Walking out of the theater, Larsen waited until the short line of people had purchased their tickets and gone inside. He went up to the window to see a sixty-something-year-old man with a well-trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard smiling at him. “How can I help you?”
“Oh, uh, I’d just like to talk to the woman who was working here earlier. You know, she’s about thirty maybe, and she has shoulder-length brown hair. She was wearing a green blouse, like an emerald color.”
The clerk looked confused. “I opened the window here today. I’ve been here since ten-thirty. Not only that, but we don’t have any employees who match that description. Not even close. Sorry, son.”
`*`*`*`
Kathryn got out of her car and walked slowly toward the small gray stucco home with the round, teal-colored door. The cooler temperatures were a welcome relief, but what waited behind the door still made her sweat.
She checked her watch to make sure of the time. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. Steeling herself for the task, she knocked twice on the door. When there was no answer, she turned to go, then told herself that she needed to knock again—much louder.
As she heard movement on the other side of the door, she saw someone unlatch the peephole from the inside, and she knew her identity had been revealed. As the door creaked open, she felt her heart race, but not in a good way. She was terrified.
“Well, what the hellllll do we have here?”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Davis. I see you’re in your robe. I hope I didn’t—”
“Did something happen to my boy? Are you here with bad news?”
“No, Larsen is just fine. He had a bad fever yesterday, but it broke late this morning. He’ll be his old self in no time.”
“He’ll be his old self, huh? That’s unfortunate.”
“Mrs. Davis, that’s a terrible—”
“A terrible thing to say? Well, it’s the damn truth. Like I told him last Monday, he’s dead to me.”
Kathryn noticed that some of the neighbors were beginning to look in her direction, and Raylene’s loud voice wasn’t helping. “May I please come in?”
“You want to come inside my house? You want to interrupt my Sunday? My day to spend with the Lord?”
“Oh. I’m very sorry. I didn’t realize … I would just really like to talk to you. Please.”
“Better than having you stand at my door putting my business out there on the streets. Already bad enough everyone knows my boy don’t live with me anymore.”
Raylene stepped back and opened the door for Kathryn to walk through. “Gee, I’m sorry. If I’d known I was having such special comp’ny in the form of an old white lady who stole my son, I’d have tidied up.”
Kathryn tried to ignore her words. She felt sick to see the empty liquor bottle on the coffee table with two overturned glasses and Raylene’s clothes scattered around the living room. Next to the empty bottle, Raylene’s double-D bra lay upturned on the coffee table, each cup partially filled with corn chips. She knew that Raylene was watching her as she made a quick study of the room and tried to avert her eyes to a landscape hanging on the wall.
“Sit down anywhere you like except my chair right here. And don’t think I didn’t see you looking at my bra. Mind your business. Don’t you go telling people nothin’ you saw here.”
“I won’t say a word. You have my solemn promise. That’s not why I’m here.” As she tried to look away, Kathryn noticed a few framed pictures on some wall shelves had been turned downward. She knew they must be of Larsen.
“Well, this would be the perfect damn time to tell me why you are here, Mrs. …”
“Kathryn Winterstrom.”
“What’s that? A high-society name?”
“Nothing of the kind.”
“Just how long are we s’posed to sit here looking at one another? You gonna tell me why you came? State your business.”
Kathryn folded her hands neatly on her lap. “Monday night, when you came to the Dalworths’ home, you said something that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind.”
“Oh, really? Is that so? Well, I probably said a whole lot you people can’t get out of your busybody minds. What in particular are you referring to?”
“It’s something you said to me, not to Larsen.”
“Well, unless you got an instant replay machine, you’d better tell me because I don’t have all damn day to waste on this poppycock.”
“You asked me if my husband left because he was gay.”
Raylene fell silent, but her eyes penetrated Kathryn’s gaze.
“Mrs. Davis, I am very sure that my husband wasn’t gay. But it occurred to me a couple of days later that you asked me that because you were projecting your own situation onto mine. What I am trying to say is that it occurred to me that your anger toward Larsen is so great because he’s not the only one you’re angry with. Or maybe not the one you’re really angry with. I couldn’t help but wonder if Larsen’s father was gay, too.”
Raylene’s jaw tightened, and her body stiffened. In an instant, Kathryn knew she had stumbled onto the truth. She paused, hoping Raylene would speak, but she just continued to stare, her face filled with rage.
“I don’t know your circumstances or your situation. But as a woman who briefly considered the same scenario and who had a gay son, I understand, if only a little. I beg you, please try to redirect your anger away from Larsen. He’s such a wonderful young man. He’s got so much talent, so much empathy, so much poise, so much intelligence, and, well, I just can’t say enough about him. But despite all of the good things in his life, he’s devastated believing that he’s lost your love. You know, the Desert Theater is opening on the eleventh of January with a talent competition. I suppose you heard that on television Monday night. Larsen will be reciting his monologue, and I know it would mean everything to have you there. A piece of him is missing without you, Mrs. Davis. Won’t you consider it?”
Raylene’s angry face remained frozen. Her icy stare made Kathryn shiver. Very softly, she began to speak. “Now I’m only going to say this once, but you GET THE HELLLLLLLL out of my house!”
Kathryn jumped up and hurried to the door. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive the intrusion. But above all, Mrs. Davis, please forgive your son and accept him for who he is.”
As the door slammed behind her, Kathryn stepped out into the bright sunshine, past the curious neighbors, and quickly got in her car, where she burst into uncontrollable sobs.
Chapter 28
River sat on a boulder and sketched the mountains in the distance, taking care to draw each cloud as he saw it.
“That’s a beautiful sketch, Riv. I could go to sleep on those clouds.”
Looking up to see Larsen standing there, River stuck his pencil behind his ear. “Thanks. Sit down, dude. Glad you could meet me.”
“I didn’t mind coming to school a little bit earlier. What’s up?”
River closed his sketchpad. “I just wanted to make sure we got some time to talk privately. First, I’m bummed we didn’t get to go hiking yesterday. I was really worried when I called Saturday night and Kathryn answered your phone. She told me you had a high fever and were out of it. I got your text on Sunday but was still worried. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine now. Saturday was a really weird day, and then I ended up with a 104 fever. I was totally gone until late yesterday morning and figured I’d better take it easy.”
“What happened?”
“Not really sure. Do you remember when we were at the Kafe and I saw Martha Joy?”
“No, dude. I completely forgot about when you got up from lunch to chase the dead wife of your mom’s boyfriend down the street. Remind me.”
“Okay, yeah, so that’s not the kind of thing you forget that easily. Anyway, I had been thinking about Peter—you know, how to approach him and all—and I thought, who could give me better advice than—”
“Another ghost!”
“Right. Anyway, I went to the Mystek
al Sands and looked for Martha Joy outside, where I had last seen her. She wasn’t there, so I went to see this romance movie because I thought I might find her watching the film. But I didn’t have any luck. Then, during the credits at the end, she shows up in the seat next to me. We had a talk. I gave her the news that I’d moved into Kathryn’s house in October, and I told her about Peter and said that I needed her help. She gave me some advice, explained a little about why people become ghosts, and then, when I looked away for a second, she was gone. So I left. But when I walked through the lobby to leave, I saw that the movie posters had all changed and that completely different films were playing. The woman who I bought my ticket from wasn’t there, and the guy at the window said no one fitting that description even worked there.”
“Whoa. I’d be checking my temperature, too. I’d want to make sure I even had one. What happened next?”
“No clue, Riv. The next thing I remember was Kathryn sitting on the edge of my bed putting a cold washcloth on my forehead. I have no idea when that was. I could have come home and then gotten sick.”
“Do you think you dreamed all of that?”
“I feel like it really happened. You saw Martha Joy in the theater, Riv, so you know she exists. That was the same day I first met her. You saw her again the Saturday before last.”
River thought. “Hey, are you wearing the same pants you had on Saturday?”
“Yeah. But they just came out of the wash Friday night. Who are you? The laundry police?”
“Ha ha. Dude. I’m not checking to see how often you wash your clothes. I was just remembering if you knew how you paid for the movie or if you might have shoved a ticket stub in your pocket.”
“Oh! I couldn’t imagine why you were asking. I hate to admit it, but you really are pretty smart.”
River laughed. “Let’s not waste time dwelling on the obvious.”
Larsen rolled his eyes. “Actually, I do remember. I paid with a twenty.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “All my money is still here. I know I bought a ticket. She handed me change, a receipt, and a ticket.”
“Do you remember giving the ticket to anyone?”
“No, I don’t think I did.”
“So nobody was there to take your ticket?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Okay, so if you saw a movie, tell me what it was about.”
Larsen thought for a moment. “I have no idea. No memory of it whatsoever.”
“You must have dreamed about Martha Joy, Lars.”
“But it felt so real. And she told me things I didn’t know about how people become ghosts. And I could just as easily have dreamed that someone took my ticket, you know?”
“Yeah, but in dreams we usually leave out the parts that don’t matter.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I never will. But you’re the only one I’m telling. I never did tell your mom about Martha Joy. I hope she wouldn’t be angry about that.”
“Nah. She’d probably be really interested, but since Martha Joy isn’t a ghost at her theater, it’s okay not to tell her.”
“Good. Hey, I’ve never seen you sit outside school and sketch before. How come you’re doing that today?”
“Because of a conversation I had with Avalon on Friday. It’s no secret that she’s been really down. It’s been hard enough for her leaving Jersey City and having her mom do so much to mess up her life. Then she comes here to school and deals with the same lowlife bully crap as you do. She has a real passion and talent for painting like you have for the theater. She finally decided to start painting again. I was really glad to hear that. Anyway, it kind of hit home that I haven’t been drawing as much since I started seeing Gina. I never want to get too far from my art, so I just thought I’d get back to drawing more, even if I’m just drawing scenery and not dead people. Of course, you never know when one will walk into my picture. So, how was the rest of your weekend?”
“Everything was way off, Riv. When I finally felt better, late Sunday afternoon, I could see that Kathryn was in a bad way. At first, I figured it was because she was worried about me, and then I thought maybe she was getting sick, too. But she just seemed upset and angry with herself about something she did. I could tell she didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t try to pry. She’s done so much for me. I hated seeing her in such a state, and she wasn’t really any better this morning. I wish I could repay some of her kindness by helping her out.”
“She knows you care. Besides, you’re going to help Peter, and I can’t think of anything she’d want more in the whole world.”
“Thanks, Riv. I appreciate that. Can I say one more thing?”
“Go for it.”
“That pencil behind your ear makes you look like an accountant. Just sayin’.”
River took the pencil away from his ear and stuck it in the coil of his notebook. “You’re not right, dude. Ha ha.”
`*`*`*`
Larsen was heading to the trailer when Muggins appeared out of nowhere, jumping up and licking his face. “Hey, boy, where’s your mom?”
“Here I am.”
Coming into view was Arielle, carrying a stack of sample books in her arms. “Hey, Lars. Some of the guys are going to start prepping the old paint store so we can turn it into a school after Christmas is over.”
Larsen reached out to take the heavy books from Arielle. “Please, let me carry these for you. They weigh more than you do.”
“No, I’ve got them. Actually, I need you to do something else. I was downstairs in the theater measuring the kitchen when I got called away. I left my tape measure there. I need you to go grab it for me, then measure exactly how much space we have to install a new refrigerator. I’m going to be buying a full-size one for the theater and a small one for the school. We’re also going to be buying two microwaves. Oh, and I was looking in the drawers, and all of the original silverware and utensils are still there. Can you take an inventory for me and let me know what condition everything is in? I left a notebook and pen down there, too.”
“Sure, Mrs. D.”
“Oh, and you and Kathryn are coming to Christmas breakfast on Wednesday morning, right?”
“For sure. I can’t believe Christmas is only five days away. I’ll see you inside the trailer in a bit, Mrs. D.”
“Okay, Lars. And, hey, I think my canine son wants to come with you.”
`*`*`*`
Larsen felt a bit nervous as he entered the basement area. He looked at the rehearsal space and wondered how many times it had been used. What plays had been performed? How many shows had Peter performed in?
Straight ahead, at the far end of the space, the flats, furniture, and large props that had been sitting idle for forty years overwhelmed Larsen. He noticed that he wasn’t the only one.
“What is it, boy? Your nose is at full sniff right now. Darn, I wish you could talk. If I can talk to ghosts, it shouldn’t be that difficult to talk to a dog.”
Muggins seemed to understand and looked oddly at him, then went back to sniffing.
Larsen looked ahead to the left and saw Arielle’s notebook and measuring tape on the kitchen counter. But those could wait. He felt compelled to wander over to the old sets, but the dog beat him to it.
There were several folded scenery flats against the wall. A few were open, as if the theater had been closed in a big hurry, and no one had time to put everything away. The flat depicted a New York alley with tall buildings in the background. Larsen felt certain it was from West Side Story, which was in rehearsal but never performed. He remembered what Kathryn had shared with him a few weeks ago after they left the Dalworths’ home. After Willard Carrow killed Peter, he closed the theater for fear that any lingering clues to what really happened might be discovered.
Larsen brushed his fingers over the painted chain-link fence on the flat. He couldn’t feel its barbed edges—only the sharp pain of knowing what had happened to Peter.
“Grrrr.”
&n
bsp; Feeling his heart race, Larsen walked on, very slowly, looking quickly at all of the scenery and props with forty years of dust on them. He passed by an old street lamp, an old-fashioned barber pole, and a bus stop sign.
“Grrr.”
“Muggins … what is it? Peter, are you here?”
Looking down at his arms, Larsen saw the goose bumps begin to appear and felt the chill that hugged him. “Peter, I think you must be here. I’m sorry it’s been so long since the first time we spoke. I never thought I’d find you down here. I thought I had to wait until the workers in the theater were gone for the day. I really wanted to come back sooner.”
Peter’s presence was undeniable, but as Larsen looked around, he could only see the pieces of different sets in the empty spaces.
“Grrrrrrr.”
Turning to speak to Muggins, Larsen put his hand quickly to his heart when he saw Peter vaguely forming in the open space, away from the sets. He didn’t know if Martha Joy had spoken to him in a dream or in the Mystekal Sands, but he tried to remember her advice. It was about trust. He had to earn Peter’s trust.
“Peter, do you remember what I told you? I live in your house, in your old bedroom. Your mom thinks about you every day. She has photos of you all over the house. She tells me that you had the most beautiful baritone voice on earth and that your life and your gifts were taken way too young. She remembers you just the way you look now.”
Larsen couldn’t hear his words, but he knew Peter was asking if Kathryn was happy. “She’s as happy as she can be without you. She manages the high school cafeteria. When she was younger, she used to take in foster children. Nobody could ever replace you, Peter, but having children around helped ease her loneliness. You understand that, don’t you?”
Peter’s image, only slightly clearer, was listening intently to Larsen’s words, and now, without hearing him speak, Larsen knew he was asking about his father.
“Nobody knows what happened to your father. A year or so after you died, he left and never came back. Your mom doesn’t know what happened to him. I’m sorry.”
Desert Star Page 25