by Lyn Gardner
“Robin?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll be home Saturday night.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Robin turned this way and that as she stood in front of the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door. Her goal was to appear trendy, yet casual as if her choice of clothing had been spontaneous, even though it had taken her over an hour to pick everything out. The skinny jeans were perfect, hugging her like a second skin and the loose-fitting ribbed V-neck sweater, draped perfectly, ending mid-hip. She knew she couldn’t go wrong with the suede slouch boots and her make-up, while minimal, added just the right amount of definition. The only remaining touch was to fix her hair, which had been giving her fits for the past twenty minutes.
Robin had worn her hair long for almost her entire life, except for one six-year-old moment when she found a pair of scissors and thought she could cut it herself. That resulted in a year of waiting until the mistake grew out, and Constance hiding every pair of scissors in the house.
In her teens, bowing to the pressure from her peers, Robin got a perm, hoping like her friends, to walk out of the salon with a mass of curls, puffed up as far as they would go. Instead, she left with a chemical burn across her forehead and a few lackluster waves in her hair, swearing she’d never make that mistake again, and she never did, much to her mother’s delight. Other than having the length shortened to something a bit more manageable, Robin had always stuck with the tried and true, but right now, the tried and true was trying every bit of her patience.
One-by-one, Robin had worked her way through the hair accessories in the top drawer of her dresser. She had tried butterfly clips, bendy clips, claw clips, and jaw clips, and each had been flung back into the drawer when they disappointed her. Now, she stood staring at what remained.
The French combs seemed too upscale for the occasion, and the rhinestone tiara she had been forced to wear at a friend’s wedding, she vowed would never see the light of day again, so that left her with Scrunchies or headbands. She drummed her fingers on her chin. The Scrunchies were undeniably laid-back, but with a sigh, Robin deemed them a little too laid-back, and pushing them aside, she grabbed her assortment of headbands. Fanning them out across the top of the cherry dresser, Robin was about to try the first when she noticed a chill in the air.
“Hi, Isobel,” she said, looking around the room. “You’re just in time to help me. Which one of these do you like?”
Amused she was again talking to a ghost, Robin waited for a moment before deciding Isobel had no intention of voicing her opinion. Glancing at the headbands, Robin reached for one, and a second later she was snatching her hand away as the entire collection was swept into the dresser, the ghostly demonstration ending with the drawer slamming closed so forcefully, the piece of furniture rocked.
“Whoa,” Robin whispered as she took a step backward. “Well, headbands aren’t for everyone, I suppose.”
Robin stared at the dresser for another minute before she finally got the nerve to raise her eyes. She scanned the room, and while she saw no ghostly aura, the air was still cold.
“You know what?” she said, reaching for her hairbrush. “That’s a good idea. I think I’m just going to leave it loose tonight. Why bother with all that other stuff—right?”
Robin turned back to the mirror to brush her hair one more time, but before she could, she felt the gentlest of breezes wash over her. She watched through widened eyes as a few strands of her hair lifted in the wind and then settled back into place perfectly. A few seconds later, as the temperature in her bedroom returned to normal, Robin gaped at her reflection in the mirror. “Freaky, but way cool.”
***
A short time later, Robin was standing in her kitchen, admiring the table in the dining room. It was perfect. There was the right amount of glasses, plates, and cutlery, and the linen tablecloth and napkins also added to the mood.
“Shit!” Robin said, and hurrying over, she plucked the two candlesticks from the center of the table and rushed into the living room to place them on the mantle. “This isn’t supposed to be romantic, you idiot. It’s just a friend coming over for dinner. Geez.”
Giving the candlesticks one last dirty look before she returned to the kitchen, Robin continued to snicker at her own stupidity as she looked in the oven. She breathed in the aroma of pot roast and potatoes, and glancing at the timer, she was about to turn it off when she heard the melodic chime of the new doorbell. “Crap,” Robin said, hanging her head. “You really are an idiot. You forgot to unlock the flipping door.”
It was basically a straight shot to the foyer, but as Robin tried to rush out of her apartment, the straight shot became anything but. Ginger met her in the hallway and when Robin veered to the right, so did Ginger forcing Robin to take a huge leap for womankind in order not to step on her cat. Careening off the wall, Robin continued on her way, only to meet her next obstacle as soon as she stepped into the big kitchen. Fred looked up at her, his eyes holding in their blackness defiance only found in a feline. Not to be thwarted, Robin glared back at him, daring him to move, and Fred didn’t...until Robin did.
She went left. Fred followed her lead, and Robin ended up stumbling, scrambling, and swearing her way into the dining room, all the while sniggering at the impressionistic dance she just performed. She glanced at the table as she rushed by, and reaching the front door, she pulled it open.
For a split-second, Robin couldn’t find her voice as she gazed at the woman standing on her porch. “Hi there.”
“Hi yourself,” Judy said, flashing a dazzling grin. “I’m sorry. I forgot to grab my keys.”
“No, it’s me who’s sorry. I should have left it unlocked,” Robin said, stepping back so Judy could come inside. “I guess I need to get used to doing that before we have guests—huh?”
“It’s either that or you’ll be forever running up here to open the door.”
Robin’s eyes creased at the corners. “Trust me. That’s not as easy as it sounds.”
Judy snapped back her head. “It’s not?”
Before Robin could explain, the buzz of the oven timer reached her ears. “Oh crap, that’s dinner,” she said, turning toward the dining room. “I need to get it out of the oven, or we’ll be eating leather.”
“Take your time,” Judy said, unbuttoning her coat. “I’ll catch up.”
“Cool.”
Judy unzipped her parka, and hanging it on the coat tree, she draped her scarf over it and topped everything off with her knit cap. After adjusting her sweater and running her fingers through her hair, she headed toward the back of the house but came up short when she entered the dining room. Coming to a full stop, Judy tilted her head as she stared at something on the table. It was nearly three feet tall, but the blue plastic bag draped over it concealed its identity.
Intrigued, Judy moved a little closer, and noticing something red sticking out at the bottom of the bag, she lifted the plastic a few inches. Her smile began forming as soon as a pair of cherry-red oversized shoes came into view, and as she continued to raise the bag, Judy’s smile grew even larger.
The doll was dressed in the costume of a circus jester, its onesie tied at the feet and hands, with ruffles surrounding its wrists, ankles, and neck. Half of the garment was striped in blue while the other half was striped in green, and where the two colors met down the middle was three jumbo buttons made from red puffs of cotton. Like his abnormally large feet, the clown’s hands were also exaggerated in size, and raised in the air as if in exclamation, they were covered in four-finger canary yellow gloves.
Judy knew some people had a fear of clowns, but her attitude toward them had always been one of indifference. She had encountered some at fairs and carnivals, and over the years, they’d made appearances at a few toddlers’ birthday parties she had attended, but Judy wasn’t a fan of slapstick comedy. She found their buffoonery predictable and their antics rarely funny, so she had never paid them any attention, but she was paying
attention to one of them now, and the longer she did, the more Judy’s smile faded.
The clown’s face was chalk white and above its two glassy, bugged out eyes were painted-on high arched eyebrows reaching toward his receding hairline. Sprouting from his scalp, through dozens of holes drilled into the plastic skull, were neon orange braided cords of yarn, and jutting out from underneath the thatch were two enormous ears. His lips were thickset and painted blood red, and with the corners of his mouth raised to the extreme, his grotesque grin was filled with Chiclet-sized teeth.
“Dinner just has to set for a minute and—” Robin came to an abrupt stop one step into the dining room, and spinning on her heel, she turned her back to Judy. “Could you please cover that back up?"
Judy glanced from the doll to Robin and back again. “Why?”
“Because it’s a clown.”
“I can see that.”
“I don’t like clowns.”
“Then why is it here?”
“I found it in the basement. It was in the darkroom.”
“There’s a darkroom in the basement?”
Robin glanced over her shoulder and quickly looked away. “Yes, apparently Adele dabbled in photography. Now, could you please cover that back up?”
“Okay, so I’m still confused,” Judy said, grabbing the blue bag from the table. “If you don’t like clowns, why didn’t you just throw it out or leave it in the basement?”
“Because it’s the only freaking personal thing I found so far that belonged to my aunt, and I couldn’t leave it down there because I wanted to keep an eye on it.”
Robin heard the rustling of the plastic bag and believing it was safe to turn around, she did just that. Seeing the clown in all its macabre glory still standing uncovered on the table, she whirled back around. “Why didn’t you cover it?”
“You just said you wanted to see it,” Judy said, slapping her hands against her hips. “Make up your mind.”
“I said I wanted to keep an eye on it. I didn’t say I wanted to see it.”
Judy pursed her lips as she looked back and forth between the doll and Robin again. “Okay, you’re going to have to explain that.”
Robin hung her head and let out a sigh. “You’re going to think I’m stupid.”
“I doubt it, but give it the old college try,” Judy said with a laugh.
“This is not funny,” Robin groaned.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be serious,” Judy said, fighting the urge to laugh again. “But you’re going to have to explain what you mean by seeing it and not seeing it at the same time. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I don’t like clowns.”
“You already said that.”
“I’m not finished.”
Judy snorted. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
“I...um...I don’t want to see it, but I need to know where it is.”
“Because?”
“Because...um...I need to make sure it doesn’t move.”
“You need to make sure it...it doesn’t move?” Judy said, the tone of her voice sliding up the scale.
“I told you, you’d think I was stupid.”
“Stupid, no. Silly, yes,” Judy said as she reached up and tugged the bag over the doll. “You can look now. The big, bad clown is hidden.”
Before Robin even glanced in Judy’s direction, she knew the woman was mocking her distress, but when she turned around and saw Judy’s pouted lower lip, Robin’s heart melted. It was the most adorable pout she had ever seen. “It’s not funny,” Robin said, trying to contain her smile. “Clowns are creepy!”
“I agree. They can be,” Judy said, pointing toward the clown. “But this particular one is an inanimate object. It’s a doll.”
“Yeah, but it’s a clown doll.”
The dimples in Judy’s cheeks appeared everlasting as she looked at Robin. “So, what are you planning to do with it?”
“I have no idea, but there was no way I could leave it in the basement. When I opened the curtains of the dark room and saw it staring back at me, I almost peed my pants.”
“Did you?”
“No!” Robin said, before looking down at the floor. “But I screamed like a little girl.”
“Oh, I would have given anything to see that.”
“Can you please stop?” Robin said, looking up. “I seriously feel like a fool right now, and you’re not helping.”
“Okay, I’m done,” Judy said, raising her hands in the air. “And dinner smells delicious, by the way.”
Robin’s face lit up as she turned toward the kitchen. “I hope you like pot roast,” she said over her shoulder.
“I do,” Judy said as she followed Robin through the house. “Oh. What’s this about a darkroom?”
Robin suddenly came to a dead stop and turned around. “Wait!”
“What?” Judy said, taking a step backward to get out of Robin’s personal space.
“We can’t have dinner yet. You need to go up and take a look at Firefly.”
“Why?”
“Just go up and take a look. It’ll only take a minute. Please?”
The night before, when Judy broke the news about ending her vacation early, as expected, Patrick was livid. He blustered and bickered until his pockmarked face turned into a Better Boy tomato, but surprising even herself, Judy stood her ground. She didn’t want to be there. She was tired of all the pestering, tired of all the same old, same old, tired of the silent dinners, the apples, and the market. Judy just wanted to go home. Back to familiar faces, back to the sounds of the water, and back to a job she had yet to even start, so when she pulled away from her childhood home early that morning, Judy was focused on her goal. Stopping at a local gas station, she topped off her tank, bought enough coffee to fill her thermos and grabbed something to eat. It was the first and last thing she would eat all day.
On the shelf, the prepackaged breakfast sandwich looked appetizing, but Judy quickly found out that looks can be deceiving. The perfectly round egg was rubbery. The flawlessly-browned biscuit was dry, and the bacon hidden inside tasted as if it had been boiled instead of fried. It sat in her stomach all day like a bowling ball, the weight squashing any thought about food for the rest of the trip, but the aroma of dinner had finally awakened Judy’s appetite.
Her stomach was beginning to gurgle at the prospect of sustenance, but one look at Robin and Judy knew dinner was going to have to wait for a few more minutes. The woman’s eyes were sparkling, and her smile was cheerful and impish, and Judy had a feeling if she didn’t answer soon, Robin was going to explode from whatever surprise she was hiding.
“Okay, let’s go,” Judy said, doing an about-face.
“Oh...uh...I’ll catch up,” Robin said, gesturing toward her apartment when Judy looked back at her. “I need to go and make sure I’ve turned off the oven. I’ll be right behind you. Promise.”
“All righty, then,” Judy said as she made her way to the stairs. “I’ll meet you up there.”
Firefly was the smallest guest room in Safe Harbor. Tucked into the far back corner of the third floor, it contained only a twin bed, a pair of minuscule nightstands, a small armoire, and two chairs nestled into an alcove. When they toured the house taking down measurements, Robin quickly deemed it her favorite room, and at first, Judy was surprised. The room was tiny. The bathroom was even tinier, and the walls were the color of an overripe peach, but when Judy went over and stood in the alcove, she understood the room’s appeal. The niche jutted out over the side of the Inn, and with the neighboring homes being only two stories in height, the view of the Straits of Mackinac was uninterrupted and breathtaking.
Judy flicked on the hallway switch when she reached the third floor. Behind her, toward the front of the house, was Sterlingsworth. Deemed the honeymoon suite, it contained a bedroom, sitting room, and a gargantuan made-for-two bathroom. Their other high-priced suite, Georgian Bay, was directly ahead of her on the left. Large enough to hold two queen beds, it also included a sit
ting area and a comfortably-sized bathroom, but with a bit of rearranging, cots could be added so families of four, five, or six could easily be accommodated.
The room Judy came upstairs to see was opposite Georgian Bay, and she marched toward it with a smile on her face. With the knowledge their tastes in decorating were similar, Judy already knew that whatever Robin had done she would love, and when she noticed the small armoire pushed up against the wall in the hallway, Judy’s suspicions were confirmed. Robin had started painting without her.
Judy waited for a second, glancing over at the stairs to see if Robin had yet to appear, and when she saw she hadn’t, Judy decided there was no reason to wait and opened the door to Firefly.
“Boo!”
Judy leapt into the air and flailing backward, she placed her hand over her heart. “Geez-o-Pete!” she shouted from the hallway. “You scared the shit out of me!”
“I was going for a girly scream,” Robin said, giggling.
“Well, you almost had one,” Judy said as she looked back and forth between Robin and the stairs. “And how in the hell did you get by me?”
“I didn’t,” Robin said, motioning with her head to her right. “I took those.”
Solely focused on a door she’d never seen before, Judy stepped into the room. “Where’d that come from?”
“It was behind the armoire.”
“But how did you—” Judy stopped and looked around. The walls were the same yellowish-pink and as far as Judy could tell nothing else had been changed. “How did you find them?”
“They were hidden behind a bookcase in my spare bedroom downstairs, and wait until you see this,” Robin said, motioning for Judy to follow her. “Come on.”
Judy hesitated before following Robin through the newly discovered doorway, and a second after she did, Judy sucked in all the air existing in the stairwell. “Oh, my God!”
Robin smiled. “Yeah, I think I’ve figured out what Isobel was doing with all those pens and pencils.”
When she was alive, it had kept Isobel sane in a world where she had felt threatened, and late in the night with only the glow from the hearth to brighten the paper, she would sketch until weary. Her father hadn’t known about this secret either, for she drew what she thought and those thoughts could never be known.
