by Monica James
Today can blow me.
“Miss, are you all right?” he asks apprehensively, resting his hands on his hips. I have no doubt that this move was intentional, as he’s now in reach of his mace and gun.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I reply, placing both feet on the ground. Putting on my semi-sane face, I smile, but it feels like a scowl instead. My answer appears to appease him however, and he nods.
His nametag reads Sands. Looks like I’ve finally met my infamous neighbor. I don’t know why, but he makes me nervous. He certainly has an air of authority and discipline surrounding him. No wonder he was made sheriff.
“Can I help you?” I ask, unsure if this is a friendly visit, or if he’s here to arrest me for disturbing the peace.
“I’m Sheriff Henry Sands. I live across the lake.”
I play dumb. “It’s nice to meet you, Sheriff Sands. It’s good to know the sheriff is my neighbor. But I’m sure it’s a safe neighborhood. I’m Victoria Armstrong.” I’m rambling because he doesn’t say anything. He just continues staring at me, sizing me up.
I extend my hand, but drop it quickly when Henry says, “I know who you are, Ms. Armstrong.”
“Oh?” I gulp.
“Yes,” he replies before he strolls over to the patrol car and opens the passenger door. He’s so refined, so formal, I suddenly believe he’s here to haul my ass off to jail.
I watch eyes wide. Does he want me to get in? “I…”
I don’t get a chance to beg him to go easy on me because when he produces a cardboard box and I see the items I purchased from the thrift store inside, I exhale loudly. The sound has him raising an eyebrow. Thankfully, he doesn’t address my jumpiness. “I believe this is yours.” His polished shoes swish through the long blades of grass, soiling their shine as he walks over to me and hands me the box.
“Yes, it is. Thanks. How’d you know it was mine?”
“Good detective work,” he replies, making me even edgier. I smile, but it’s strained. “A report came in about a boy named Angus wandering off into the woods.”
“Oh, that was me who called. He got rather spooked and ran off. I wanted to chase after him, but thought it best I call the police. I hope that was okay?” I question when he gives nothing away.
He runs a hand through his thick brown hair. It’s graying at the temples, giving him a distinguished look. “Yes, that’s what we’re here for, but in the future, it’s best you don’t run off.”
“I hardly ran,” I reply, not appreciating his tone. I don’t care who he is. I won’t be made to feel like a criminal when I’ve done nothing wrong, and on my property no less.
He nods with a stiff upper lip. “I saw you. I was on patrol just around the corner.”
There is no point in arguing with him, so I simply nod with a sour smile. “Thanks again for bringing this over.” I lift the box, the items rattling inside. It’s a silent dismissal, one I hope he gets loud and clear.
“Where would you like the chair?”
The chair is the least on my concerns. “It’s fine. I’ll just leave it out here for the moment until I decide what I want to do with it.”
He frowns, but thankfully doesn’t argue. “Okay. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Armstrong.”
“You too…” Not. I want this uncomfortable situation to be over with, so I turn, ready to run into the safety of my home. I only make it three steps because if I continue walking, I’m afraid I’ll fall over my feet.
“Will you come over for dinner tonight?”
“D-Dinner?” The word gets caught in my throat. His statement was just that. It was phrased as a question, but in reality, I know I don’t have a choice. However, that doesn’t sway me in saying yes. “I would love to come but―”
“Great. Dinner is at seven.”
“Sheriff Sands, I couldn’t impose,” I reply, turning around to face him. Looking down at his hand, I see he’s wearing a simple, gold wedding band. I’m hoping this approach will work. “I’m sure your wife would want a little more notice for a dinner guest.”
However, Henry Sands doesn’t take no for an answer. He is also someone accustomed to getting his own way. “Nonsense. My Jillian makes enough food to feed an army. And besides…” His pause has the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. “It’s the least we can do.”
“I’m not following.” Is this some welcome to the neighborhood soirée?
Pulling up his belt, he states, “You helped out our grandson. To show our gratitude, we’d like to have you over.”
Breaking bread is the last thing on my mind. “Grandson?” I shake my head, completely lost in translation.
This is the first time I’ve seen Henry’s hardnosed demeanor shift. When he mentions just who his grandson is, all the pieces come together. “Yes, the young boy, Angus…he’s my grandson.”
So much for this place being a small, sleepy, quiet town where I could start over with no drama or complications. So far, I’ve had nothing but drama and complications.
Locking the back door, I amble down the creaky stairs, not at all interested in having dinner with the Sands. I have no idea what I’m going to say to them.
A small, weathered motorboat, which has seen better days, is tied to the long wooden dock. I can picture whoever lived here before me running along the lush grass and cannon balling into the clear water. Laughter would have filled the long summer nights. I imagine many happy memories made here.
In its prime, this home would have been thriving, the envy of all the neighbors, but now, it’s just a run-down shell of what it once was. In a weird way, that’s why I fell in love with it. I can see its potential, even if others can’t.
The faded red boat is the most practical form of transportation, and probably more fun than driving to Henry’s place, but I don’t trust that old-fashioned motor, so it looks like I’ll be taking the Honda. My car starts with a splutter, and I know it won’t be long until it kicks the bucket for good.
I pull onto the graveled private road, thankful it’s only used by the locals. The sun is at half mast, illuminating the tranquility of my neighborhood. White oak trees border the road, lined up like regimented soldiers, adding bursts of color of yellowish green to a deep jade. I take in the surrounding houses. Some are small, while others are lavish in size—it’s a mixed community, but overall, every home looks loved.
I can’t help but slow down to a crawl when Jude’s home comes into view. It’s a modest, two-story house, with a well-maintained front yard. I wonder if Jude is happy here—if he likes being a part of a small community such as this one. Something tells me he’s not really the type to host a Sunday roast, however.
When a light flicks on in the front window, I yelp and floor the accelerator in panic. My tires kick up the dirt as I fishtail down the road. I don’t know why I feel so anxious around him, but whatever the reason, I’m not interested in dissecting.
Looking at the numbers on the letterboxes, I come to a stop when I’m in front of Henry’s house, or should I say palace. His home is by far the biggest and most extravagant in the neighborhood.
Locking the car, I walk up the wide steps and wipe my sweaty palms onto my jeans. I take a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. It sounds loudly inside, cementing the fact I’m now committed to stay.
When the door opens, I try my best to appear delighted to be here. “Hi, Henry. I hope I’m not too early?”
He looks casual, which I wasn’t expecting, in blue jeans, a navy polo, and boots. He also smells of fresh scented cologne. “Not at all. You’re right on time. Please come in.”
Once he steps aside, revealing the fortress behind him, it’s time to enter the lion’s den. The high walls are a pristine white, offset by modern works of art. He leads me through the living room, which is adorned with the entire contents of an IKEA catalog.
“I hope you drink chardonnay,” he says, his voice echoing off the hallway walls.
“Yes, that’s great. Thanks,” I reply, still in awe of
my surroundings.
He leads me into the open-plan kitchen with adjoining dining room where I stand, feeling so unbefitting. I watch as he hunts through the silver refrigerator and produces a bottle of wine. There is an elegant invitation stuck to the fridge with a mock police badge magnet. It appears there is an upcoming police ball, and Henry is the guest of honor.
“Thirty-five years on the force. That’s some accomplishment. Congratulations.”
Henry looks at the invite, his chest puffing out in pride. “Thank you. It should be a great night. I hear over three hundred fellow officers will be in attendance.”
“Wow, it’ll be Christmas for all the felons in town.” It’s a joke, but Henry doesn’t find it funny.
“Jillian is just upstairs changing,” he explains, reaching for three wine goblets from a cupboard above the monster stove, which is littered with bubbling pots and pans. It smells absolutely delicious and my stomach rumbles in delight.
As he opens the wine, the far wall covered with a few photo frames catches my eye, so I wander over, needing to do something other than stand around uncomfortably. I’m instantly drawn to the gold-crusted frame holding a portrait of Henry, a pregnant young woman, and an attractive lady whom I assume is Jillian.
The woman in the photo must be his daughter, as her brown eyes and dark mahogany hair are akin to Henry’s. Even though they’re all smiling, I can see that her smile is staged. There is no happiness or warmth behind her eyes, and I can’t help but wonder why.
“That’s my daughter, Rosemary,” Henry says from behind me.
“It’s a really beautiful photograph.” I turn to face him, seeing him stare longingly at the picture.
“Thank you. It’s one of my favorites. Reminds me of the good times. It was taken one week before Angus was born.” His heavy sigh hints that Angus’s condition weighs deeply on him.
“He’s a remarkable boy,” I say, scanning over the numerous pictures of him. There is no doubt the Sands love their grandson, but I detect something troublesome lingering beneath the surface.
“He is.” When there is an uncomfortable silence, he changes the subject. “Where are you from? I sense a hint of an accent.”
He passes me the wine which I gratefully accept. “From Darwin, Australia, originally, but I’ve been in the U.S. for roughly thirteen years.”
“Where did you live before you moved here?” I know he’s only trying to make conversation, but his questions feel like the inquisition.
“In Bridgeport.” He sips his wine, nodding, hinting I’m to go on. “I taught elementary.” It’s all I’m willing to share.
Looking down at my ringless finger, Henry puts two and two together. “So you moved here for a fresh start?”
“Something like that,” I reply, before gulping down my wine. We stand in silence as Henry appears to digest what I just told him.
I breathe out a sigh of relief when Henry’s gaze turns soft. “There she is, my love.”
Looking over Henry’s broad shoulder, I see the lady in the photo is indeed Jillian. Her warm nature instantly puts me at ease, but there is something buried behind her bottle green eyes.
“Thank you so much for having me over for dinner. And at short notice, nonetheless.” I want to make it clear I didn’t invite myself over. Henry doesn’t seem to appreciate the jab.
Jillian simply smiles. “I hope you like lamb. It’s Henry’s favorite.”
Henry leaves Jillian to dish up dinner as he leads the way through the archway and into the impressive dining room. The double glass doors are open, revealing a magnificent view of the lake.
The gigantic table is set with sparkling crystal and gold-rimmed tableware. The silver forks and knives appear methodically placed with an equal space between each set. A beautiful bunch of mixed wildflowers are placed in the center of the table. Everything is positioned with military precision and decorated in a stark white. There are no colors or different shapes or sizes. Everything is meticulous, but that perfection contradicts how imperfect this home really is.
We sit silently, obviously both meeting the quota of things to say.
He clears his throat. “You said you taught elementary?” I nod. “Pinewood is actually looking for a teacher because Ms. Hillier is due to go on maternity leave soon. If you’re interested, I could pass your details onto the principal.”
“That would be great, thank you so much.” I haven’t worked since the attack, but now that I’m better, stepping into a role I feel so comfortable in is a good way to claim back my life and independence.
Maybe Henry isn’t so bad after all.
Jillian enters the room, hands filled with food. “I hope you’re hungry.” With a newfound appetite for food and life, my mood picks up, and I finally loosen up.
“Do you mind if we say grace?” he asks.
“Oh, no, of course not.” I’m not a religious person, seeing as in my time of need, my prayers seem to have gone unheard. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stand in the way of others embracing whatever faith they believe in.
Jillian smiles and bows her head, placing her interlaced hands on the tabletop. I mimic her, hoping I don’t look as amateur as I feel. She clears her throat. “Thank you, Lord, for the food we are about to receive. Bless our family and friends, especially those who are unable to be here today.” When Henry shifts in his seat, I wonder what’s wrong. “I ask that you watch over our daughter, Rose. Wherever she may be…please let her be safe and know that we love and miss her so much.”
I now understand Henry’s reaction to the photograph. It appears that moment in time was a happy one because he actually knew where his daughter was, unlike now.
His jaw hardens. “Shall we eat?” His clipped tone displays the fact he’s not appreciative of Jillian airing their dirty laundry at the dinner table. I, on the other hand, admire her strength and honesty.
As we eat in silence, I can’t help but wonder what happened to Rosemary, because I now understand why Angus freaked out when I mentioned his mom. From his reaction, it’s safe to assume he doesn’t associate fond memories with her, which makes me all the more curious. Did she abandon him? My stomach drops at the thought.
“Victoria is a teacher,” Henry says to Jillian, shaking me from my thoughts. “I was going to talk to Principal Washman, see if he’s found a replacement for Ms. Hillier yet.”
I wish I could show more appreciation, but I can’t stop thinking about Angus. Once upon a time, I was so desperate to have a baby. I tried everything from having sex while in sync with the lunar cycle to drinking “miracle” herbal tonics, but nothing worked. So the thought of abandoning an innocent child such as Angus has me wondering what kind of a person Rose is.
Curiosity gets the better of me.
Swallowing my lamb, I ask, “Does Angus attend Pinewood?” The room suddenly turns stale.
I peer over at Henry, whose jaw appears clenched. “No, he does not,” he replies with delay. “He attends some school for the disabled. His father insists on ostracizing him more than he already is. That school is only interested in robbing people blind.” His tone and expression highlight the fact he doesn’t approve of his grandson’s schooling. But it’s understandable Angus would attend a school catered to someone of his uniqueness.
“Oh, Henry, why…” Jillian is unable to finish her sentence, though, as Henry’s glass slams loudly onto the table.
“You will not mention him in this house, Jill. You know how I feel about him.” He makes a tight fist around his napkin, glaring at her. “He’s the reason my Rose isn’t sitting there.” My eyes widen when he points at the seat I’m currently occupying. “I know he knows where she is, but he refuses to tell me.”
Jillian sniffs, masking her sorrow as she shakily drinks her wine, while I’m wishing I could swap seats. “I miss you so much.” No doubt she’s talking about Rose. “None of this makes any sense.”
The already uncomfortable evening has just taken a turn for the worse, and I’m counti
ng down the minutes until I can leave.
Henry hacks into his meat, while I peer across the table, silently apologizing to Jillian for unintentionally opening a can of worms.
When I unlock my car and jump inside, I let out the breath I’ve been holding all night. I quickly wave at Henry, who is standing on his front porch. As I drive away, I watch his frame grow smaller and smaller in my mirror. I suddenly have images of T-1000 in Terminator 2, latching onto the back of my car, attempting to stop me from fleeing.
Thanks to my curiosity, the conversation at the dinner table consisted of mere grunts and uncomfortable silences. Henry’s outburst seemed to ruin all our appetites, and after I passed on apple pie and coffee, my hosts understood I was desperate to leave.
My heart broke for Jillian, as her anguish over her missing daughter was clearly evident. She barely spoke a word all night. But Henry appeared angry, ready to play the blame game and not look at the fact his daughter up and left her young, hearing impaired child behind.
Lost in my head, I don’t see a pair of glowing eyes until it’s too late. Screaming, I swerve to avoid hitting whatever critter is on the road, but the move costs me as I end up caught in a ditch. As I attempt to accelerate, my car rattles and splutters, and with a final gurgle, it dies.
“No, no, no!” I yell, thumping the steering wheel with my palms. I try the ignition, but it clicks over—she’s officially scrap metal.
Unbuckling my belt, I snatch my bag off the passenger seat, mumbling every expletive word I can think of. It’s pitch black out, and with no street lights, all I have for guidance is the moon. I don’t even bother locking my car as I commence my journey home.
Looking into the heavens, the clear night sky is littered with twinkling lights. Each star flashing before me is a potential wishing beacon, promising the believer that it indeed holds the power to make all of one’s wishes come true. Right now, I wish for a sign that I’m doing the right thing because I suddenly feel so lost. In no way do I want to go back to the life I lived with Bryan, but he was familiar, safe. I’m starting over, and I’m afraid I’ll be eaten alive by the Henry Sands of this world for breakfast.
