by Grace Greene
Assuming she could fall asleep with that painted wall, wild and waiting, just beyond her closed eyelids, she wouldn’t risk waking to it in the middle of the night, perhaps lit by moonlight. Not a chance.
There was a fireplace in the corner. The opening was blocked with painted tiles.
Back in the hallway, standing at the closed door to the room opposite, she tried the knob.
This room was larger than Aunt Barbara’s but nearly empty. A bed. A chest of drawers. A clothing cupboard. Not much more. Nothing personal or decorative. None of the clutter that reigned elsewhere in the house. It opened onto its own bathroom, which was shabby but usable. The windows were grimy. One overlooked the backyard, and one was on the side wall near the corner fireplace. It backed up to the one in Barbara’s room and used the same chimney, but this fireplace wasn’t blocked.
Mrs. Shoemaker’s room. Sandra’s grandmother. But she’d never called her that. Even Sandra’s dad had referred to her as Mrs. Shoemaker.
She remembered the room as cavernous and dark and hot, but that memory was from many years ago, from when she was a child. It looked and felt very different now. She breathed.
Had she been holding her breath? Sandra hadn’t realized she was anxious about the room until this moment when she felt relief.
It no longer seemed cavernous, but it was larger than the other bedroom. The bed was placed nearer the bathroom. The empty area near the fireplace looked like it was intended as a sitting area. Sandra lifted the navy-and-white brocaded bedspread and checked the sheets. No signs of unwanted inhabitants.
She walked to the head of the bed and peeked under the mattress. She moved the sheet aside and examined the mattress seams. Seemed clean. It would do.
Before committing, she looked in the other rooms. A bathroom in the hallway. Powder and lotions and sundry bottles covered the flat surfaces of the sink. The bath decor was pink and fluffy and looked relatively modern. This was surely the bathroom her aunt used.
She moved on down the hall to another bedroom. It had a twin bed, not properly made and covered in a jumble of stuff. The smell of oil paint and thinner permeated the air. An easel was leaning against the wall with a painted-up table next to it. The tabletop was littered with half-squeezed tubes and dirty brushes. She’d known her aunt dabbled in painting, so this wasn’t a mystery, but given the wall mural, it was still something of a wonder.
There were three doors left. One was directly opposite the painting room and would overlook the back. But it was chock-full—a mini Mount Everest of furniture and junk. She closed the door. At the end of the hallway, two doors flanked the gable window. Both of those were intended for storage and were full. Having watched reality shows on television, Sandra figured her aunt probably had a small fortune in antiques and memorabilia stashed away in these three upstairs rooms.
The almost-empty room it was, then. She’d been in that room once, and it hadn’t been anywhere near empty back then. She’d been a child and was playing out on the porch when she’d heard her name called. She’d gone inside but didn’t see her mom or aunt in the living room or kitchen, so she wandered upstairs. The room had been filled with huge dark furniture, heavy draperies, and pictures in massive wooden frames on the wall. And butterflies? Was that a real memory? Orange butterflies? A woman was in the bed, buried deep under blankets. It had been a short visit. Her mom had found her and dragged her out, scolding and shushing her.
Sandra emptied the laundry basket onto the bed and unzipped her backpack. She put the toiletries into the bathroom. The bathroom was long and narrow and many decades out of fashion, but the toilet flushed, and the water ran clear. So far so good.
Most of her clothing would go back downstairs to the washing machine. Barely an armful. Not much laundry. Not much to wear, either.
Sandra opened the top drawers of the bureau. Empty. Musty smelling. She had a tiny bottle of lavender oil with a few drops left and dabbed it into the corners of the drawer before putting her clean clothing inside. She took the little money she had left and tucked it under her clothing.
Honey hadn’t followed her upstairs. Sandra went back to the hallway and looked down the stairs. The dog had stayed in the foyer. She was napping, pressed up close to the front door.
This suited Sandra fine. She was glad Honey had returned, but if she kept her distance, that would be even better.
Sandra’s phone was in her pocket. She pulled it out and dialed her mother’s number. No answer. She’d try again later. Next task was to toss the laundry in the washing machine next to the kitchen, but not to wash yet.
Honey barely stirred as she walked past.
Sandra wasn’t hungry, but she hadn’t eaten today, so hungry or not she had to eat. She made the easy choice and scrambled some eggs. No peanut butter. She didn’t want to taste, see, or smell peanut butter again anytime soon.
During the afternoon, Honey stood at the front door making little chuffing noises, which Sandra interpreted as wanting “out.” Each time Sandra grabbed the leash and escorted Honey outside to do her business, the dog gave her odd looks, but Sandra wasn’t taking any chances.
“I’ll fix the fence tomorrow, Honey. For today, we’re sticking close together.”
This was one downside of dog ownership. At least a cat would use a litter box. Honey did her business, and they went back inside.
While she still had the security of daylight, Sandra unzipped her jeans and shed her blouse. She dropped the clothes on the tile floor and stepped into the shower. It was one of those old curtain contraptions over a freestanding claw-foot tub, and the fabric was awkward and wanted to cling to her skin, but she let the hot water stream down and over her. She’d showered that morning at the hotel, but she felt like the misery of the last weeks, maybe the last couple of years, had adhered to her skin like a stain.
This water was different. Not really home, but almost. No water could rinse away everything, but this was a start. A breath of freedom. A moment, a hint of being a real person again. This shower, old and annoying as it was, felt right. Maybe it was the well water. Maybe it was packed with healing minerals. Nice thought, true or not.
Sandra put on pajamas, tossed the clothing she’d worn today into the machine with the rest of her laundry, and started the wash.
She didn’t fool herself. So much of life was made up of impressions and memories, interpreted by emotion, including the negative. Almost none of it was absolute, nor was the future. She could do this. She could rearrange her life if she was determined to do so and maybe improve her destiny. She didn’t know how she would do it, but she believed it was possible.
In the evening, when Sandra snapped on Honey’s leash and they went out onto the porch, Honey grew more insistent, pulling ahead into the dark night.
The steps were damp. Sandra regretted not putting on her shoes because damp steps promised wet and itchy grass. In fact, she’d have been smarter to borrow a robe from her aunt, because her own thin T-shirt and pajama pants weren’t much defense against the chill.
They had some elevation out here. Not like the mountains, but the Blue Ridge wasn’t far.
She shivered as the leash played out. Honey moved across the grass, hardly taking time to sniff as she went. Finally, the leash stretched to its limit, and Honey strained against it, pulling it taut, clearly not concerned with Sandra’s plans. Sandra stepped down to the stone paver at the base of the steps and refused to go farther. Honey angled over toward the bushes as far as she could. The moon was large and bright, and with Honey in that denser shadow, Sandra could barely make out the movement as Honey squatted to do her business. When Sandra tugged on the leash to hurry her up, Honey uttered a low-throated growl.
“Sorry,” Sandra said, and relaxed the leash as much as she could. She wasn’t sure that sound could come from such a gentle-seeming dog. Surely not. She held her breath, listening, but when the leash pulled tight again, she said, “Honey?”
Honey made a chuffing noise and added a few sh
ort barks.
“Enough.” Unnerved, Sandra tugged on the leash and stepped back onto the steps, forcing Honey out of the shadows. She came, seeming reluctant, but then stopped to turn back and bark again, and that finished Sandra. She ran up the steps to the porch, pulling the dog along with her. Sandra closed the door, then unleashed Honey and peered out around the edge of the front room window curtain.
She searched the darkness with her eyes, half expecting to see a man’s tall form in the moonlight. She’d known he was in Richmond watching her, and she was sure she’d sense him if he was here. She’d lost him with the car misdirection her mom had suggested. Trent wasn’t here. He thought she was in Florida.
Honey could’ve been fussing over nothing. Maybe a mouse or possum in the bushes. And now, having made Sandra uneasy, the dog was already in the kitchen and lapping at the water for a last drink before bed.
“Come on, girl.” Sandra flipped on the outside light and decided to leave the kitchen light burning, too. She wasn’t afraid, but a little nervous, thanks to Honey.
Her cell phone rang. Where had she left it? On the counter. She grabbed it.
“Mom?”
“Hi, Sandra. Barbara’s here. She’s worried because we haven’t heard from you. But she made it, no problem, and it sounds like you did, too.”
Sandra was standing in front of the bookcase. One shelf was filled with photo frames. One showed her mom and Barbara, arms entwined, with their brother, Cliff, standing a few inches away. “Yes. All’s well.”
“We’ve been out to eat and introducing her around and settling in.”
Sandra waited for a moment in case her mother wanted to add more. She reached out to straighten a frame with a photo of Barbara and Honey, then looked at the room crammed with junk and dust and thought of her family, together in the Florida sunshine without her. When the silence had stretched sufficiently between them, she responded. “Good. Sounds like fun. How’s Dad?”
This time her mother paused. She sighed. “He keeps mentioning going home, and I remind him we’re on vacation. Sooner or later, he’ll stop asking.”
What could Sandra say to that? Nothing.
“What I mean is, this will become home to him.”
Home. It was more than a house. At least he and Mom were together. Sandra sat and leaned her head back against the chair.
“Your Aunt Barbara wants to talk to you.”
“Sandra?” her aunt said.
“Hi. I’m glad you made it safely. I hope the flight was easy.”
“Easy because you helped it get off to a good start, sweetie, and your momma was here to meet me at this end. Your daddy looks so good, Sandra. This place agrees with him, I’d say, so don’t you worry.”
“I’m glad.”
“Is the house OK? How’s Honey?”
“All’s well. Honey is fine.” Thank goodness. “She misses you, but she’s eating and all that, so she’s good.”
“A good arrangement, I think. Don’t you? I’m having a lovely time with your mother. And you have a place to rest and recover for a few weeks. Thanks for helping me out, dear, and don’t forget the envelope in the bookcase.”
“Will do, Aunt Barbara.”
“Keep your chin up, dear, and don’t worry about anything. Here’s your momma.”
Mom came back on the phone, and she sounded civil, and her words seemed carefully chosen. “So, everything good there? Do you have what you need? Are you . . . do you feel . . . secure?”
What she needed? Security? In this tumbled, jumbled house in the middle of nowhere? She thought so, but it was hard to know what “good” meant.
“I’m fine. It’s very peaceful here.”
“All right, then.”
“Good night, Mom. Give Dad my love.”
Barbara had sounded happy. How nice for her and Mother, visiting and partying and stuff. Sandra would’ve enjoyed sunbathing on a sandy beach and relaxing and reading to the sound of waves, instead of the last two weeks of hard decisions and failed choices.
She stood at the top of the stairs. Down below, Honey was stretched out next to the front door again, apparently gloomy and missing Barbara. Sandra called to her softly, but Honey lifted her face and looked up for only a second before dropping her muzzle back to her paws.
It was a matter of time. Honey would get used to her.
Sandra paused in the bedroom. Aunt Barbara had lived in this house all her life. With her parents and brother first, then more recently on her own. As far as Sandra knew, no one had ever bothered her or the house. Had never had a break-in. But Sandra wasn’t Aunt Barbara. Her luck hadn’t been as reliable. And something had bothered Honey. Something in the dark.
In the end, she went back down to the kitchen. Honey looked up hopefully as she walked past. Sandra said, “Still just me, girl.” She took a sharp knife from the kitchen. She carried it upstairs and put it between the mattress and box spring, near the edge.
When she finally slipped into bed, the mattress was soft and dipped in the middle, but it wasn’t squeaky, and it beat the car floorboard hands down. It was a joy to either curl up or hog the bed as she chose and not worry about what she’d spend tomorrow. Tonight, she dropped her defenses in favor of rest.
In the morning, after yet another trip outside with Honey on the leash, Sandra fixed some toast and tea. She nibbled at the toast while she searched through the kitchen drawers and in the lower cabinets for wire or twine. She found none but did find wire cutters mixed in with twist ties, so that was a plus. She took a wire coat hanger from the closet and went out to the garden.
A garden? Maybe long ago. Never a large garden, and the black metal table and its chairs occupied an area that was sort of bricked in, as if a patio had been started but not finished.
Honey whined at the door when Sandra shut her inside.
“Not yet, girl. Let me get this fence fixed first.”
The dog was so well behaved, so patient. She sat at the door, her nose to the glass, watching Sandra and fussing when Sandra moved out of sight. The dog was anxious, but Sandra understood why. Honey was missing Barbara.
The area was too small for a dog run and seemed to have one purpose now—as a dog toilet. But Sandra had survived Trent, and she could overcome dog poop. She picked her way carefully across the bricks, tall weeds, and grass runners. She went directly to the gap where the fence had parted and squatted to examine the break. She wouldn’t kneel because of the fecal matter, and the ground was damp, too. Instead, she crouched. It was awkward, but this should be a quick job.
Sandra stripped the cardboard tube from the hanger and flexed the two metal ends. It would need to span the gap vertically for a few inches. It would be a patch job, but it needed to hold for only a couple of months, until it became Barbara’s problem again. Sandra was pretty sure it was the unlatched gate that had been the actual means of escape. Stabilizing this section of fence should fix the gate. Plus, she might rig a piece of wire, like a safety pin, to keep the latch secured. While she was appreciating her own cleverness, the wire cutter slipped and fell, disappearing into the grass.
Keeping a hand on one end of the wire patch, Sandra released the other end so she could feel for the wire cutter in the weeds. The end popped free, and she nearly lost her grip. Frustrated, she lost her balance, landing on her butt in that mix of grasses and almost-mud she’d been so intent on avoiding. Cursing, she retrieved the wire cutter and righted herself, and then set back to work with a will. She would do this. She would beat this thing.
She worked the wire again, fitting the ends through the open spaces almost like a running stitch, but the wire was tougher to bend than she’d expected. Never mind the wire cutter. She was going to need more hangers.
Sandra scratched her face and remembered her fingers were muddy as she felt the grit transfer. She rose and reached for the nearest bush to steady herself and looked directly into a face.
A man was standing only feet away on the other side of the bush, and insi
de the house Honey began barking and howling like a crazed berserker.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Sorry to bother you,” the stranger said.
Sandra stumbled backward. In that first, startled moment, she saw light-brown hair, brown eyes, that he was tall . . . maybe forty years old. She tried to ask, “Who are you?” but didn’t get all the words spoken. Honey’s barking alarmed her. Honey was shut inside. She was protective, but how could the dog help her? She couldn’t. Honey’s racket was overwhelming, and the man looked toward the house. His eyes narrowed as he frowned.
“Is Barbara home?” he asked.
Was he asking her if she was here alone? She held the clippers like a weapon.
He raised his hands. “I’m sorry I startled you. It’s OK. I’m Colton Bennett, Barbara’s neighbor.”
There were no other houses in sight and no other people around.
“I live in that direction. Down that path.” He pointed back toward the woods and the shed.
Sandra rushed the words out as she was backing away. “I can’t talk right now. I’ll let Barbara know you stopped by.” She turned and hurried toward the house. The blood was rushing in her ears so loudly she could hardly hear herself speak. From the corner of her eye, she saw him moving around the fence, approaching the gate. She rushed to the kitchen door, got inside, and locked it—not easy since Honey was determined to get out—then ran for her phone, but when she grabbed it and turned back toward the kitchen door, she didn’t see him. She went to the window. He wasn’t out there.
She double-checked the door. Yes, locked. She raced to the front of the house. Honey was running back and forth, panting, from the back door to the front door, to Sandra and to the front door again. Sandra felt light-headed. She put a hand against the foyer wall and the other on her chest. She reminded herself to breathe.
There was a knock on the front door. The man called out, “Can we talk, please?”