Stunned by the man’s juvenile taunt, Jason hesitated. “No, not at all.” The saliva in his mouth dried up, weakening his voice.
The man crouched, resting his massive forearms on Jason’s window. “Let me ask you something. When you do this so-called non-sexual massage shit … do your clients take their shirts off?”
“Usually, but-”
“And then do you put your hands on them?”
“Yes, but as I said-”
“I don’t know about you but when a man puts his hands on my wife’s naked body, I’m going to call it sexual.” He flashed large straight teeth. “And I won’t stand for that.”
Jason wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. He wasn’t about to apologize for simply doing his job.
“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Delgado’s voice was low and dangerous now, malignant as a cancerous tumor. “You’re going to go home and eat your fucking dinner, and you’re never going to put your goddamned hands on my wife again. You’re not even going to lay your eyes on her again. We clear?”
Jason’s throat worked, straining to form words.
“I mean it.” The man jabbed a large finger in Jason’s face.
Jason recoiled, and inexplicably, that was when the man’s name came to him - Travis. Travis Delgado. He opened his mouth to speak, but Travis cut him off.
“Don’t fuck with me, pervert.”
Anger boiled in Jason’s blood now. His throat as dry as if he’d taken a tablespoon of sawdust, he said, “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but-”
“Off you go!” The man stood, slapped the roof of the Legacy as if it were the ass of a showgirl, and stalked back to the Jeep.
Jason watched, stunned, as the menacing black vehicle revved its engine and veered around him, spewing dirt and rocks before disappearing down the road. Shock, embarrassment, and most of all, rage, coursed through Jason like electric currents. He should have thrown the door open and smashed the guy’s face into the pavement. He should have at least gotten out of the car and stood up to the man. But that would have been stupid. There was no way he could take the guy - he was at least six-foot-two and clearly spent a lot of time at the gym.
With pale, trembling fingers, Jason started the car and pulled back onto the road.
Jason spent the evening unnerved by the confrontation with Travis Delgado, and the more he thought about it, the madder he got. He was trying to start a business, for God’s sake! He didn’t need to deal with jealous husbands. He was furious with Travis Delgado - but most of all, he realized, he was mad at himself. Mad, because he felt like a coward.
He’d said next to nothing as he and the kids ate their dinner, watching episodes of Good Witch on Jason’s laptop. Brent had rolled his eyes throughout and complained that he wanted to watch The Walking Dead, but Jason had put his foot down. Amber was frightened of clowns; he couldn’t imagine the nightmares she’d have after a night of watching zombies tear into the flesh of screaming, bleeding human beings. To Jason’s relief, Brent hadn’t put up a fight. In fact, it was serious progress that he’d stayed downstairs to eat with them at all.
After a few more episodes, the kids went to bed and Jason continued washing the walls, all the while seeing Travis Delgado’s big square blocky head in his car window, imagining all the ways he might have reacted differently. And the further away he got from it, the braver he became in his own imagination. I should have kicked his ass. I totally could have taken him if I’d really put some effort into it.
When every last inch of the walls had been scrubbed down, he went into the kitchen and continued polishing it up. It was after two in the morning by the time he’d worked off most of his frustration, and now, he was ready for bed himself. He looked down at his sweat-soaked shirt and considered a shower, but he was too sleepy to bother; a change of clothes would suffice. He paused in the arched doorway to admire his work. The room sparkled and smelled of pine disinfectant. Realizing the moving van would arrive tomorrow, he felt a buzz of excitement. He was eager to put up his weight set, but looking at the kitchen now, he thought that perhaps cleaning was a better means of exercise; it killed two birds with one stone.
He headed up the creaking stairs toward Amber’s room and checked on her. She was sleeping soundly, Ruby snuggled tightly in her arms, a soft smile on her face. Not wanting to risk waking her, Jason closed the door, resisting the urge to sneak in and give her one more goodnight kiss.
He walked to Brent’s room, pausing just short of opening the door. Brent would have a conniption if he knew that his dad checked on him before going to bed, but Jason often did it anyway. He couldn’t help it - he’d done it since his son was an infant. Carefully, quietly, he cracked the door.
The room was silent and the dusty orange light from ornate cast iron wall sconces in the hallway cast a long rectangle of illumination that stretched across Brent’s air mattress. Jason searched for the familiar shape of his son, but it wasn’t there. “What the …?” He flipped the light on.
The bed was empty.
Jason went to the window. There were no signs that Brent had left that way - there was nothing to climb down and it was too far to jump. Not to mention, there was no way he could have closed the window from the outside. After checking the bathroom and other rooms, it was obvious his son had snuck out. Probably while I was busy in the kitchen.
Furious, Jason stomped downstairs, swiped his phone off the kitchen counter, and sent Brent a text: Guess who’s not in his room.
Ten minutes later, he was sitting on the living room floor in soft golden lamplight when he heard the front door carefully opening. Getting to his feet, he made his way to the foyer and paused in the doorway, arms folded across his chest.
Panic crossed Brent’s face; he opened his mouth to say something but Jason cut him off.
“Where have you been?”
“I just … I wanted to get out of the house.”
“You did, did you?”
Brent raised his chin in a show of defiance. “Yes. I went for a walk.”
“A walk? It’s the middle of the night!”
Brent rolled his eyes. “This is why I didn’t tell you. I knew you wouldn’t let me go.” He brushed past Jason and started for the stairs.
“Stop right there, Brent. Don’t take another step. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me where you were and what the hell you were thinking.”
“I told you! I wanted to get out of the house. I went for a walk, okay? All I did was go down the block and sit on the curb.”
“But why?”
Brent shrugged. “I was thinking.”
“You can think in your room, Brent.”
Another shrug. “I wanted to think outside.”
“That’s not good enough. I was worried about you! Do you know the kinds of things that go through a parent’s mind when they can’t find their kid? Did you even think about that?”
“No,” said Brent. “I didn’t think about that at all, because it’s not about you. It’s about me.” Tired resignation crossed his features. “Look … I’m sorry, okay?”
Jason was stunned. He’d never heard his son apologize for anything in his life.
Brent looked down at his hands and there was something in his expression that tugged at Jason’s heart.
“I don’t understand, Brent. Tell me what’s going on. Let me help you.”
Tears welled in Brent’s eyes - another first. “I can’t really talk to you, Dad.”
Jason put his hand on his son’s shoulder, lowering his head to look in his face. “Why do you think you can’t talk to me?”
Brent sniffed. “Because you’re my dad.”
“What? What does that mean?”
Brent laughed without humor. “It means you’re my dad. Did you talk to your dad about everything?”
“No,” said Jason. “I didn’t. Because my father was a vicious son of a bitch who would have called me a fag for expressing my feelings then beat the piss out of me f
or good measure. And that’s if he hadn’t been drinking.”
Brent’s jaw dropped. Jason was sure his son had never heard him use language like that before and he was even more sure the boy had no idea that his grandfather had been an abuser. Jason hadn’t talked to his kids about his own father - it was better that way.
“I didn’t know that, Dad.”
Jason shrugged. “I never told you. I also never told you that he almost killed my mother on several occasions, or that I have scars on my back where he whipped me with his belt, or that I had night terrors until I was fourteen because of him. But that’s not the point, Brent. The point is that you can talk to me about anything because, I promise you, I’ll never do any of those things to you. Now, please, talk to me.”
Brent’s seawater eyes returned to his hands. “It’s stupid, really.”
“No, it isn’t. Just tell me what’s going on. Is it about Mom? The move?”
“No, not really.” Brent shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, that’s some of it, sure, but it’s also like … like, I don’t know. You and Amber have this bond, you know? You’re always laughing and having fun and I’m always kind of left out.”
Jason was baffled. He’d never seen his son show these kinds of feelings. Brent was prone to jealousy, Jason knew that much - since the day Amber was born Brent had resented her - but this other side, this sensitive side of him, was new. “You can have fun and laugh with me, too, Brent. You know that, don’t you?”
He nodded. “I do, but … that’s just not really how I am, you know? I’m not fun and I don’t really laugh.”
It was true. “So, tell me what you do like to do and we can do it together.”
Brent shrugged. “I don’t know.” Then he sighed. “It’s okay. I think I’m just kind of messed up about Mom and stuff, you know? I just needed to get some air. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
Jason placed both hands on his son’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “You can talk to me about it. Whenever you’re ready. I want you to know that.”
Brent nodded.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
Tears stung Jason’s eyes but he forced them to stall. He felt like a jerk - of course Brent was messed up about his mom. He was expecting too much from his son. “I’m sorry about coming down on you like I did. I just can’t have you wandering around in the middle of the night when I don’t know where you are. You understand that, don’t you?”
“I understand. It won’t happen again.”
Feeling as though he might never have a better chance at getting Brent to open up, Jason ventured forward. “Do you want to talk about anything right now?”
“No, you probably need to go to bed,” said Brent.
“I’ll stay up all night long with you if that’s what you need.”
A hint of irritation flickered in Brent’s eyes and Jason knew he’d pushed far enough.
“No. It’s nothing. Really. I’m just trying to deal with all this shi- er, stuff.”
Jason nodded. “Okay. But the invitation’s always open.”
“I know.”
Jason had an overwhelming urge to pull his son into a tight embrace and kiss him on the cheek, but he refrained. Best to quit while I’m ahead. He squeezed Brent’s shoulder instead. “Go on up to bed.”
Brent turned and headed upstairs.
Jason stared after him. He stood there for a long time, trying to fathom this new side of his son. Even as a child, Brent had rarely expressed anything but distaste and complaint, and he’d certainly never been contrite. Briefly, it occurred to Jason that perhaps his son was manipulating him - that it was an act to keep from getting in worse trouble.
But he didn’t think so. Brent had always been proud of his misbehavior. Being in trouble was nothing new to him, so why would it bother him now?
No longer tired, Jason slipped outside onto the veranda and sat on the porch swing. As he rocked back and forth, he thought of his son, wondering if he’d ever again come so close to having a real conversation with him. Brent needed to talk about his feelings, that much was clear - but he’d been right when he’d said he couldn’t talk to Jason. Parents just weren’t the easiest people to talk to, Jason understood that firsthand. He briefly considered broaching the subject of counseling again - but quickly dismissed it. After Julia’s death, Jason had asked the kids if they’d like to talk to someone. Both had steadfastly refused - Amber saying she’d rather talk to Jason, and Brent angrily claiming he was fine.
Healing takes time, Jason told himself. He sighed, taking in the stars, which were startlingly bright in comparison to LA, and inhaled the night’s scents - honeysuckle, roses, and night-blooming jasmine. Those smells put him at ease and for the first time since Julia’s death, he felt like maybe he and the kids would be okay, after all. Maybe.
A light caught his attention at the house next door - not at Dottie’s, but at Tabitha Cooper’s. It seemed strange that a blind woman would keep a light on, but then again, perhaps she did it to keep prowlers away. Or maybe Coop’s visiting.
Jason stood and walked toward the rose-choked split-rail fence and stared. So far, he’d seen no sign of Coop’s ailing grandmother and he was curious about her. In the window, through gauzy white curtains, he could see her hazy form, rocking back and forth in the chair that Dottie said she never left. As he stared, the rocking slowed, then stopped. She turned her head to face him.
Jason’s mouth went instantly dry. He froze, unnerved, thinking he should duck and run, but he couldn’t make his feet move. Her hand, bent and clawed with age, reached out and pulled the curtain aside.
Jason’s breath snagged when he saw her clearly. She seemed to be without sex - no breasts, no swell of the hips - just a skeleton covered by thinly-stretched ashen skin, matted white hair standing on end, a gaunt wasted face, and sunken fog-white eyes that - though obviously blind - stared right at him. They were the eyes of a dead person.
She brought both hands to the glass, where her fingers ticked like spider’s legs, and her mouth - a toothless, lipless maw - opened and closed, opened and closed. She wasn’t speaking, he realized, just gumming the air mindlessly. There was something sinister about it - something lunatic.
Trying to convince himself she couldn’t see him, Jason backed away, nearly tripping on a tangle of vines as he hurried back inside, locking the door behind him.
From the safety of the house, he felt like a fool. First, he’d let Travis Delgado push him around and now he was running from a harmless, blind old woman. He smiled at the thought, but the smile felt cold. There really was something spooky about Tabitha Cooper; it was as if she’d been looking right at him. Or rather, right through him. He shivered, recalling Dottie’s words for the second time that day:
‘The children in town call her a witch, and I don’t blame them one bit.’
Jason didn’t blame them, either.
4
Malice
The moving van arrived at nine in the morning.
Jason, exhausted from a sleepless night, felt like the move would never end, but at last, they managed to get everything in and by the time the van left, he was feeling a little better. He and Amber were having a pretty good time deciding where to put what, and even Brent had come down to help. He wasn’t happy about it, that much was clear, but at least he was making an effort.
It took several hours to set up the bedrooms, another few to move everything into the living and family rooms and by the time it was just about over, Jason realized the house was far larger than he’d realized. Even with all of their furniture, the place had an abandoned, empty look to it. He’d buy a few tables, perhaps put some vases of flowers on them or something. That would fill in some of the empty space.
Jason and Brent were mounting the television on the wall when someone knocked on the door. Jason sighed. He’d wanted the day undisturbed to put the house together. As he headed to the door, he half hoped it’d be Coop, stopping by after seeing to his ai
ling - and very spooky - grandmother, to cancel tonight’s plans at The Devil’s Triangle.
When he saw Marlee Delgado on the other side, his stomach dropped. What the hell is she doing here?
“Jason?” Her cracked leather voice was strained.
“What is it, Marlee?”
She wore the same large glasses and today, a red scarf covered her platinum head. “I wondered if I could come in and talk to you a minute.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Marlee. I, uh … met your husband yesterday and-”
“That’s what I’m here for. I’d like to apologize. Please, I’ll only be a minute.”
Jason hesitated then opened the door and allowed her in. He didn’t invite her beyond the foyer.
“I’m so sorry about Travis,” said Marlee. “He never should have confronted you that way. I hope it won’t have a negative effect on your view of our nice, little town.”
Our nice, little town? This from the same woman who’d said she hated the place? “It’s fine, Marlee - but I don’t think it’s a good idea, you coming here. I’m not interested in causing problems between you and your husband and if he doesn’t want you coming here, I’d really rather just stay out of it.”
She nodded. “I understand completely. I just wanted you to know that, well … Travis comes on a little strong, but his bark’s much bigger than his bite. Honestly.”
Jason didn’t want a thing to do with his bite or his bark. Even now, the memory of the jackass’ big face in his window pissed him off.
A shadow of uncertainty crossed Marlee’s face. “Also, I was wondering if - perhaps if I were very careful about not being seen - you might still be willing to work on me?”
Jason blinked. Is she out of her mind? “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Marlee.”
“It’s just that I’ve got some terribly knotted muscles that have been giving me horrible pain. And my back - well, you felt how tense I am. I think I could really benefit from your work. I’ll even distribute some of your flyers for you and help you grow your new business.”
Sleep Savannah Sleep Page 5
