by Mary Cantell
The sound of a child’s voice pierced the air. Lissa turned abruptly to see a white van zoom down the quiet residential street. Did the voice come from inside the van? A sudden shock hit like a freight train at the thought of Lacy inside. The story of a white van circling the neighborhood last summer came to mind. A man at the wheel. The rumor was that he’d lured kids into the back with the offer of free tickets to the Baltimore Orioles’ games. Lissa pictured her free-spirited daughter lolling down the street in her bouncy step, oblivious to the dangers around her.
Her only child, Lacy often spent time alone. Lissa found comfort looking out the window seeing her playfully engaged, either having a pretend picnic or tea with her Barbie dolls on the hammock in the summer. The child’s independent nature ran in the family—somewhere. Her daughter’s free spirit coupled with Lissa’s worry-prone nature created a less than cohesive mix. She tried to control her fears by talking to the counselor about it at Lacy’s school. The woman gave some helpful advice: try to think like a child… they are so curious—about everything… they aren’t cognizant of the importance of time or what adults find important… give them their space, etc. As much as Lissa tried to apply what she learned from the counselor, the lessons often stayed in her head—rarely reaching her heart.
The once peaceful morning turned ominous in Lissa’s world, and she wondered how she could have thought the neighborhood was ever safe. With her heart pulsing in double time, she double checked the back yard again and studied every inch of the property—the rickety, splintered fence, the tall imposing trees.
Lissa berated herself for being too preoccupied earlier in the morning with packing and boxing up the kitchen and linen closet items. She mentally retraced her steps and struggled to remember when she last saw Lacy. After breakfast, she cleared the table, rinsed the leftover milk from their cereal bowls and dribbles of orange juice from their glasses, and picked up where she left off to continue boxing their belongings. She had so much to do and so little time to do it; her mind kept buzzing with the next thing on the list. The movers were scheduled for tomorrow. How did the child slip out without being noticed?
Two hours later and shortly before noon, still no sign of Lacy. Lissa had contacted all the neighbors she knew. They canvassed the neighborhood from the tiny strip mall at the corner to the playground at Elmwood Park. Later, the group reconvened on the sidewalk, all bearing long, desperate faces. A frantic Lissa lifted her cell phone and was one second away from calling the police when the figure of a little girl appeared in the distance. Lacy? Lissa’s heavy heart lifted as though a sodden weight fell away as her daughter came loping across the neighbor’s lawn. Seeing her daughter’s gazelle-like dexterity, she delighted at the child’s athleticism. Her immense joy overrode any indiscretion Lacy could ever muster.
“Lacy,” she cried as her daughter approached. Cheers erupted from the make-shift search party of neighbors Lissa had corralled. “Honey, we were worried,” Lissa said, about to cry from joy as she reached out to hug her. A sweet blend of grape-flavored bubble gum and baby shampoo scented the air where Lacy stood.
“Debbie let me—” Lacy panted, “—she let me play her CDs, Mom.” She stopped to take an expansive breath. “All of them,” she bubbled excitedly. “And we drank sodas and everything.”
“You should have asked my permission, honey.” Lissa’s brow knit. “You know better than to leave the house without letting Mommy know, right?” She pushed stray strands of cherry-brown hair out of Lacy’s eyes. “I’m serious, Lacy. Please don’t ever do that again.” The commanding tone of her on-the-spot mini-lecture faded in light of the news her daughter was safe. It could have been worse. Lacy could have been hurt or—worse. Lissa didn’t want to think about the things she heard on the news. Or the van.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” she said with a shrug, the earlier enthusiasm quickly dampened.
“It’s okay now,” Lissa said as Robin reached for Lacy’s arm and gave a gentle squeeze.
“You’re safe,” Robin said, “and that’s all that matters.”
“Yes,” said Grace, their next-door neighbor, as they all nodded in agreement “That’s all that matters.”
Soon Lissa would take her daughter away from her home, just as her own mother had done those many years ago. She’d made a valiant effort to be a good parent—both mother and father to her after Lissa’s father’s death. Now she planned to do the same. It would be a good thing, Lissa tried to convince herself, even though Lacy would have to start fresh with a new school, move into a classroom already in full swing, and make new friends. She wondered if her daughter was telling her in some way that she didn’t want to go? Lissa was about to retrace her steps back to the place where she spent the better part of childhood. The safe and quiet streets of Pinewood, Maryland. Where nothing bad ever happened.
Chapter Two
On her last evening before the move, Lissa slipped into her pajamas after dinner and settled down in front of the computer. She checked her email first and then Facebook. A picture of a group of children popped up on her wall posted from an old school friend. Here’s a throwback from the past, Katie Knox wrote. Intrigued, Lissa tried to make out the faces in the grainy photo.
Children from her old elementary school back in Pinewood and not much older than her own daughter stood around Principal Golden’s brand new white Triumph Spitfire convertible after the school’s May Day Fun Night. She remembered the time well. Everyone was impressed with the car and made a fuss over it. With her rotund derriere and sensible low-heeled shoes, Miss Golden looked more fit for a practical midsize vehicle than the sporty Spitfire. Lissa, warmed by the nostalgia, chuckled out loud at the incongruity of it all.
“What is it, Mom?” Lacy dropped what she was doing on the floor and hopped onto her lap.
“It’s a picture of when I was a little girl, sweetie.” Lissa mused how much Lacy resembled her at the same age with their similar features and auburn hair. “There I am, see?”
“Who’s that boy standing next to you?” Lacy pressed a finger to the screen.
Her voice turned soft. “That’s my old friend, Brian.” Lissa delighted at even saying his name out loud.
“He’s cute,” Lacy drawled. “Did you like him?”
Lissa was caught off guard. Whoa… really, Lacy? A bit flustered, she replied, “Brian Pickering?” Her voice came out high-pitched, a sure sign of uneasiness, but hopefully, Lacy wouldn’t pick up on it.
“Pickering?” Lacy giggled. “That’s a funny name.”
Lissa frowned and spoke as though defending his family’s honor. “No, it’s not.” She hoped she didn’t give herself away. Of course I liked him.
On a balmy spring evening twenty-six years ago, Lissa tried to get her school crush Brian Pickering’s attention, particularly when some of the kids began playing board games in one of the upstairs classrooms during the school’s annual Fun Night, and she went looking for him. Sadly, that night he paid more attention to the tall and leggy Patti Cotter, her budding beauty already commanding, even at ten years old. The hot sting of envy filled Lissa upon realizing Brian didn’t even notice her disappointment.
Every gym class during the winter when it was too cold to enjoy the outdoors, her classmates joined some of the other grades for a big square dance in the cafeteria. All the while she pined to dance with him or to touch the blond bristles on the back of his freshly cut hair, she’d been stuck with the fawning attention of another boy in her class. Donny McCall. Whenever she glanced in Brian’s direction, there stood freckle-faced Donny gazing up at her with his squinty eyes wanting to be her partner. He was a sweet kid, but his hands slithered in hers like two wet clams. Saying no, thanks to the poor soul would have broken his spirit. Someone like fancy classmate Sue Ellen Clanton, who tied her hair with shiny ribbons resembling a prized poodle, would have no trouble telling Donny no.
Gazing at the computer screen, Lissa marveled how the picture made it to Facebook after all these years. The pic
ture resurfaced moments later with some added comments: “Look at that hair… Wow, that car is probably a collector’s item by now.” Names from her past not thought of or heard from in decades appeared to join the conversation one-by-one. She typed in her own comment—“good times.”
After Lissa tucked Lacy into bed, she went back to the computer and, once again, lingered on the old group photo. Curious as to how Brian turned out, she went to his Facebook page and clicked through the pictures he posted of himself with friends and family. There were two little girls—both quite pretty—and a woman in his life—most likely his wife. Lissa felt like a voyeur sifting through the pictures, as though she were intruding into his personal space.
Her grade school days with him floated back… the tall kangaroo he sculpted in clay during art period when everyone else molded scrawny snakes or turtles… the after school club he started and invited her, the only girl, to join after she won the President’s Physical Fitness Award for most athletic girl in fourth grade, and the reading comprehension tests where Brian soared to the top level, leaving the rest of the class behind. Her pulse ticked faster, and a warm feeling came over her as she turned off the computer and went to bed. Brian Pickering was the last thing on her mind as she drifted to sleep.
Chapter Three
Pinewood, Maryland
March 5, 2005
The well-kept homes, each as lovely as the next, resembled page layouts out of House Beautiful magazine. Southern charm influenced the neighborhood right down to the tulip beds, Lissa thought, as she browsed through the manicured lawns and landscaping of the homes for rent in the Pinewood County website. She settled on an old Victorian on Bellevue Avenue offering a second-floor apartment and located not far from where she once lived.
“And here are the bedrooms,” the elderly landlady, Miss Rucker, announced as she plodded down the narrow hallway smelling of old varnish, her dowager’s hump popping through her pale lace sweater.
The furnished unit had a stone fireplace and an exposed brick wall. For the low rent—a godsend. The place was good enough with just enough space and privacy for her and Lacy, though the tiny kitchen with its passé avocado color scheme and stained sink didn’t lend much appeal. That, along with the rumor of a haunted house in the neighborhood, were the only drawbacks. A mason jar next to the sink held some greasy looking wooden utensils, and a dusty spice rack void of spice jars hung on the wall next to an old model Freeze-king refrigerator. How long had it been there? Even though the kitchen was old, Lissa knew that after a bucket of hot water and a thorough soapy cleaning, the room could gain back some of its luster.
What drew her most in selecting the property was the formal garden adjacent to a large protective stone wall enclosing the property. The lifelike pictures of the garden in full bloom on the internet were stunning. A small pond sat at the bottom of the hill like a shiny jade coin.
After the tour, they went down to Miss Rucker’s apartment where she brought out the lease agreement paperwork. The décor in the dim sitting room in the lower half of the house where Miss Rucker and her mother lived reminded Lissa of her great-grandmother and namesake, Melissa Rose Leads, a society matron from Macon, Georgia. She owned similar furniture like the commanding mahogany desk set with carved finials that sat on the far wall surrounded by a brocade sofa, loveseat, and two button-back pink velvet chairs. A marble-topped table held a crystal lamp topped with china figurines set in a circle. A large statue of Mary, the blessed mother, stood in the corner. Miss Rucker set the papers on the table by the fireplace and turned on the lamp, which cast a circle of gold light on the lace-shrouded table. Lissa slung the strap of her handbag over the back of the chair, took a seat, and moved the papers closer while reaching backward into her purse for her glasses.
“They keep the mice in check,” Miss Rucker said to Lacy with a wink and introduced the cats to her as she sat giggling on the floor, charmed with their attention. Tingo and Tango purred and rubbed up against Lacy while Miss Rucker’s third cat, Theodore, skulked around the room meowing as though disturbed by the intrusion or jealous of the bonding he wasn’t receiving. Miss Rucker’s beige and white Shih Tzu kept a keen dog eye on all of them from the corner. Mice? Lissa paused for a second before continuing to read the fine print. Great.
Lacy continued to run the palm of her hand across the heads of the black and white felines and quickly bonded with Tingo and Tango.
“Miss Rucker, I have a question,” Lacy said, cocking her head. “Is there a haunted house around here?”
With a scowl, the woman quickly shook her head, “Oh, no,” she said, sounding affronted. “Well, at least, I certainly hope not.”
“I heard there was,” Lacy replied, pawing the cats.
“In this neighborhood?” She clutched her pearl necklace and nervously stroked it.
Lacy nodded and then shrugged. “I don’t remember what street, though,” and Lissa wished her daughter hadn’t mentioned it.
“Miss Rucker,” Lissa interjected apologetically, “Lacy read something about it online, on my computer. I must have left my screen open to the real estate website where your house is listed.” She waved as though dismissing the idea. “The real estate lady who recommended your place didn’t know about it either…it’s not a problem just a curiosity.”
“Mom, what about Amityville?” Lacy cocked her head again.
“Oh, right. I lived in Amityville, New York, one summer after college.” Lissa began. “I stayed on Ocean Avenue, you know, where there was this house that became famous for being haunted. I’m surprised you remembered the town’s name, Lace.”
“It’s a movie,” Lacy added, smartly.
“Yes, honey, but it’s all speculation,” Lissa replied with the calm but firm tone of laying the matter to rest and not wanting to further rattle Miss Rucker.
“Frankly, I believe haunted houses are nothing more than people’s imaginations,” Miss Rucker piped in with conviction.
“I agree, Miss Rucker.” She gave an affirmative nod.
“Imaginations coupled by a marketing plan,” Miss Rucker added with a titter as she scowled and shook her head while adjusting one of the bobby pins in her steel gray bun.
“We should only believe half of what we see and even less of what we hear,” Lissa began. “I used to walk the dog of my neighbor—Mrs. Elmore—dear lady, and she would come to her door always wearing a nightgown. They’re all she ever wore,” she continued. “And a thick scent of sweet Emeraude hung in the air whenever she opened the door—and even after it was closed. They said the poor soul suffered from an incurable disease and was forced to mask the odor by drenching herself in heavy perfume. The tea-toting busybodies in the neighborhood labeled her a woman of the evening. Can you imagine?” Lissa frowned and Miss Rucker clucked disapprovingly. “Anyway, so much for the truth among fiction.” Lissa looked pointedly at Lacy. “Including haunted houses, young lady.”
Miss Rucker moved to the window. “My, oh my,” she murmured, staring outside. In mid-sentence she suddenly stopped short. “Oh, dear.”
Her eyes remained fixed toward the outside where airy clouds stretched across the postcard-pretty morning sky as Lissa looked up, wondering what attracted the woman’s attention. “Is everything all right, Miss Rucker?”
“Oh, yes, I’m fine. Everything is all right,” Miss Rucker said, turning away quickly. Her eyes bounced around the room as though she’d lost control and didn’t know where to focus. A thin line drew on her lips. “Quite all right.”
Lissa sat up straighter, attempting to raise her sight line to catch a glimpse out the window, hoping to pick up on whatever it was that made the woman break character. Thick pines surrounding the park across the street and a man wearing a red baseball cap rounding the corner of the sidewalk were all she could see from her present angle. Getting up and running to the window wouldn’t be appropriate, she reasoned. Unless there was some kind of danger. Was there? No, she reasoned, and went back to the paperwork. After readi
ng the entire lease, she signed and dated the document and handed both copies back to the landlady who, in turn, signed them and gave one back to her along with the key.
“This is fine, yes, quite fine, indeed,” Miss Rucker said. “It will be so nice having you and your daughter stay here.” She smiled and cupped her quivering hands together. “Now, if there’s anything you need or any questions you have, I’m only a floor away.”
“Thank you, Miss Rucker,” Lissa said, reaching for her handbag. “We’ll be sure to let you know of any concerns we have.”
“I hope you don’t have many.” The woman tittered.
Lissa hoped so, too, still wondering what could have upset Miss Rucker.
Chapter Four
“Yes, sir, I’ll fax them right away. And the memo is ready to go. Dr. Fitzwater just signed off on it.” Lissa stepped out of Dr. Billing’s office and went back to her desk. She printed out the paperwork and went to the copy room. After sorting, collating, and copying the reports, she faxed her boss’s requested information and went back to her desk. Settling down with a cup of Darjeeling tea, she checked her email and then opened Facebook. Her heart lightened at seeing a message from Brian Pickering. After all these years, she never expected to be in touch with someone from grade school, much less him. Hmmm, what’s this about?
Brian: “Glad to hear you’ll be coming back to the area. When you get settled, give me a shout. Maybe we can do lunch or coffee or something?” A date?
She replied: “Hi, Brian. Good to hear from you. I’m already here in Pinewood.”
Seconds later, he wrote, “Cool. Pick a day and get back to me. My schedule is flexible.”
“Sounds like a plan. Will do.”
Will do? She cringed at rereading her choice of words. Sounded like the overly solicitous reply she would say to Dr. Billing, though she didn’t recall ever saying it before.
