Another Stab at Life

by Anita Higman

  “It sounds perfect.”

  “If you want, I could call the door and security people right now and tell them it’s an emergency. Which it is. And I’ll bet I can get them to come tomorrow.”

  “I think it’s hard for me to let you do this.” I hoped he wouldn’t question me too much.

  “You mean because you don’t know me very well?” “Not just that. I. . .don’t do. . .this.” I rubbed my temples, hoping that wasn’t a headache coming on.

  “This?” Max scratched his head. “What do you mean?”

  “This accepting help thing. For a long time now I’ve plowed through life on my own. . .kind of like a bulldozer.” I suddenly realized how goofy that sounded. “Must be lonely doing it that way all the time.”

  Max closed the phone book. “Would it make you feel better if you could help me with something?”

  “No.”

  “Are you able to tell me why?” Max asked, looking compassionate.

  “I don’t think so.” I shoved my hair back behind my ears and jiggled the diamond drop back and forth on its chain. “I mean not right now. Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

  “You should take lessons from my sisters. They never hesitate for a second to have me do odd jobs for them.”

  “Yes, but don’t you gradually resent it?” I hoped he’d give me a straight answer.

  “No. Resent isn’t the right word. Exasperated some- times maybe when they won’t change a lightbulb by themselves. But I put the kibosh to that one.”

  “Good for you.” I smiled, hoping we could move the conversation on to safer waters.

  “But your situation is different, Bailey. You have a sincere need here, and I can help. I’ve been remodeling homes for years now along with my realty business.” Max paused and then looked directly at me. “Also, I really did want to honor the agreement I made with your grandmother.”

  I straightened my shoulders and put my hands on my hips. The gesture may have looked like the animals that puff themselves up to appear bigger in front of a predator. Maybe the stance made it a little less humiliating as I yielded to the domination of the male species. “Okay. I accept your help in setting up what I need tomorrow. I’ll trust you to get the right guys and the right materials. And you can hire a company to put in a really good security system.”

  “Good.” Max gave me the thumbs-up sign.

  I shook my head and shot him a funny smirk. “Just a suggestion: It might be wise to spend tonight somewhere else. I know you met Dedra. I’ll bet she wouldn’t mind if you spent the night over there.”

  My body sort of slumped down in the knowledge I’d have to make lots of concessions now and rely on all sorts of people to get me through this mess. I had indeed boarded a locomotive that would take me to new territory. And apparently no one in the neighborhood wanted to let me off the train. “Okay. You’re right. It isn’t safe here tonight.”

  Then Max made a few calls for me, setting up my Monday with his favorite crew and security company. He’d rescued my bumbling self up out of the mud pits. Max plopped onto one of the chairs in the sitting room. Dust rose in chugging puffs all around him, making him look like he’d just reappeared in a magic act.

  “I think you may have to consider disposing of this chair,” he said.

  I laughed at his understatement and then suddenly noticed a cockroach cruising across the top of the high- back chair where he sat. Without warning, the brown insect flew straight onto Max’s head. I screamed before I could stop myself. Then I knocked the roach off his hair, accidentally hitting Max a little harder than I’d intended. “Oh, Max. I’m so sorry. A cockroach flew on you. It was huge. Like a meteor landing on your head. Are you okay?”

  “I’m used to the roaches.” Max rubbed his head and turned to look at me. “You’ve got quite a vicious slap there. I’ll be sure and always act like a gentleman.”

  I soothingly touched Max’s head where I’d hit him. “I am so sorry I whacked you. I thought I was saving your life. Well, sort of. Does it still hurt?”

  With me still standing to his side, Max reached up and gently grasped my hand. For just a moment I wanted to keep it there in his strong hand, so I did. I closed my eyes. I thought I felt the briefest brush of his lips on my fingers. And his soft breath. I felt stirrings in those seconds I had forgotten could be roused. Like an abandoned car someone had just gassed, the engine revved up soundly, surprising its driver that it could still go for a run. But thinking maybe this felt a bit awkward or inappropriate, I gently pulled my hand away from his touch.

  Max seemed to come to his senses, too, as he rose up quickly and jammed his hands into his jean pockets. “Sorry. And here I said I’d be a gentleman.”

  “It’s okay. I touched you first.”

  We grinned at each other. Then laughed. It felt so good I wanted to celebrate by kissing him but didn’t. I placed my hands to my side and brought my roving thoughts back into line.

  Max cleared his throat. “Bailey?” he asked with a cozy look in his eye.

  “Yes, Max?” I said warmly, wondering what that mouth was going to say next.

  “I’m afraid roaches can get enormous here. You can choose to do one of two things. Either spray for them or invite them to dinner.”

  I blinked a few times, not really knowing how to respond to his sudden comedy routine on insects. I had expected sultry, not slapstick. Maybe Max had already regretted our little handholding episode.

  “The same thing is true about the fire ants here. Don’t ever let them get a stronghold on your house. Once they’re in, they’re hard to get out.” Max stared at me in a funny way with his soft brown eyes. He almost said something and then seemed to catch himself. Minutes later after giving me more tips on the house and the name of a maid service that did deep cleaning, Max exited my abode to head to a late service at his church. I watched him go, wishing I’d been showered and ready to go with him.

  As I’d expected of the generous-hearted Dedra, she didn’t mind that I’d asked to spend the night. In fact, she was revving up to make it into an old-fashioned slumber party. Was I supposed to bring something? Like popcorn, grape soda, chocolate chip cookie dough, or maybe gummy worms?

  I plunked myself down on the living room couch and watched as dust clouds billowed upward. If any angels were watching me now, I must have been a pitiful sight. I felt smelly, unorganized, and old. Count your blessings, Bailey. At least you’re no longer poor while you’re busy being smelly, unorganized, and old!

  But amid my grumbling and chastisements, I kept going back in my mind to the touch from Max. Was it supposed to mean something? Or was he just a guy who got a little gushy over me slapping a roach off his head? Something felt faulty with that conclusion.

  But could Max be attracted to me? I went over to the hall mirror and stared. I guess I’d looked at myself for so many years, I no longer really knew if I were a handsome woman. Did I have one of those classic faces that could go without makeup? Get real, Bailey. So, what really attracted Max? Why did he touch me so tenderly? Did he actually like me for me? Surely not the way I looked today.

  I took another gander at myself. I’d been told I looked attractive, but I never really let it sink in. Good skin, I guess. Tight pours, no acne. Balanced facial features. Decent auburn hair when I actually let it flow down around my shoulders. Smoky gray eyes. Not startling, but decent. My neck wasn’t swanlike, but it looked worth kissing. Fairly slender body. Teeth straight and white. Lips full. Maybe I am good-looking. Don’t get cocky, Bailey.

  Feeling confused and dirty, I started upstairs to shower and make a finely tuned game plan. Just then, I heard another banging noise at the door. More surprises? I guess I didn’t need to lock or even close my doors in this neighborhood. Maybe I should just install a revolving door.

  10 – My Strange Little Puzzle

  I took a peek through the hole. An older African- American lady stood on my porch holding a plate of food and a warm smile. I didn’t want to be obligated
to anybody else, but I was starving. I opened the door. “Hi.”

  “Hello. I’m your neighbor, Miss Magnolia Waters. But you can just call me Magnolia.” Her voice poured out like thick cream.

  I became intoxicated by the smell of whatever she had on her plate. “I’m Bailey Walker. It’s good to meet you.”

  “Well, honey, I’m so happy to meet you, too. I live across the street in that blue Victorian house.”

  I noticed that Magnolia had short hair peppered with gray, a huggable portly frame, and an enormous red handbag that looked as though she could use it for a weapon if necessary. I liked her style.

  “I knew you wouldn’t be set up for housekeeping yet, so I brought you something to eat,” Magnolia said. “I have a big slice of ham here I just took out of the oven. Honey, it’s hot. So you be careful. And I’ve got some of my homemade biscuits and good pork-laced baked beans.” She chuckled like a cooing pigeon. “Folks over at Mount Zion Gospel Church say I make the finest desserts they’ve ever eaten, so I added an extra big slice of my sweet potato pie. Hope you like it. You look like you could use a little extra weight.”

  I hadn’t smelled anything so good in all my life. I knew as soon as she released the heaping plate to me, I would consume every crumb. Maybe even lick the plate if no one was looking. Well, in my house that last part was always questionable.

  “Are you going to fix up this old place?” Magnolia asked as she handed me the plate of food.

  “Yes, I. . .I think I am.” I stuttered on my words for some reason.

  She dipped her head low. “It’s got a good foun- dation, this house. But. . .”

  “Yes?” I wondered what she was trying to say. Would it be another piece to my strange little puzzle?

  “Oh, you can’t listen to an old woman like me, but it’s just that every time I get near this house, I just get this urge. . .to pray. I know you’re going to laugh at me.”

  “I’m not laughing,” I said.

  “Yes, if I were you, I’d flatten the thing and start afresh. But don’t you let me spoil this pretty day.” She chuckled.

  I wasn’t sure what to say, so I let it go. Just then I could see an elderly couple at the end of the cul-de- sac.Were they trimming that cedar tree or were they hiding behind it?

  “Who’s that?” I strained my neck to see them better. “Oh, those would be your next-door neighbors. Boris and Eva Lukin. You’ve seen them now, so that’ll be about it until fall. They don’t get out much.” “Really? Why’s that?”

  “They’re private people. Very private. Boris and Eva are from a village in Eastern Europe. I think somebody said they came over from. . .Transylvania.”

  “What a lovely thought,” I said. Magnolia chuckled.

  From world history class in junior college, I knew Transylvania was a real place and not just from storybooks, but I’d never known anyone in my life who’d emigrated from there. “How curious.”

  “They won’t even open the door for me,” Magnolia went on, “even when I have one of my sweet potato pies hot right out of the oven. Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. Just pray for ’em, honey. That’s all I can say.”

  I thanked Magnolia for the food, and she cooed again with all my compliments. But just as she turned to leave, I betrayed my kind voice as I inquired, “Magnolia, I know this seems like an odd question, but do you like cats?” It was a new low point for me, troubling this kind woman with my doubts.

  Magnolia looked shocked at my question. “Oh, honey, it is the only creature on God’s good earth that I dislike. My little sister, God rest her soul, was attacked by one when she was a baby. Little Shanda died, only six months old. The animal came into her crib and sucked the very life out of her. Yes, the doctor said Shanda died of suffocation.”

  “Oh?” The plate nearly slipped out of my hand. “I’m so sorry.” I tightened my grip.

  “So, no, I don’t like. . .cats.” Mist filled Magnolia’s eyes, and she immediately produced a hanky to wipe her eyes.

  I knew then that I was more of a jerk than I’d ever imagined. How could I make this sweet woman cry like that after bringing me a plate of homemade food? “I’m so sorry I made you cry. I promise you I won’t be buying any cats for pets.”

  “Thank you, honey. That’s sweet.” She shook her head. “But don’t you mind me. I just get that way sometimes thinking about her. You enjoy your goodies now.”

  I nodded and apologized again.

  Then she lumbered back down the walk, humming her own rendition of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” as her red purse wagged behind her.

  Nestled inside the plastic wrap, I noticed Magnolia had included throwaway utensils. Perfect. I wasn’t looking forward to eating her baked beans with my fingers. Magnolia had thought of everything. I shook my head. I’d never be able to pay back all these neighbors for their help. But then, Bailey, maybe they don’t want anything from you. Just that “joy of giving” thing. Well, those certainly weren’t thoughts that rattled in my brain very often.

  I eased down on the couch, careful not to rouse the dust bunnies, and began to gobble up my feast. I sighed at the taste of real food, the thoughtfulness of someone who didn’t even know me, and the mysterious ways of God.

  Yet even as my heart swelled with gratefulness, I felt anxious, too. Magnolia had said that little Shanda had died of suffocation. She’d blamed their cat. Could Magnolia feel a sense of retribution? Never. Yet snippets of things kept hanging in the air, making everyone seem guilty and yet no one at all. Maybe I’m still under the influence of that hallucinogenic fungus!

  The same facts remained. Someone was trying to scare me. Possibly for some kind of sick pleasure or to remove me from the house. But why? Granny promised no one knew about the jars of cash. Not even Lakes. So what was so enticing about a house in ruins?

  I finished my meal and double-checked to make sure the house was empty. All clear. After showering, I slid into some tan capris and a white knit shirt. Then I packed up my most important belongings and headed next door for a little “slumber party.” Dedra had become so keyed up about the evening she wanted us to get an early start.

  I reached for the doorbell, but the door suddenly burst open. “Hi.” I picked up my suitcase. “I really appreciate what—”

  Dedra, decked out in tie-dyed overalls, rushed out to hug me, nearly cutting off my air. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too.” Once I hit the inside entry of her house, my whole body relaxed. “Oh, air conditioning. That does feel good.” The truth was I’d excreted enough salty sweat in my house recently to cure a truckload of hams. I must be fitting in here a bit. Even my thoughts have that Texas twang now.

  Dedra clapped her hands. “This will be so much fun. But I am sorry about all that horrible mischief. Max told me. We need to talk. Have you called the police yet?”

  I shook my head. “No. Tomorrow we’re creating a fortress next door.”

  She took my suitcase and headed into the bowels of her house. I followed. An array of oil and watercolor paintings adorned the walls. I wondered if she were a painter.

  “In case you’re wondering,” Dedra said. “I’m an artist, and I work out of my studio here at home.”

  I paused in the hallway to look at one of her paintings, a creepy Gothic mansion surrounded by dead cedar trees. The house looked exactly like mine. “This painting. It looks like Volstead Manor.”

  “It isn’t, though.” Dedra said quickly. She reached down to pick up an envelope from a small table. She retrieved a rather ornate letter opener from a drawer and ever so slowly slid the blade along the top of the envelope. “It’s just a house I wanted to paint. Well, one I had to paint.”

  What in the world did that mean? A kind of nosiness welled up inside me, along with the slightest panic. “I’m curious. Where did you get the idea for the house then?” Oh dear. Did that come off confrontational?

  Without looking at the contents, Dedra slipped the envelope into her pocket and left the letter opener on the tabl
e. “The painting came from a dream I had. I woke up in the night in a cold, cold sweat. I couldn’t shake the dark vision I’d seen. So I rose, around midnight I think, and started to paint the house I’d seen in my sleep. I had that dream exactly one year before the night of your arrival. Do you think that’s unsettling?”

  All righty then. Boy, this conversation had certainly taken a creepy turn. “No. I think it’s just a coincidence. And you were dreaming about what you were used to seeing. You live in a neighborhood full of very old houses. It’s natural that your unconscious life would dip into your conscious life for images. And with my house being next door—”

  “Like I said, it’s not your house.” Dedra’s left eye seemed to get a sudden spasm. She pushed on her eyelid.

  Oh dear. I’ve muffed this one. Come on, Bailey. Think of something sincere and positive. “By the way, your work is quite good.”

  “Thank you. I’m hoping you’ll buy a few after you get your house repaired. Especially since you’re so rich now.”

  Dedra winked and suddenly donned the same sunny expression I’d grown to think of as “hers.” I sighed inwardly, glad the conversation had moved on. “Well, are you ready for our big night?” She held out her arms as if she were offering me prizes on a game show.

  I nodded, perhaps too swiftly, trying to show some enthusiasm.

  “By the way, what kind of security system are you getting?” Dedra asked.

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Well, I’ll be going on some trips for my art shows, so I’ll give you my key and security code. I know you’ll want to do the same.”