by A. I. Nasser
“Morning, cupcake,” he whistled as he made his way into the kitchen, hugging Karen from behind as she scrambled eggs. He gave her a quick kiss on the neck, forcing her to giggle when his beard tickled her, and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“That’s going to ruin your appetite,” Karen said, moving the pan off the fire and onto a cooler eye.
“I’m famished, baby,” John chuckled. “Believe me, nothing’s going to ruin my appetite.”
“Well, get some food in you and get to work,” she said, winking at him. “My man needs to make us some money.”
John smiled as he sat at the kitchen bar, nestling his coffee between his hands as he stared out the kitchen window at the yard beyond. The sun was piercing through, illuminating the kitchen fully and flushing out the off-white coloring of the cabinets and tiles. He hadn’t noticed their color before, couldn’t even remember if he had registered it at all when he had first arrived. Then again, it hadn’t always been this bright outside.
He sipped his brew as he watched his wife work, his eyes running over the curves hidden by the t-shirt, her ash-brown hair tied back in a high ponytail. She looked at least a decade younger than she actually was, which made him feel like an old fart next to her. He was more than aware of the wrinkles on his skin from the cigarettes and coffee, which was probably why Eva had been such a temptation. No one except for Karen had ever looked at him the way she did, and John began to wonder how sick he had to be to instantly fall for that.
“Did you call Dylan?” he asked, forcing the thoughts out of his mind.
Karen served him his plate and sat down in front of her own. “He says hi,” she said. “One day you’re going to have to learn to wake up early and actually talk to your son.”
“That’s not fair,” John said, already beginning to eat. His stomach growled in encouragement, satisfied that it was getting the attention it needed. “I talked to him yesterday after he got back from soccer practice.”
Karen smiled and winked at him. “My hero,” she said. “So what’s the plan for today?”
“Write, write and write some more,” John smiled.
“How’s that coming along?”
“Swimmingly,” John lied. “Just two more weeks and I might actually be done.”
Karen nodded and bit into her toast.
“You don’t look too happy,” he frowned.
“Oh, I am, believe me, I couldn’t be happier,” she said with a quick smile. “This place is starting to grow on me. I had kind of hoped we could stay here a bit longer.”
“What about Dylan?”
“Move him here with us,” Karen shrugged. “The school here looks pretty decent.”
John put his fork down and cocked his head at his wife. “Are you suggesting permanently moving here?”
“Why not?” Karen asked.
“For starters, we can’t afford this place,” John said. “Right now we’re riding on the publisher paying the rent, and that’s probably just until Derrick gets the final manuscript.”
“Then put off sending it to him for a few months.”
“I have a deadline.”
“Then let’s sell our house and buy this one.”
“And your job?”
“I can quit.”
“Karen!”
Karen slammed her fork down. “What?” she yelled.
John frowned at his wife, sitting back slowly and forgetting all about breakfast as he stared at her in disbelief. He had never seen her lose her cool like this before, even when he did something utterly stupid. It was a new side to her, and it worried him.
“I’m sorry,” Karen sighed. “The new job, well, it isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”
“I thought you loved it,” John said. “Besides, you’ve only been at it for a week before you drove out here.”
“A week of hell.”
John frowned and leaned in towards his wife, grabbing her hand and squeezing it lightly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Karen shook her head and smiled weakly. “You had your own problems,” she said. “I didn’t want to burden you with mine.”
“You’re my wife. You’re supposed to burden me with your issues.”
Karen put her other hand over his and stared out the window. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It just needs a little getting used to, and to be honest, it’s hard not having you around.”
John smiled, obviously amused. “One week without me and your whole world falls apart,” he teased.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Karen shot back quickly, smiling.
He laughed and went back to his breakfast. “How about this? I’ll get some writing done until dinner, and then we can talk all about the new job and what’s bothering you. Sound good?”
Karen nodded and picked up her fork, the two of them exchanging a smile as they resumed their breakfast.
***
Karen pushed through the screen door, sipping her coffee and closing her eyes as the sun’s rays grazed her face. She stood still for a moment, letting the soft morning breeze blow through her hair before she made her way to the porch bench and sat down.
Hank Pollard had fixed the bench up for them a few days before, Karen insisting that she wasn’t going to have furniture lying around uselessly. It had taken the man less than a few hours to get it done, and she remembered the accusing look she had shot her husband. Sometimes she wondered what John would ever do without her.
She pulled her husband’s pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and glanced quickly at the door to make sure he wasn’t coming outside after her, and lit one up. She took a long drag, filling her lungs with smoke before blowing it out, slowly. She had been careful not to let John know she had picked up the habit, and it wasn’t too hard since he was usually the one who smelled like a walking ashtray. Anything out of the usual could easily be pinned on him.
Cradling her mug between her thighs and untying her ponytail, she let her hair loose as she took another drag. Her eyes wandered across the small road to the closest house to her. The Greens, she remembered June telling her. She had asked John about them before, but he had been oddly vague, waving off the conversation as if he had had better things to do.
Which he did, but she found it hard to believe that her usually curious husband had not once toyed with any assumptions about his neighbors.
She knew from June that the only other house on the street was home to an old couple rarely seen by anyone, the blue truck in their driveway the only proof that anyone even lived there. In the past week she had seen only a single car stop there, every two days like clockwork and only for an hour, then disappear again. She assumed they had a caretaker.
Karen sipped her coffee, legs propped up in front of her and resting comfortably on the porch rail as she observed the Green estate. Soon enough, the blonde walked out the front door. Karen glanced at her watch, smiling at how the girl’s routine was as predictable as everything else in this town. The blonde immediately looked over, her gaze falling on Karen and her face in a deep frown. The first few times it had happened, Karen had found it confusing. Now it was just amusing.
What’s your story, little girl?
The blonde spent her usual five minutes outside, forcing herself to look straight ahead, Karen knowing well that she was observing her from the corner of her eye. She continued to stare at the girl until she turned on her heels and walked back into her house, inexplicably frustrated.
Karen made a mental note to ask June about the girl when she met her later today.
Are you sure you want to do that, cupcake?
Karen smiled to herself as she finished her cigarette.
What was the worst that could happen?
Chapter 12
John slammed his laptop shut in frustration.
It had stopped completely. During the past few weeks, he had been worried about how the thought process had slowed down a bit, daily word count going down, his characters becoming stale and boring. He needed
a new edge, and that edge wasn’t manifesting. He had thought he had built momentum, a way to move forward, but he had been wrong.
Running his hands across his face, he sighed as he tried to think of a new angle, a new approach, something that might jump-start the writing again. But, there was nothing.
He shot up angrily, looking for his pack of cigarettes amongst the piles of notes that had accumulated over the past week. He looked at his workspace in disgust; it was starting to look more and more like his desk back home, and the image was depressing. Notes meant brainstorming, and that meant a loss for words he had not experienced before Karen had arrived.
Maybe Derrick was right. Maybe you needed to get away from her, too.
But Derrick had been the one who had called her. John kicked at his chair, looking about the room in fury, wondering why something as simple as lighting a cigarette was becoming so problematic.
He had switched rooms, moving the small makeshift desk and his laptop as soon as he realized that he wouldn’t be able to write in the master bedroom anymore. Besides, it was hard enough sleeping next to his wife in the same bed he had cheated on her in; the whole room had become a distraction.
Cursing, he made his way downstairs, his frustration getting the best of him. He searched the living room first, tossing cushions about and not bothering to put them back where they belonged.
Let Karen deal with it. This is her fault, anyway.
John stopped himself, freezing in place as the voice in the back of his head suddenly fell silent, cowering into the corner where it had been hiding for a week. This wasn’t Karen’s fault. Karen was helping. She had left her job, their son, everything, to be here with him. She was worried, and she was being the woman he had fallen in love with; considerate, patient, supportive. What was he thinking?
She’s here because she couldn’t handle things without you. It’s a selfish reason, come to think of it, Johnny-boy.
John quickly pushed the thought away. He had to be careful. The lack of writing was starting to get to him.
Making his way down the hall, his nose picked up a scent he had never thought he’d smell again. Frowning as he neared the kitchen, he groaned out loud as the familiar stench of rot seeped out from the basement.
“Damn it!” he cursed, opening the door quickly and switching on the lights.
When the bulbs didn’t respond, he laughed in annoyance.
Murphy’s Law, Johnny-boy.
Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.
Might as well not go down there. The way things are going for you, you might end up falling and breaking a leg. Or your neck.
John closed the basement door and immediately went for the towels. The stench hadn’t reached the point where he couldn’t stand being in the kitchen, and he was convinced that this time around he could stop it from getting any worse. He reached for his phone, hoping to catch Karen and ask her to bring some lights with her from June’s, and he wasn’t surprised when he couldn’t find it in his pocket.
Of course.
“You’re telling me,” John said out loud.
He grabbed the towels from the drawer, wet them and stuffed them in place. He scanned the kitchen, found his pack near the boiler, pocketed it and made his way out onto the porch. He sat heavily on the bench, lighting a cigarette with shaky hands, his mind racing as his body shook with frustration.
He needed to write. He needed to write now. He couldn’t lose the momentum, not now, not when he was this close to finishing the story. One idea; he only needed one idea to get him going again, and try as he would, he couldn’t find it.
You do know why, right, Johnny-boy?
John hated to admit it, but there was a part of him that had to agree. Ever since Karen had arrived, ever since she had changed things in the house, made it homier, his ideas had stopped coming. He laughed at how ludicrous the notion was, but it was the closest thing to an explanation he could find. His story was dark, twisted, a new John Krik who wasn’t supposed to be indulging in bright sunlight and home-made breakfast. He needed the dark, the flickering bulbs, and the running feet. He needed the voices in his head.
Hey, I never really left, buddy. You’ve just been ignoring me.
“Help,” John whispered to the wind, his cigarette stuck between his lips as he stared out into space.
You don’t need my help. You know what you have to do.
John thought long and hard about it, and nodded to himself. He had to get rid of Karen. He had to convince her to leave, to return to their son and her job. But, how was he going to do that? He had promised to talk to her tonight, and she was dead set on staying. It wasn’t going to be easy.
Well, you better think fast, buddy. I have a feeling she’s already got her eyes on your special friend.
John frowned as he looked over at the Greens’ house. He hadn’t seen Eva since Karen’s arrival, and he had counted his lucky stars for that. He had never considered the possibility that Eva had come before and Karen had scared her off. His wife had been asking him about the Greens for a few days now, and he had never once thought of the possibility that she might have met the blonde. Had Eva said something?
It doesn’t really matter, Johnny-boy. What matters now is writing.
Right. What mattered was writing.
John blew out smoke and flicked his cigarette out into the driveway. He thought long and hard, his mind trying to piece together a way to get back on track. He longed for the nights when his fingers danced on their own, the words popping up on the screen as if someone else had been doing the work, not him.
Fine, just this once. But from now on, we play it my way, got it?
John felt his eyes cloud over and his mind kick into overdrive. In an instant, he had the angle he needed to continue writing. He jumped up and raced back into the house, taking the stairs in twos as he fell heavily into his chair and began to type.
John wrote, and the smile on his face said it all.
***
“Tell me about the Greens.”
Karen was leaning against one wall of the small storage space, smoking a cigarette as she and June took a break from the inventory. She had promised the woman a few days before that she would help her with it, and Karen was never one to go back on promises. She had come with another agenda, though, and had waited for this break with anticipation.
Karen couldn’t really help it. She had to admit, she was as curious as her husband, if not more, which was why his vagueness and disinterest with the Greens annoyed and confused her. They had always been quick to play the guess-who-they-are game, each one taking turns picking out random people and making up stories about their lives. John did it for the inspiration; Karen did it for the thrill. She had offered him the chance to do the same with the Greens, and had been surprised that, contrary to his usual excitement, he brushed the notion off and told her to forget about them.
“I’m not here to socialize,” he had said.
Karen didn’t believe it for a second. The Greens seemed intriguing, and the way June hesitated when she asked her to talk about them made Karen want to know about them even more.
“They are an interesting bunch, aren’t they?” June asked with a smile, as if reading Karen’s mind.
Karen nodded. “It’s rare for me not to know my neighbors.”
“And you haven’t gone over yourself?”
“I keep telling John that I want to,” Karen said. “He doesn’t seem very interested in getting to know them, which I think is quite odd. It’s not like him.”
Karen caught the confusion on the other woman’s face and instantly felt something in her stomach turn. “What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” June lied, and Karen knew it. “I’m thinking about what you said.”
Karen decided not to probe any further, for now. “Well?”
June sat down on one of the many boxes around her, dusted her hands together and leaned back against a wall. “The Greens,” she whispered. “Where do you
start?”
Karen chuckled. “How about the beginning, June.”
June seemed to think about that for a moment, then nodded in agreement.
“Cafeville is an old town, one of the oldest in New England I suppose. Earliest settlement this part of the State, although right now you’d probably not even find it on the map. Never grew much larger than it is right now. Come to think of it, there’s only ever been three or four streets added to the ones that had first been established. The school could be considered new, although that was built in the thirties.”
June stared into space for a few seconds before shaking her head and blinking, as if she had suddenly traveled back to another time and place, and had returned just as quickly.
“Anyway,” she continued, “the town was founded by four families; Dean, Toled, Pollard and Green. You know Hank, of course. He’s the last of the Pollards left in Cafeville. The others all sold everything they owned here and left, scattered all over the country.”
“I thought Hank was married,” Karen said.
June shook her head slowly. “His wife died years ago. The poor soul can’t bring himself to take off the ring. He’s never been one to let the past be.”
“That’s sad,” Karen frowned, grateful she had found this out before going through with her plan to invite him to dinner; asking him to bring the wife would have been awkward.
“Well, all things considered, the Pollards are the only family of the four that’s had it good here in Cafeville. That’s probably why the rest left. Didn’t want to push their luck, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think it started with the Toleds, really,” June said, concentrating as she tried to remember the town’s history. “This was before I was born. They’re the family that lives to the left of the house you’re staying in.”
“The older couple that doesn’t want to leave?” Karen asked.
“Or can’t leave, depending on how you look at it,” June said, her voice barely audible. “All three families, Dean, Toled and Green, built their homes on that road, each with their own little riches, each trying to compete with the other, although my grandmother says it had all been good sport back then. You can’t really know, if you ask me. Happened way before her time, too.
