation wall just inside. Then she stuck her head out.
“Find anything?” Don Foster said.
“Seems empty, actually.” She climbed out and brushed off, taking care to be in the way of Mr. Foster if he wanted to look in. “Looked like some old plumbing work, or something, but that’s it.”
She replaced the plywood cover and bade Don good evening. She said she’d look around the rest of the place. She told him she had the key to the house and would be inside this evening making sure it was ready for Carol to get home, so not to worry if he or his wife saw lights. Very late that evening, when the Fosters’ lights were finally out, she slipped back to the crawlspace, reached in and got the suitcase. The interior of Carol and Wally’s house was eerie to her. Even though the neighbors had cleaned it, the horror of that Sunday morning lingered in the odd spots on the floor, the wrinkled throw rugs, the magazine rack upset next to the easy chair, the dark shadows at the top of the stairs and in the rear rooms of the ground floor. Rachel was spooked. She locked the suitcase, put it in Carol and Wally’s bedroom closet and shortly after that was out of there and back in her own blessed home.
•
The following Monday night, Carol Brown came home from the hospital, arriving with her mother, her sister, and the two kids. The amazing Vasco Whirly had power-washed the front walk and the porch. Carol’s mother planned to stay a while. From the dark of her kitchen, Rachel watched the family re-gather, unloading in the driveway, climbing the steps of the front porch. Carol quietly stood on the lighted porch as her mother worked the lock. In a jumble, the little group disappeared inside. Cars arrived and left, food being brought, best wishes being wished, no one staying long. Rachel continued to watch the house. It was great seeing the porch light on and all the activity. Something felt like it was ending.
Suddenly her phone rang. It startled her. She figured it was Rob. “Let it ring,” she called into the living room, where Hattie was watching TV and coloring. There was a phone in there, and Hattie often answered it first unless Rachel waved her off.
The old-style answering machine on the kitchen counter took the call. “Hey, I’m home,” Carol said into the recorder. Rachel picked up.
“Carol! Is that you? Are you back?”
“I thought you were over there. I can see your car.”
“How do you feel?”
“Well, for starters—Jesus, it’s stuffy in this house. I think we’re gonna have to sell it. I’ll sleep on it, but right now I’m in the mood to get this thing out of my life.”
Rachel stretched the cord into the living room, sat down. “I assume you know not to be too hasty.”
“Right, right. Not one of my problems.” They both laughed. “Listen. Mom’s going to bed soon. Why don’t you get Hattie down and come over for some brandy or something, ten or after, when deaver things get quiet. We can raise a toast to a new life and surviving.”
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Mom’ll be in bed. We can talk. If I fall asleep in the chair, you can leave. No big deal.”
“Okay.”
“Hey. The Fosters just came over with homemade ice cream. And Don said he saw you in the crawlspace.”
Guilt and panic churned in Rachel’s temples. “Yes, well, I…”
Now Carol spoke confidentially, away from whoever was close by. “I can’t thank you enough. I’m sure you understand now that I couldn’t have gone under there myself.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay? Sometime after ten? Brandy on the verandy?”
“Sure. Great.”
•
Around nine, Hattie was asleep. Rachel stirred around, restless, and finally pulled a little of Rob’s weed out of the freezer. She used it to get up her nerve. In the living room, she began working on the phone, calling a series of informations, finally getting a number that seemed right. And she dialed.
“Hello.”
“Hi,” she said. She liked his voice. Don’t gush, she thought to herself. “How’re you doin’?” She tried to sound familiar. Could he tell she was high?
“I’m asleep, actually. Who is this?”
“Is this Nick?”
“Yes it is. Who’s calling.”
“Nick of the Ohio University?”
“C’mon.”
“C’mon, yeah right, sorry.” She was disguising her voice, she suddenly realized—she’d arrived at a Southern country accent. “Nick, this is a secret and anonymous phone call, hon. From Illinois. I can’t tell you very much, and it is important that you not share with Carol—you know Carol, right?—that you have received this communication, are we clear? I’m trying to do a favor to you both.”
It was quiet on the other end for a moment. “Okay, talk,” he said finally. His tone had changed, like he’d gotten up and gone into a different room, like now she had his full attention.
“Carol was attacked by her husband a few weeks ago, nearly killed—had you heard about this?”
He said nothing.
“Didn’t think so. She’s just out of the hospital. He’s in jail somewhere.”
“God.” Rachel heard him breathe deep. “He was unstable—I knew it.” He spoke quietly. He seemed to be talking to himself.
“Well. Something maybe made him that way,” Rachel said. “We don’t exactly know.”
Rachel waited for him to respond. It took a few moments.
“He was scary, I’ll tell you. Had been for a long time.” He was now close to the phone, talking very directly into it. “Just tell me, is she okay?”
“Right, that’s what I said.”
“What did he do to her?”
“He stabbed the bejesus out of her, that’s what, with a big-ass knife from the kitchen. She can tell you the rest. She’s alive by a miracle, we all agree. I gotta get off the phone. I just wanted to notify you. So maybe you could do something, I don’t know.”
“Well, just so you understand—I’m staying clear now. I don’t want to be why she dies.”
Rachel suddenly felt unstoned. “I didn’t expect chivalry, Nick. I know how this shit works. Maybe just let her know you know and show a smidgen of concern, okay hon?”
“Nah, I’m out.”
“I read the letters, you fuck. Call her. She just got home. Her deaver husband’s locked up. Nobody’s gonna gitchya. The bad shit happened to her, not you. I thought you were a soldier.” It was quiet on the other end of the line. Her heart was hammering. “Jesus. Whatever,” she said. “Good night, then.”
“Goodbye,” he said.
•
Around ten-thirty Rachel finally slipped out the garage door, locking it behind her, and walked across the street to Carol’s. She thought of Hattie and rationalized that she’d be gone a short time. She was struck by how Carol reached out to her. After years of very little contact, now her neighbor was almost driven about it. Carol met her on the front porch, happy and welcoming, hugged her, and invited her in.
They sat in the den, a gouge mark from Wally’s knife prominent in the wall above the easy chair where Rachel sat. Rachel felt very internal, Nick’s voice still in her brain. Carol sat temporarily on the arm of the sofa.
“What do you think I could get for the place?”
“I don’t know,” Rachel said quietly, with a shrug. She looked around. She remembered walking through it alone in the middle of the night when she’d retrieved the suitcase. It was a scary place.
Carol reached up and ran her fingers across the damage in the paneling. “Sell it to out-of-towners who don’t know about the hex it has on it.”
“Ha. Fat chance.”
“I know. Everybody’s talking.”
“I’d rather you stayed. Selfishly speaking.” Right then, for a moment, Rachel meant it.
“Really? That’s nice of you to say.” Carol looked at her.
“You’ll never get for it what it would have been worth, before the murder. The almost murder. “
That didn’t seem to register with Carol. “We could have fun
maybe. Wouldn’t it be swell to have some fucking fun for once?”
“Maybe,” Rachel said. “You know…I’ve noticed that you seem to have become more subdued. Than in years past. It’s like you can’t let go anymore.”
Carol went in the kitchen. Rachel could hear her pouring them each a glass of a wine, and Carol returned with a tawny port that Wally had kept around. She handed an over-full glass to Rachel. “Sorry. Brandy’s gone.” Carol settled on the couch, taking care not to spill the port. “I noticed the same thing about you. I keep wondering, what is it with you anyway? I noticed it when you were bringing me mail.”
Rachel sat quietly. What is it with me? she was thinking.
“And God almighty thanks so much for bringing that mail and visiting me. What would I have done?”
Rachel smiled at her. “You know, I really don’t think I’m subdued. I think it’s just ordinary life, how it goes. Getting older maybe. Probably the same with you, at least until recently. We’re grown up. We’ve got kids that are growing up.” She held the eye contact.
“Well,” Carol said, “after all this crap my antenna is way up. And I’m paranoid and worried and really I gotta get in and spill the beans to Dr. Wagner.”
Rachel stared at her. She was barely in control. Would she suddenly blurt something? Carol! I’ve done something terrible and I must tell you! She rode it out, silent, staring. When the moment grew raw, she said: “Friendship doesn’t come as natural to me as it used to, maybe. I’m in my own little cocoon over there. I’ve just terminated an affair with a guy from Arcola. I think I’m done.”
“Well, let’s fix that,” Carol said. Her hand came up––seemed to reach for Rachel’s wrist. “You’ve been there for me. Maybe I could…”
“No,” Rachel said. “There’s nothing.” She suddenly wanted to hurry back across the street.
Carol looked down. “Okay.”
Rachel stared at her. “We’ve both changed. There’s no going back. You actually know this.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“We’ve both changed, Carol.”
“Change isn’t all bad. You and me, we’re at the top of our game.” There was a creak in the ceiling, movement upstairs. Carol smiled, and added quietly, “Even though our mothers won’t believe us.” Carol seemed to want to share a conspiratorial laugh.
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