White Elephant

by Julie Langsdorf

  So she’d screwed up. It wasn’t like it was deliberate, though you’d have thought so from the black looks the Millers gave her at the police station. She hadn’t lied or anything. She’d just tried to defend her daughter. It was Lindy who’d lied. Lindy who’d turned her into the neighborhood pariah, a laughingstock.

  She wasn’t going to give them any more to laugh about. She was going to get rid of her mammogram paintings before someone found them. She grabbed the purple lighter she’d found in Lindy’s jeans pocket that afternoon when she went to do a load of wash—why did she have a lighter, the little sneak? Then she went downstairs and snatched the films off the light boxes, slid them out of drawers and into boxes, and heaved them into the back of the car. She dumped armload after armload of films, boxes of paints both used and untouched, brushes, cleaning solvents, you name it. Then she got behind the steering wheel and backed out.

  Where was she going? She had no idea. She took a right on Wisconsin Avenue. The county dump was north, wasn’t it? She typed “county dump” into Maps, but it didn’t come up. There must be another name for it. County disposal heap or waste facility or something. She typed in everything she could think of, but there was nothing. She slammed the phone on the dashboard. Stupid thing. She pulled out into traffic again, and drove till she got on the highway. It felt good to be driving. She turned the music to something rhythmic that made the car thump. She got off in Gaithersburg, where she thought the dump must be. That’s where she’d have put it. She drove down Shady Grove Road, passing the hospital. Was it legal to put them in the hospital incinerator? Maybe she could burn them at a park.

  She typed in “park,” and drove to the nearest one, Seneca Creek. She drove past the trees that lined the long road into the park. A sign was up, but its lights were off. She could just make out the shape of the words: WINTER LIGHTS. The moon was out and surprisingly bright.

  She didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean there weren’t people here. Kids having a few beers, lovers in the woods. If someone saw her, they might report her as doing something suspicious. She drove slowly, watching for signs of life.

  The displays were still up from the holidays but they weren’t lit anymore. A teddy bear. A doll. A train. She imagined the signs all lit, all the beautiful colors, a wonderland of lights reflected in what was left of the snow.

  She got out of the car at the playground. The swings cast long shadows in the moonlight. She sat on one, overlooking the lake down the hill. A lake, here, in the middle of nowhere. The reflection of the moon and the clouds played on the water’s surface. She backed up on the swing and pumped her legs, like a kid. It was strange to be at a park at night. Cold and strange. She felt oddly awake. As though she’d been asleep for years.

  The White Elephant, she thought, out of the blue. She could take the films to the new house and burn them out back. Silly of her to drive all this way when the answer was two houses away.

  By the time she got back in the car, it was nearly ten o’clock. Had Nick and the kids wondered where she’d gone? Probably not. She rolled down the windows on the highway. “I’m here!” she shouted into the rushing air. She sped down the highway, hoping, in a way, to get caught, but no one seemed to notice she was doing eighty miles per hour. Ninety.

  Before long she was back in Willard Park, bumping over the speed bumps. She parked in front of the White Elephant, and took a box of films to the backyard.

  She held the lighter to the edge of a film, experimenting. The film curled and melted where the flame met the plastic. It smelled terrible. She hadn’t expected that. She tamped the melting film against the dirt. She would have to do it inside or someone would notice the stench. They might report it. She tried the kitchen doorknob. It turned. She was in luck.

  She lugged the films down to the basement. It took several trips to get everything in from the car. It was hot work, tiring. When she was done she sat beside them in the dark, the moon making shadows of her and her art supplies. She’d get rid of it all and make a new start. She and Lindy both would. The two of them would start over, together. Maybe she’d take her away for a mother-daughter weekend, something to recharge their batteries, a spa or the beach. She opened the windows before she opened the turpentine. She’d always hated the smell of turpentine, but it smelled like real art and she liked that about it. She opened the canister and doused the cardboard, breathing through her mouth, then she lit the lighter and set it to the edge of a film.

  The flames crawled and jumped. They slid onto the cuff of her shirt, a pretty white blouse with wide sleeves she’d worn for the welcome dinner. She tried to beat it out, but that didn’t help, so she tore her shirt off and threw it, scared. It was a fireball in the air. She threw down some of the films, hoping to stamp out the fire, but the flames, fueled by the turpentine, leaped and spread. Her heart knocked around, making it hard to breathe. She started coughing. She whacked the flames with a film but it only made things worse. The basement was bright with fire and smoke. What were you supposed to do in smoke? Cover your face with a wet cloth and crawl down low. But there wasn’t any water. Her mother used to tell her to sing when she was afraid, but it was hard to think straight much less sing. She found the wall and followed it around with her hands till she got to the back door of the basement. She turned the knob, hot from the fire, and rushed out of the house and into the yard, into the cold, dark night.

  ALLISON SAT ON HER YOGA MAT IN THE LIVING ROOM, LEGS CROSSED, eyes closed, listening to the quiet thrumming all around her. Oh, but it was magnificent. A return to the old days, before her home became a boardinghouse. They were all gone: Grant, Suzanne, Adam, and even Terrance. Ted had invited Terrance to stay overnight with them after his exhausting day at the police station, but he declined, opting to go home after dinner.

  “Home?” Ted had said. “This is home.”

  “It’s your home,” Terrance said.

  “But it’s your home too,” Ted said. “It’ll always be your home.”

  Terrance tilted his head at him, thoughtful. “Can we stop and get a bag of chips at the Safeway on the way home, Ted?”

  Terrance had moved on. He had a home of his own, a life of his own. All he wanted was to go back to his routine. It was hard for Ted to accept.

  That was all Allison wanted too. To get back to her routine. Suzanne had been afraid Allison’s feelings would be hurt if they moved to the Coxes’—especially after what happened with Terrance—but far from it. It was all Allison could do not to laugh when Suzanne apologized to her. Let Nick pay for their sins for a while! She was all for it!

  Allison took a deep breath through her nose and breathed out through her mouth, sinking deeper into calmness. Ted was off reading the paper somewhere, Jillian doing her homework in the dining room. All was as it should be.

  She pressed back to downward-facing dog. Her eyes landed on an envelope on the floor in the front hallway. How long had that been lying there? She went over to look. It was addressed to her. “For ALISON MILLER.” Allison with one L. “TOP SECRET.” Top secret? It had something to do with Nick, she just knew it. Her indiscretion would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  She ripped open the envelope to find an eight-by-ten glossy photograph of a woman sitting on a red couch. She wore a pink bustier with black laces up the front, pushing large breasts skyward. Then came scanty black panties and a pair of high black patent leather boots. The picture had been folded and it was torn at the corner, as though someone had taken a bite out of it.

  Allison turned it over, looking for an explanation, but there was nothing to explain this woman, whose hair was tousled about her head as though she’d been in a windstorm. She had a terrific figure, but her face was mannish, a little puffy, her hair a little too brightly hued to be natural. She wasn’t exactly young, though younger, certainly, than Allison herself. Her lips were painted a garish red, and they were open slightly, revealing the lurid tip of her pink tongue.

  Allison turned the envelope upside down
and shook it for more clues. A scrap of purple paper slid out. The note read: “TEDS GOT A GIRLFRIEND.”

  Ted? Was this a joke? Who in the world had pushed this into their home? She opened the front door, but no one was out there.

  She pressed back to downward dog again and tried to focus on her breath, but she couldn’t stop seeing the face of the woman in the photo. Was it someone at the university who was trying to blackmail Ted? Some malcontent whose story hadn’t run in the university magazine? She moved into plank, then all the way down to the mat, and slid up into cobra.

  Maybe it wasn’t a joke at all. Maybe he had a girlfriend. If so, it served her right. And it would explain his lack of interest in sex. She pressed back to downward dog, then jumped to the front of the mat.

  Ted walked in the room. “Hi there.”

  “What the hell do you want?” Allison said.

  He started. “I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing.”

  “Who’s this?” she said, picking up the photo.

  “Playmate of the Month?”

  She studied his face. “You have no idea?”

  “Should I?”

  She showed him the note.

  “They forgot the apostrophe.” He frowned at the photo, scrutinizing it.

  “Enough already,” Allison said, snatching it away.

  “It’s not very well done.”

  “What?”

  “Look at it. It’s completely fake.” They took it into the kitchen, where the light was better.

  “What’s fake?” Jillian said from the dining room.

  “Nothing,” Ted and Allison said in unison.

  The face really didn’t match the rest of it. The face was crisp, the rest of the photo fuzzy, romantic boudoir photo–like.

  “It’s a joke,” Ted said. “Photoshopped. And poorly, at that.”

  “What?” Jillian said.

  “Never mind,” Allison said.

  The phone rang. Allison answered. It was Suzanne, apologizing for calling so late, apologizing, again, for moving out. “Let it go,” Allison said. “You sound terrible. Want company? I’ll come over. I’ll bring something that’ll make you laugh.”

  SUZANNE LAY IN THE DARK AT THE COXES’, WAITING FOR ALLISON TO arrive. She tried to make out the shapes in the room that had been set up for her: the television, the stocked miniature refrigerator she couldn’t reach, the women’s magazines—packed with recipes and household tips. Kaye obviously had tried hard to make things nice. She popped in and out of the room all afternoon, trying to make her feel at home. “I’m just tired,” Suzanne finally managed. “I need to sleep.”

  Kaye nodded. “Of course. I know what you mean. Sometimes I just like being alone, too, but it’s hard, isn’t it? When you have a family?” She’d gone on and on, maniacally, until the doorbell rang. Jillian had come by, rescuing her. After that there was talking, then yelling, mother and daughter yelling—was that what Suzanne had to look forward to?—and then Kaye and the girls had left, leaving the house quiet—a relief.

  Suzanne didn’t need a girls’ dorm room and a sorority sister right now. She needed a husband who was willing to step up to the plate, a man she could count on. Instead she had absolutely no idea where he was. Grant had gone AWOL when their baby’s life was at risk. Calls went unanswered, texts ignored.

  How was she supposed to do it all? Take care of Adam, fight with the insurance company, make a baby, and work on her business—from a bed? Four months felt infinite. Impossible. She could hardly eke out an entire night.

  She felt like calling her mother and crying. Instead she fell into a heavy sleep. She had a vague memory of Kaye bringing in a tray of food. Could that be right? Maybe she’d just wished for that. When she woke up again, her mouth was dry and it was night. The house was quiet except for the sound of a television somewhere. “Grant,” she called. But there was nothing. Desperate, she had called Allison.

  “Yoo-hoo,” Allison called. “Yoo-hoo,” Suzanne called back until Allison found her. Allison turned on the overhead light. “This is nice.”

  “I want to go home,” Suzanne said, blinking.

  Allison held an envelope in front of her. “Check this out,” she said, shaking out a glossy photo.

  Suzanne took the picture from the envelope and studied it.

  What?

  She scrambled to sit upright. It couldn’t be. But it was. It was a boudoir shot of Grant’s friend Marie.

  A door flew open somewhere, and someone was running into the house and screaming. Kaye appeared in just her bra and pants, her hair wild, her face red. “Fire!” she yelled. “Fire!”

  JILLIAN WAS WASHING HER FACE AT THE BATHROOM SINK WHEN SHE heard the sirens. She turned off the water to hear if they were getting closer or farther away. They were getting closer. “Mom?” she called.

  “Sounds nearby,” her father said, from the kitchen.

  Her mother ran into the house from somewhere—where?—and grabbed her camera. “Fire!” she called.

  “Where?” Jillian cried. “Here?”

  “Next door!” she said, running out again.

  Jillian and her dad put coats and boots over their pajamas, and hooked Candy up to her leash. It was exciting. Jillian had always wanted to see a fire up close—but next door? It was so near you could feel the heat of it from the yard.

  The White Elephant was burning.

  The firefighters ordered everyone across the street, away from the flames, away from the fire hoses and spraying arcs of water. The trucks were loud and there were bright lights on the house, like it was a movie set. It felt like Halloween and the Fourth of July all at once, but with an air of unpredictability that neither of those holidays had.

  People ran out from their houses to see. Mr. Cox was yelling, directing the firefighters. Jillian felt as though she’d been put under a spell. A terrible, gorgeous spell. “Is our house going to burn down?” she asked her father.

  He put his arm around her shoulder. “No.”

  They stared at the wonder of it. The trucks and speakers were loud. Her mother was taking pictures. Jillian watched how the fire poured. It really did pour. And it stank. It wasn’t like the smell of a fire in a fireplace.

  Mark and his mother arrived. “Awesome,” he said.

  “Can you believe it?” she said.

  “Think Lindy set it?”

  “She must be loving it,” Jillian said. She hated Lindy for what she’d done today. Accusing Uncle Terrance of kidnapping her? What a mean and selfish person she was to do that to someone so innocent and good. Jillian looked around for her, idly, cautiously.

  “Good no one was living there,” Jillian’s father said.

  People speculated about whether it was the wiring or if someone had set it deliberately or what. “The second house to be gutted in just a couple weeks,” someone murmured.

  “Where is she?” Jillian said.

  “Who?” Mark said.

  “Lindy.”

  Mark looked around.

  Jillian’s heart, beating a little quickly already, began to gallop. “Where is she?” She said it louder, her voice reedy.

  “Who?” her father said.

  “Lindy. Lindy!” she yelled.

  “Lindy!” Mark called.

  Jillian called her phone. Lindy’s message was simply, “You know what to do”—but she didn’t know what to do. She called the Coxes’ landline. No one answered. “Lindy!” Jillian shouted. Flames were continuing to gather, to reach and climb into the night.

  “Where’s Lindy?” Other people picked up her cry. Where is she? People called for her. Lindy, Lindy.

  “Where is she?” Lindy’s dad yelled, sounding mad, Kaye next to him, a look of misery on her face, Jakey’s hand in hers. They all looked at Jillian as if she knew the answer.

  And she did. Or, she was afraid she did.

  “I think she’s in there,” Jillian said. She said it quietly at first, then louder, screaming, “She’s in the house!”

&nbs
p; Kaye started shrieking, “No! No she’s not! No!” She shook her head like she was trying to get it off her neck, then she let go of Jakey’s hand and ran toward the burning house, crying out in anguish, a cry that was a plea to the far ends of the universe. It was the most desperate sound Jillian had ever heard.

  Mr. Cox ran after her. One of the firefighters tackled him as he tried to get inside. The crowd was roaring along with the fire now, screaming and roaring.

  Jillian, screaming, crying, pointed to where Lindy might be, in the house, in the fort. “There’s someone in there! There’s someone in there!” she kept yelling, till a ladder was set up to the second floor. A firefighter climbed up in mask and heavy gear, smashing the glass with an ax and climbing in.

  What if she died? What if Lindy died? Tears blurred her eyes. She kept wiping them away so she could see clearly, to maybe see Lindy first, to help her, but they kept coming, flowing down as the fire flowed up. The firefighter was in the house for a long time. Jillian’s parents were alongside her, their arms around her.

  “Shhh,” her mother said, patting her hair. “It’s going to be all right.”

  “You don’t know that!” Jillian yelled, wanting her mother to say, Yes I do. I know that. But she didn’t.

  Then, after forever, the firefighter was coming back out the window, something in his arms. Someone! Jillian wept with relief, until she realized that Lindy wasn’t reaching her arms around the firefighter’s neck, but was flopped back like a dead person. Then an ambulance siren broke through the other noise and Lindy was loaded into the back and taken away.

  19

  FEBRUARY 20

  It was warm, springlike, even though the calendar claimed it was winter. It had been unseasonably balmy for the past few weeks. Instead of snow, there were thunderstorms. Instead of a winter sun that kept its distance, like an acquaintance trying to keep you at bay, it loomed and pulsated, sending mothers for sunscreen and hats—both of which Jillian declined with a sharp, “Mom! I’m thirteen!” She was now. A teenager at long last.