Murder-a-Go-Go's, page 3
In the dark, Patricia nodded. She used to think Jane had something wrong with her, but now she wondered if they all didn’t have the same piece missing. Jane might’ve been first, but they were all broken now. But it didn’t feel like being broken. Patricia could still feel the burn from the flaming arrow, and it didn’t feel that bad. She thought of Caleb McCormick and how he sometimes tapped on her notebook when he walked by in pre-algebra. What did it all mean? If she couldn’t ask Jane and Colbie, she had no one to ask. She wondered what the other girls were saying to the guy now. She turned back to the door and pressed her ear against it. Only by stilling her breath could she hear anything.
“Hey,” she said. “You were listening, weren’t you?”
Nori sniffled. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were. Whatever. What does it matter? I was in the same room listening. It doesn’t—”
“I just want to go home,” Nori said, her voice quivering.
It doesn’t make us bad people, she’d been trying to say. “You’re such a baby.”
“I am not!”
Patricia opened the door an inch. “Alexa is out there and she’s not crying. She’s eight.”
“Well, she doesn’t understand.”
“Oh, what do you understand, if you’re so smart?”
Nori squeezed the toilet paper in her fist. She didn’t want to say that Jane’s sex-y stuff reminded her of the magazines in her dad’s toolbox, the ones that made her head heavy and buzzy. She didn’t want to say that when she had looked at them, women splayed and open and twisted, she had an awful feeling in her heart that she would never make the world a better place. The world would never be a better place for her, for her friends, and she hardly knew why.
“That’s what I thought.” Patricia pulled back the door and the light from Colbie’s room shone on Nori’s headgear. Nori was sitting cross-legged on the toilet seat, the silky nightgown dropped to expose her neck, her shoulder, and a tiny pink nipple.
Nori gasped and yanked the gown into place.
“What?” Colbie called from the other room.
Patricia opened the door further. Nori unfolded herself from the toilet. The two of them left the bathroom, silent. Patricia squished the plush pink carpet between her toes. She was afraid this might be the last time Colbie’s room felt like a room she’d want to live in.
On the bed, the phone lay discarded among ripples in the pink bedcovers.
“What happened with—you know. The guy?” Patricia pulled the length of her ponytail around and put the tip in her mouth.
Everyone looked at Jane. She sat with her arms around her knees, staring at the phone.
Jane shook her head. She wanted to go home. At her house, her mother would be home from her date. She would clack back and forth in the kitchen in her high heels, fuming over something the man had said or done or not said or not done. Jane would nod and agree. Terrible. Awful. “We can’t tell anyone about this,” she said.
Colbie sat on the edge of the bed with her arms folded. “She wouldn’t tell him what I said.”
“Our lips are sealed,” Patricia said. “But what did he say?”
“Nothing.” Jane picked at the flaking blue polish on her nails.
Nori looked from one girl to the next, at Alexa on the floor, who had curled up with her thumb in her mouth and gone to sleep. If not for Alexa there, she might have thought someone had broken in. Something was gone. Something had been stolen. If a man had come in and made them all feel this way, they would tell. They would open their mouths and scream.
She saw the future clearly, as though she’d made the movie of their lives and she’d skipped to a better scene. Next week, next month. How long would it take? Jane sneaking behind the lockers with a boy from the next grade. Colbie, jostling along the hall with the softball team. Patricia and the honors club with their books held to their chests. She, Nori, her heavy pack pulling her backward, alone. They would meet in the halls of school, and each would turn a different way. Like a dance. The camera would see the very moment when they all agreed that it hadn’t been forever, after all. When they all agreed to say nothing, be nothing, let the world rush over them. The camera, if this were the movie of their lives, would turn delicately away.
Back to TOC
You Thought
Susanna Calkins
Alison tightened her hand on her husband’s arm as they followed their real estate agent up the stone path to the 1920’s Craftsman bungalow. They’d waited so long to be shown a decent house within their limited budget. Finally, this one had come along and Sheila, clad today in an impossibly bubble-gum pink pantsuit, had reassured them it was a must-see. “Perfect for a young couple,” she’d promised. “A steal at this price. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”
Now, they gazed at the house in front of them. “Oh, Charlie,” Alison said, a catch in her voice. “Look at the front porch. We could sit outside after dinner. Enjoy the sunsets.”
Overhearing, Sheila smiled over her shoulder at them. “The house is charming, isn’t it? Did I mention there’s a basement? Just look at the yard! What a lovely place for children to play.”
Alison glanced up at her husband. Children! Perhaps that could happen now since they were finally settling down. After seven apartments in as many years, she could barely stomach the thought of another impermanent home. But she didn’t want to press him on that dream, at least not yet. “The begonias are beautiful, don’t you think?” she said instead, pointing at the pinkish-orange flowers in front of the house. “We could have a garden!”
“Mmm,” he murmured, his eyes running over the front windows. His gaze continued upward to the roof. “When were the gutters last cleaned?” he asked Sheila pointedly.
The real estate agent pursed her lips and glanced down at the materials on a clipboard she was carrying. They’d met Sheila, all sugary and sticky, a few months ago at a barbecue thrown by a mutual friend. They’d gotten to talking about the local housing market, and before they knew it, they’d signed her on as their real estate agent.
“Gutters done a year ago,” Sheila said brightly. She placed her hand on the doorknob. “Imagine, if you will, walking into your new home.”
She opened the door with a flourish and stepped aside so they could get the whole effect at once. “Voila!”
Alison gasped in pleasure as she looked about the living room. Snug but cheerful, there were inlaid wooden bookcases and a beautiful carved cabinet. A fireplace with a mantel was the centerpiece of one wall. A sudden image came to her, of the two of them sitting by a warm fire on a winter’s night, a dog at Charlie’s feet, a baby on her lap.
As they explored, each room seemed more delightful than the last. Hand-carved window seats. All in the Arts & Crafts style. Warm earth tones, blues, grays, yellow. The final moment came when she opened the door to a small room beside the master bedroom.
“A nursery,” Sheila said. “You thought about that, didn’t you?”
Alison turned back to her husband. “Charlie,” she said. “We must have this house.”
The next few weeks passed in a whirlwind. Offer. Counter offer. Another offer. Excitedly they had jumped into the bidding. Then another buyer had jumped into the mix. Sheila urged them to stay in, to counter.
Higher, higher.
They were already reaching the upper edge of what Charlie wanted to pay.
But Sheila had kept urging them to counter.
Higher, higher.
Finally, the good news. They had won the bidding war. The house was theirs. For keeps.
A quick go-around at the bank. A warning about the mortgage they were taking on. But at an acceptable level of risk, the loan officers deemed the sale viable. Alison and Charlie ignored the clucking of tongues and head-shaking.
At least the house inspection had gone easily. Sheila had known a guy. Lorenzo. Friendly and confident, Lorenzo had assured them there were only a few relatively minor issues with the house. Some windows that could use new frames. The recommendation of a new furnace. Some pipes that might be switched out in time. Nothing urgent. They were both relieved.
At the closing, Charlie hesitated before signing the contract. Alison could see him staring at the numbers. Numbers they had discussed, but in writing now looked formidable.
Alison leaned down and kissed his stubbly cheek. “I know it’s more than what we wanted to pay,” she whispered.
“A lot more,” he grumbled.
Beside her, Sheila coughed.
The seller’s agent began to tap her pencil. She was an older woman, with graying hair and spectacles and an awful plaid suit. “I hope we don’t have to go to the other bidder,” she said in a loud aside to Sheila. “I’d hate to prolong this further for my client.”
Sheila shook her head. “Alison and Charlie love this house,” she whispered back, loudly. “They know this is a good deal, for a tough market.”
The other real estate agent nodded curtly, and everyone stared at Charlie. Alison felt a warm flush spread over her cheeks. Why was he being so difficult?
“Excuse us,” Alison said. She drew Charlie to a far corner of the room.
“I know it’s a lot more,” she whispered. “But we’ll manage. And just think! We can get a basketball hoop and—”
“Not right away we can’t.” His voice was flat.
“Alright, Charlie,” she said, trying to hide her rising impatience. “I won’t buy any new clothes for a year—a year!—and I won’t get any more lattes and—”
“And we can’t have a baby this year. I know that’s what you thought, but there’s no way we can afford it. Maybe even for two or three years,” he said, searching her face. “Are you sure, Ally? We can still walk away.”
Alison thought about the snug living room and the nursery, feeling a funny little twitch. “We’ll wait for the baby.”
They signed the papers. Charlie clenched his fingers around the key, staring at it for a long moment while everyone congratulated them. Then he smiled at Alison. “Our own home!”
Over the next weeks, they packed and planned. Alison drew up little floor plans, imagining where their belongings would fit. From years of moving from state to state, they’d already weeded out most of their furniture. When she asked him about getting anything new, Charlie just stared at her, before turning away. There was nothing more to be said.
Finally, it was moving day. The morning was a bit overcast and the grounds were a bit wet from the night before. Their arms and backs were aching from wrestling their huge old sofa down three flights of stairs at their old apartment, and they were both trying not to snap at each other.
Getting out of the truck they stood looking at the house. The flowers had lost a bit of their bloom and the house looked gray and a bit forlorn.
With a bit of forced gaiety, Alison called out, “Our house is ready for its new family!” She glanced back at Charlie. “What’s wrong?”
Charlie was frowning at the second floor. Pointing, he said, “The upstairs windows were all left open. Hopefully these recent rains didn’t cause much damage.” But his smile was warm as he caught her in his arms. “Who cares about that? Come, my dear.”
“You’re going to hurt your back,” she cried, realizing his intent. “You can’t carry me up the stairs.”
“I’m fine,” he said with gritted teeth. As they walked in, he accidentally banged Alison’s head on the door. She tried to bite back the squeal of pain, but he heard it anyway.
“Sorry,” he said, setting her back on her feet. When he thought she wasn’t looking, he rubbed his back.
Bet he pulled something, she sighed. She reached over to flick on the lights.
They didn’t work. Charlie went over and flicked another switch on the wall. That didn’t work either. “I suppose we should have set up the electricity.” His chuckle was wry. “Never had to take care of that in an apartment.”
“We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” She pulled out her cell phone. “Tonight, we order pizza, dig out the flashlights and blankets, and camp out in the bedroom.”
“I like camping in,” he said, moving to embrace her. “We can skip the pizza.”
The next day was sunny and bright, helping dispel a bit of their initial uneasiness. During the night they had found a few bugs in the upstairs bedrooms and some evidence of mice in the kitchen and basement.
“Poor little critters,” Alison sighed. “I guess we’ll have to call the exterminator.”
After cleaning all morning, they went to sit out on the front porch swing. Or at least they tried to. It creaked unpleasantly when they sat down, and they discovered the roof was rotting through where the swing was connected. They sat on the front steps instead, eating apples, the cheapest thing they could get from the grocery store that didn’t require cooking.
“Yoo-hoo!” A familiar voice called. It was Sheila, wearing a pantsuit that was a rather hideous shade of purple. She mounted the steps, extending her hand in greeting. “How are my favorite new home-owners? Everything even more fun than you thought?”
Reluctantly Alison and Charlie stood up, as she continued speaking in her breathless way. “I’m off to show some clients a nearby bungalow and I thought I’d see how you’re settling.” She ran her hand along the chipped paint of the doorframe. “Those bungalows are a steal. A bit bigger than what you have here, in a little better condition. I think my niece will buy one.”
She continued, oblivious to the outraged glance exchanged between Alison and Charlie. “It’s over on Cedar. You’ll practically be neighbors.” Here, she actually gave a little clap of her hands.
“The bungalows by the school?” Alison felt an unexpected lump in her throat. “I thought you said none of those were available.”
Sheila shifted her feet. “Oh. Right. Well, they weren’t. Not exactly. But I knew someone who knew someone who’d be putting her house on the market.” Her voice trailed off, as Alison stared at her.
“So, you thought you’d get your niece a great deal,” Charlie said flatly.
Hearing his tone, Sheila grew flustered. She pulled out a colorfully wrapped package from her expensive looking bag. Prada, no doubt. Or maybe Kate Spade. Alison wouldn’t know. “This is for you. A gift.”
When neither spoke, she laid it on the porch rail. “Welcome to your new home!” she chirped, before backing hastily down the steps and clipping quickly down the front walk.
“It’s not ticking,” Alison said, mustering a half-smile.
“Too bad,” Charlie replied, without smiling at all. “Maybe we could blow this place up and collect the insurance.”
“Very funny.” Her curiosity overtaking her, Alison pulled the string off the package. Inside was a gaudy white alabaster elephant, with a red and gold rhinestone saddle. She rolled her eyes. “Nice. Wherever shall we put it?”
“The trash?” Charlie responded, trying to sound more cheerful.
Alison set the elephant on the seat of the broken swing. “The houses on Cedar are pretty nice,” she said, walking inside.
Charlie followed her in and pulled Alison into his arms with care. “It doesn’t matter, sweetheart. This is our home, for better or for worse. Don’t worry. I was just joking about blowing the house up. Mostly.” He smiled down at her, but she could see the strain in his jaw.
Alison nodded, her eyes caught on a small dark stain in a corner of the living room ceiling. She hadn’t seen it before. Looked to be a leak.
“It had better not be worse,” she said, breaking away from his embrace.
Two weeks passed. Alison and Charlie had begun to settle into their home. “Or is it that the home is settling into us?” Charlie asked once.
Alison wasn’t sure if he was joking. Every day something seemed to break. Or tear. Or crumble.
First it was the doorknob that pulled off in Alison’s hand. “Vintage charm!” she called.
Charlie had dutifully gone to the local hardware store to find a replacement for the rusted doorknob.
Cracks began to show through the newly painted walls. “Vintage charm!” they’d call to each other, although the little joke was already wearing thin. Again, Charlie bought some putty and spackling, and wordlessly began to fix the most troublesome areas.
Soon they stopped even trying to joke, as more things seemed to fall part in their hands.
Crown molding in the living room had become dislodged. “This isn’t even wood,” Charlie commented in disgust upon examining the offending piece. Someone had clearly patched it up with far cheaper plastic designed to look like wood.
To make matters worse, the downstairs toilet stopped up. When the plumber arrived, he threw up his hands in despair. As it turned out, the toilet must have been backed up for years. “Didn’t you ask about this?” Chastened, they’d only shaken their heads. Too excited they’d been planning out the living room, the bedroom. The nursery.
When the lights flickered, in came the electrician. More shaking of heads. “Major rewiring!” Charlie said when the man handed him the estimate. “This house is a money trap!”
Finally, Charlie just stalked out. From the living room window, she could see him tramping and stamping about in the yard. When he came back in, there was a grim set to his jaw. “We need to deal with this.”
“I’ll call Sheila,” she said. “Now.”
“Buyer’s Remorse.” Sheila’s voice bubbled through the speakerphone. “That’s what we call what you’re experiencing.” While still unfailingly perky, there was a tinge of something else there. Annoyance? No. It was condescension, Alison decided. “We often see it with young buyers who pay more than they should have for a home. You thought—”
