by Chase Connor
We headed towards the house, Lucas trailing behind me with his hands in his pockets and his head pointed downwards. I didn’t know what to make of Lucas. He seemed to be upset all the time, but his actions didn’t indicate that he was actually upset about anything. Once inside, we took turns washing our hands in the sink, and we sat down with Oma for lunch.
Lunch was a pleasant, if not awkward, activity. Oma made plenty of conversation for all three of us, but Lucas was not the loquacious type. He answered most questions as simply as possible, hardly ever making eye contact with anyone. Once, during lunch, he found a piece of bacon in his cabbage and tried, as discreetly as possible, to push it to the side of his plate. I could tell from his body language that he just wanted to stop eating altogether after that, but he was too polite to do so. I knew Oma noticed as well, but she kept that to herself, unlike many other things.
When lunch was near over, and I was done with my plate, I scraped it off in the trash and took it to the sink. After giving it a quick wash, I decided that I was done making small talk with the world’s quietest weirdo. Oma looked up at me as I stood by the sink, smiling like a fool, trying to find a way to politely excuse myself. Lucas stared at his plate, his hands in his lap.
“If you two don’t mind, I think I’ll head upstairs for a nap,” I announced cheerfully, then affected a yawn. “I’m still so worn out—especially after the tilling and whatnot.”
Lucas just gave a nod.
“Well, you don’t want any apple pie?” Oma frowned at me.
“I’ll eat a slice when I get up,” I replied, then headed for the door. “It was nice seeing you again, Lucas.”
He gave another nod, and I managed not to roll my eyes as I left the kitchen and headed for the stairs. Once I was up the stairs and into the relative safety of my own room, I stripped off the Carhartt and sat down on the bed. I gave a sigh of relief and suddenly realized that I hadn’t been entirely lying about the being tired part. I kicked off my shoes and started to unbutton the shirt I had worn to garden in before lunch.
As I started to pull my top layer off, I stood and walked over to the window, looking out over the backyard. My eye caught movement, and I looked down to see Oma and Lucas coming down the back steps. Oma and Lucas talked animatedly for several minutes, but I couldn’t hear anything. They were too far down, and the walls and windows were too well sealed and insulated. Lucas was looking my grandmother in the eyes and talking just as animatedly as she was. When he went to leave, he gave her a big hug and jumped up into his truck, pulling out slowly as to not tear up the lawn. Oma waved until he was out of sight, then she stormed back up the back steps. Less than thirty seconds later, there was a pounding on the bedroom door.
“Come in.” I rolled my eyes as I stepped away from the window.
“You’re a rude little asshole.” Oma pushed the door open and stepped inside the room, her hands going to her hips.
“Pardon me?” My hands froze on my buttons.
“You just up and leave in the middle of lunch.” She gestured dramatically with her hand. “Lucas ended up not having any apple pie because it was so damn awkward.”
“I’m sorry.” I shook my head with a smile. “Are you accusing me of making the world’s quietest weirdo…uncomfortable?”
“He’s not a weirdo you little shit.” She growled. “He’s a perfectly sweet, nice, kind young man who…”
“Goes with you to see all of my movies over in Toledo?” I cocked an eyebrow, silencing her. “You buy the tickets, he buys the refreshments?”
She just glared at me.
“If I look in the cabinet downstairs by the T.V. I bet I’d find one of my movies.” I waggled my head this time then feigned to move towards the door.
“They’re all in there you sonofabitch.” She snarled. “So what?”
“Just pointing out that you’re going out of your way to be hurtful, you big liar.” I shrugged and pulled my flannel off, tossing it onto the bed. “You don’t have to try so hard, Oma. You’re hurtful without even trying.”
“Says the asshole who was rude to company!”
“He doesn’t give a damn about me.” I shrugged. “I don’t really think he found me rude at all. He would barely even talk unless forced.”
“He’s gardening and eating a meal with a goddamn celebrity, ya’ fuckin’ moron.” She growled again. “How’d you expect him to act??”
“Ah-so.” I gave an upwards nod. “So, maybe I was right about what my presence can do to a social situation? You ready to take back calling me stupid for thinking it was a bad idea for me to go to the center with you?”
“No the fuck I am not!”
“And, for the record, he could have just acted like a normal human being.” I folded my arms over my chest. “He didn’t have to act like he was trying to not blurt out about all the bodies in his basement.”
“You’re just hateful.” She frowned at me. “You’re just looking for a way to get out of going to the center with me. You want to act like I’m not your grandmother—that’s what this is about.”
I wanted to say something rude back, but instead, I walked over to the bedside table and retrieved my cell phone. Oma glared at me as I unlocked my phone with a swipe of my finger, found a name in my contacts and selected it. I slapped the phone to my ear. The phone rang once before it was picked up by my assistant.
“Jacob!” Jessica announced happily.
“I don’t have time right now.” I stopped her from anything she might want to say. “I need a pair of Louboutins that look fit for a drag queen, size 41eu sent to me.”
“Okay.” She didn’t even question me.
I spent thirty seconds on the phone with her, telling her what to do, where to send the shoes, and to overnight them immediately to my Oma’s address. Then I warned her not to give a damn person that address, who they were being sent to or why. She indicated that she understood and we ended the call. I jabbed my phone in the air at my grandmother.
“We’re going to that fucking center as soon as these expensive-ass shoes come in the mail.” I snarled. “And I’ll give them to goddamn Carlos myself, and you can stand there with your shit-eating grin and watch it. And when the goddamn police have to show up and escort us off the property, I’ll rub your face in it, you mean old bag!”
I stood there, phone jabbed out at her from across the room.
“How much them shoes cost?” She asked blandly.
“I don’t know!”
“You didn’t even ask.”
“I hope they cost a million dollars and are made out of fucking puppies and kittens so you can feel even worse about it! And we can show them to the world’s quietest weirdo vegetarian and really have a party!”
“How much money you got?” She squinted at me.
“Enough to put a hit on you and get away with it!” I growled.
“And how much is that?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Why the Hell do you care???”
“Because I have a feeling that I don’t realize what I’m dealing with here.” She put her hands on her hips. “I know you’re famous, but apparently you got enough money to call across the country, order someone to get you some hoity-toity shoes on a whim and have them shipped overnight and not even bother to write a number down in your checkbook.”
“Who the fuck has a checkbook??” I rolled my eyes.
“People who ain’t got some black piece of plastic they buy everything with, ya’ asshole.”
“Do you want to call my accountant?” I jabbed my phone at her again, but this time offering it. “He can give you an approximation. Is that what you want to make sure of? That I’m not here bumming off of you? That I really, truly don’t have any malevolent reason to be here?”
“That’s not my point.” She responded, and for once didn’t throw in a curse word.
“Then what is it, Oma?” I brought it down a notch, but just one. “Because I’m tired of all this. Either stop dragging my a
ss through the dirt every chance you get or say whatever the Hell it is you think of me and get it off your chest once and for all.”
“Why did you choose to come here instead of your condo?” She asked. “Or Bora Bora? Or Tahiti? Or Antigua? You coulda just bought a house and hidden away there.”
I stood there and stared at her. Slowly, the arm holding my phone lowered to my side.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged finally, all of my fight gone.
“Mm.” She turned her nose up.
“What the Hell does that mean?”
“It means that you got your reasons.” She had her hands on her hips again. “But you just don’t wanna say it out loud.”
“I told you, I’m not here to bum off of you and…”
“I think you’ve gone too long without love—and money don’t solve that.” She stopped me.
I just stared at her.
“You’ve been off running all over the goddamn world, being in movies, playing your guitar, staying in fancy ass resorts, doing drugs, smoking cigarettes—but I bet you ain’t got one goddamn friend to your name. Not any real ones anyway.” She said. “I noticed that the only thing you’ve used that fancy ass phone for is to check with your bank and call your assistant. And I bet you ain’t got a boyfriend or a husband because you don’t trust no one. You haven’t had anyone to trust in going on ten years. You ain’t got no love in your life. That’s what I think. You can stand there and act all self-sufficient and grown, but you just need someone to tell you, after ten years, to take a goddamn breath. Give you a hug. That’s what I think.”
I just stared at her.
“And, for the record, Lucas isn’t a weirdo.” She snapped. “He’s a good kid—and is a good friend to me. He seems weird to you because you’re not used to people who are impressed by you.”
“What’s that even mean?” I asked gently, looking down.
“Shit.” Oma waved me off. “The first time Lucas and I went over to Toledo to see one of your movies, he couldn’t stop talking about how much he admired you in high school, even though you was younger than him. You got out of this town—actually got out of this town. You made something of yourself. All the other kids in this town—the ones that remember you and put two-and-two together—looked up to you. And look at you. Lucas didn’t expect to see you standing there today when he brought my cow shit and tiller ‘cause I don’t tell no one your business. Calling him a weirdo for being starstruck? You’re an asshole.”
Then she left.
I heard her stomp down the hall.
“Get out of my way!” The crazy old bag growled at no one.
One door slammed.
Then another.
Then another.
Real mature.
Chapter 4
Dinner came and went, and I didn’t get out of bed. I slept from straight through lunch, through dinner, and I didn’t bother going downstairs. Oma didn’t come upstairs and raise a stink about me missing a meal, either. She didn’t bring a tray. And I was glad about it. I didn’t want to look her in the face. We both knew she was right. I hadn’t just come home to rest and put weight back on—to feel better physically. I’d been missing other integral things in my life over the last decade. Home is always the best place when you feel like you’ve been without love for too long.
It was long after dark, hours after dinner would have taken place, and I was laying in bed, wondering why the Hell I couldn’t sleep any longer. Exhaustion was practically in my bones and my brain, I could feel it wearing at me. And my stomach was rumbling at me, upset that I had done something so dumb as to skip dinner due to being uncomfortable. I laid there, wondering what I could do to pass the time. I hadn’t brought a book with me, and I didn’t play games on my phone. My phone served three functions, as far as I was concerned: phone, text, email. I didn’t even have any social media apps on my phone—that was all handled by my publicist and assistant. In all honesty, I didn’t even know what all social media I was currently on. Before I had started losing weight and looking skeletal, I’d just take pictures and send them to my publicist, and they did something with them on social media.
Everything in the house was quiet as a graveyard, which only made me even more anxious and unnerved. Finally, I sat up in bed and turned on the bedside lamp. It took me a moment to find my robe, but I found it on the hook on the back of the bathroom door after a bit of searching. After sliding it on, I tied it tightly around my waist and went to the bedroom door. I peeked out into the hallway, only to encounter nothing but middle of the night darkness.
Gently, I eased out of my room and headed down the hallway, using only the light that shone from my room to find my way. I crept past Oma’s bedroom, making sure to not wake her. Getting screamed at or cursed out for that was the last thing that I wanted. I eased down the stairs, trying to keep them from creaking or squeaking as I made my way. This big old house, as good of shape as it was in, was still spooky, even in my mid-twenties. As I crept through the house, I remembered being a child and being spooked by every shadow and creak it had to offer. I couldn’t help but be amazed that that still hadn’t changed years later.
Down in the kitchen, at the back of the house, in the dark, it still looked like a spooky old country kitchen, even though the appliances had been updated over the years. I missed the light, airy feeling of my kitchen in my condo with all of its sleek lines and bare surfaces, where nothing could hide in the shadows, even at night. Here, in Oma’s kitchen, I felt like anything could jump out at any second. Of course, I was a grown man, I pushed those fears out of my mind and went to the fridge, turning on the small light that hung over the sink on the way.
Rustling around in the fridge, I pulled out leftover potatoes and peas, cabbage, sausages, and the apple pie. I set the containers on the table and got a fork and a glass of water. A smile was spreading across my face as my stomach grumbled again and I slid into a seat. Immediately, I dug in, my appetite ravenous as I ate spoonful after spoonful of potatoes, cabbage, and chunks of sausages I chopped up with the edge of the spoon. When I felt like I was almost full, I attacked the pie, eating two slices before I felt satisfied. At the rate I was going, and with Oma’s cooking, I’d gain ten or more pounds back before two weeks passed.
I sat back in my chair and rubbed my belly like a pregnant woman, at once both disgusted and pleased with myself. Even when I was at my ideal weight, BMI, and muscle mass years prior, I wouldn’t have allowed myself to eat so much in one sitting. So, more than disgusted, I was pleased. It was a simple indulgence, but it felt immense in the moment. It may have been the pleasantness brought on by a good meal—even though it was straight out of the fridge—I decided that when Oma and I were both awake in the morning, I’d do my best to make amends with her.
It was the creaking sound that drew me out of my thoughts. My head snapped around to look in the direction that the sound emanated from and my eyes landed on the backdoor. It was a quarter open and slowly swinging inward. Jumping up and pushing back from the table at the same time, my eyes never left the slowly swinging and creaking door. I stood stock-still, my heart pounding as the door swung all the way in and the doorknob tapped gently against the wall, stopping the movement.
Heartbeat.
Heartbeat.
Heartbeat.
The only thing that made a sound or moved was icy, early Spring wind that whistled through the open door. Tentatively, and more scared than I’d been in a long time, I stepped away from the table towards the door. My brain was telling me that the door had probably not been latched well and the wind had caught it. My imagination told me to get ready to duck when a killer started swinging axes at my head. I approached the door, creeping slowly, alert to any and every noise and movement within the kitchen. When I got to the kitchen door, nothing had jumped out at me, and nothing seemed abnormal, save for the door swinging open on its own.
Finally, I realized how silly I was being and stepped over to the doorway. The chilly air rush
ed inwards, slapping against my cheeks, but held nothing malevolent. I shook my head, smiling, at how stupid I had been. Reaching for the door, I grabbed the knob and began to swing the door shut. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the yard. I turned my head and looked for the signs of the movement again. My eyes scanned the dark yard, cast only in the blue-ish light the moon emitted. Nothing.
But…then…my eyes landed on Oma’s garden, and I saw it again. The slightest and quickest of movements. Something small and shadowy scurried through the garden. My eyes danced wildly as I looked for it again. I frowned to myself as I caught a glimpse of the small, shadowy figure again. No taller than a large dog, it popped up along the side of the fence furthest from the house, looked around, scaled the fence, and ran away, towards the lake. I chewed at my lip as it disappeared into the shadow of the trees at the boundary of the property.
I stared in the direction it had gone, long after I lost sight of it, as the icy air assaulted me. Had it been a raccoon? A fox? I thought it had stood on two legs as it scurried away, so maybe a raccoon, weasel, or an opossum were the best bets. Frowning to myself, knowing that it was a mystery that would never be solved, I closed the door, latched it, then gave it a few jiggles to make sure it was secure. I cleaned up my mess and headed back upstairs to climb back into bed.
Chapter 5
In the morning, I felt more rested than I had in months, if not years. Starting out the day with a good bath-slash-shower seemed like the best course of action. Then I dressed in the most “normal” clothes I had, a pair of designer jeans that were not designer looking, a pullover, and socks and Chucks. When I headed downstairs, I felt that even Oma couldn’t find anything wrong with what I had chosen to wear. Even if we were in northern Ohio, far away from big cities like L.A. or New York.
“I bet that’s the least fancy shit you have.” Oma shot a look at me from her place at the stove as I entered the kitchen, chipper and smiling.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“Mm.”
