Silent Pretty Things

by O. J. Lovaz

  “Well, you can’t stay here. I’ll give you money, but I don’t want you here. Tell your mother I can give her more money. I don’t want her sending you sad, dull children here. You’re dull and pathetic, like your mother. The lot of you make me want to blow my head off.”

  Anna couldn’t take it anymore. She ran out of the house, slamming the door on her way out, then stood at the front porch, sobbing uncontrollably. She was alone, unwanted, a forsaken, wretched little creature put on this earth to weep.

  Not knowing where to go, she stepped out and walked around the house toward the backyard. She sat down on a wooden bench under a big oak tree. A gentle, soothing breeze caressed her face. She closed her eyes, breathing in and out, trying to think of nothing.

  She remained like that for a moment. Then she felt something cold and moist touching her right hand, which startled her. She opened her eyes, and there she saw Bo, her beloved chocolate Labrador, alive and well once more; and her joyful tears mixed with the bitter tears she had shed before.

  Evidently, Bo also was overjoyed to see Anna again; he stood on his hind legs, wagging his tail vigorously, his mouth wide open and his expressive eyes fixed on her. He gave her two gentle barks, skipping in place excitedly. Anna jumped off to the grass, hugged Bo, and rolled over with him.

  Bo eagerly showed his devotion and affection, thoroughly licking her face, licking off her tears. She laughed and hugged him, pressed her face against the top of his head, smelled him and kissed him; then she closed her eyes and new tears came rolling down for Bo to lick off.

  A moment later, Bo appeared to have seen something just around her mother’s garden; he barked repeatedly looking in that direction and then ran over there, disappearing behind a row of azaleas in full bloom. Anna followed him to the garden, first walking, then running when she heard Bo whimpering.

  She made the turn at the azaleas and slowed down, then stopped altogether. A spine-chilling feeling came over her. The garden was cast in an unnatural, ethereal light, and she sensed that it had acquired a sinister nature. She took a few more hesitant steps, went around a thick evergreen tree, and came in full view of a harrowing image.

  Her mother was lying there, on a patch of lawn surrounded by flowers of every imaginable color, with her eyes closed and her hands on her chest, holding a bouquet of daisies. She was her younger self and looked like an angel, beautiful and peaceful, wearing a pretty blue summer dress. Bo was licking her bare feet.

  Kneeling on the grass beside her was Frank, just a boy, crying his eyes out. He looked up at her. “We did this, Anna! We killed her!” he wailed dreadfully. Anna stepped back in horror, wanting to cry out, to beg for forgiveness, but no words would come out, and she couldn’t breathe either.

  Taking another step back, she stumbled and fell backward, yet she never hit the ground, but rather kept falling through what felt like an endless dark void. She finally plummeted to her couch—that’s how it felt—and opened her eyes in a panic, gasping for air, with tears in her eyes.

  She was back in her living room, awake, alone, and fully grown up. Her TV was on, and her favorite world traveler was sailing in Greece—the bastard. She turned it off.

  She felt a sudden impulse to call her mother to make sure that she was fine; but then she came back to her senses and reminded herself that dreams don’t carry any foreboding messages, but rather are just a hodgepodge of one’s thoughts and memories colliding in the sleeping brain.

  She felt ashamed to have entertained such an irrational notion, even for a fraction of a second. She was trained in psychology, for God’s sake! The only meaning to be found in her dream was that she was worried sick about the consequences of exposing an affair between her father and Aunt Marlene.

  What would her mother do if she found out, if she was confronted with clear evidence of the wicked treachery? Would she just ask him for a divorce; or would she finally blow up, go mad, smash things around the house, hurl vicious insults at him, slap him, punch him?

  And how would he respond? Frightful were the possibilities, without a doubt—he could indeed kill her, couldn’t he? Anna took both hands to her face and shook her head, as if physically trying to get those thoughts out of her mind.

  She picked up her phone, which had slipped between the cushions of the couch. She looked at the time, and it was almost 6:00 p.m. She had slept for nearly four hours.

  Anna went to her bedroom. Sunnier thoughts—Frank could be proposing to Sarah right now. From the window, she saw a clear blue sky with hints of yellow and orange on scattered clouds over the horizon. Just perfect. She’d worried about bad weather ruining Frank’s momentous occasion with Sarah.

  She undressed and got in the shower. Flashes from her nightmare still haunted her intermittently, and she kept fighting an absurd fear that at any moment she could blink and become the little girl again and be back in that frightening dream world. She tried to think of Frank, getting engaged to Sarah with a spectacular sunset as backdrop, but instead conjured up the image of little Frank kneeling by their dead mother. She shuddered.

  Anna deliberately shifted her thoughts to Michael, picturing him alone with her in a room with dim lighting, wearing a black leather jacket over a tight white shirt, with a scruffy beard and ruffled hair; and her stroking that dark hair, and pulling it back as she kissed his lips. The image had the desired effect—she immediately felt freed from superstition and nonsense, in control of her mind.

  She toweled dry, brushed her hair back into a ponytail, slipped on a long comfy blouse, and ordered her favorite Chinese takeout.

  She was enjoying her chicken lo mein when she received a picture and a message from Frank. Him and Sarah kissing ever so sweetly and, behind them, an absolutely flawless sunset over the lake. The message—“She said yes!”

  Anna was so happy for him. So happy. And worried. What if she ruined it for him?

  She replied to Frank with cheerful congratulatory remarks and an assortment of ecstatic emojis; finished dinner, picked up her book, and sat down intent on reading chapter ten. Her phone rang. It was Michael.

  “Hey there, how are you?” He sounded rather cool and confident.

  “Just reading a book. It’s a good one, though.”

  “Do you read a lot?”

  “Mostly novels. Romance stories, mainly, but I also like mystery and suspense.”

  “I’ll be sure to remember that,” he said friskily. Anna put the phone away to laugh quietly without him listening. She couldn’t make it that easy for him.

  “Are you planning to buy me a book anytime soon?”

  “Maybe, yes. I would welcome the challenge of getting to know you well enough to pick a book for you.”

  “Hmm, I think I’d love to see you try.”

  Michael chuckled, “So, listen, I have something for you.”

  “Oh, and what would that be?” Anna asked blithely.

  “Your cousin, Diane—I found her,” he declared triumphantly.

  “Really? That’s amazing. Where is she? And how did you…” Anna was stunned. How good was this guy.

  “She’s in Boston, and she’s a nurse.”

  The troublemaker, a nurse? Anna would have never guessed it. “A nurse? Wow, that’s good. That’s, um…huh.”

  “Let me explain the part about how I found her. After spending an hour attempting different searches in various sites, I figured that I was going about it the wrong way. You always start with a motive—what does she want, what is her current pursuit in life?”

  “This is getting interesting.”

  “So, Diane is a rebel who wants to stick it to her mom, right?”

  “Sounds like her,” Anna said.

  “So, how does she do that? Well, she could throw her life away—that would be one way to do it—or do the exact opposite, make something of herself, get ahead in life without her mother’s help. That means starting a career, so she’d need to put together a resume—a resume with contact information.”

  “Great i
nstincts. But how did you get her resume?”

  “That’s where I would have run into a wall, but I remembered that I have a friend who’s a recruiter—he calls himself a headhunter, which does sound cooler.”

  “Does it?”

  “Anyway, this guy has access to a bunch of resume databases, and the guy owed me a favor. So, long story short, Diane sent her resume to a job board and agreed to make it searchable by potential employers and recruiters; and that’s how my guy found it, and I have it, and you will have it in three, two, one, and…you have it now.”

  “This is amazing. I really appreciate it, Michael. There, I just got it.” Anna briefly looked at the document she had just received from him. It really was Diane’s resume. She’d listed her two sales jobs in Baltimore, and the end date of her last job coincided with the approximate time she disappeared. Soon after that, she enrolled in the nursing program from which she’d graduated only four months ago.

  “Yes, this is her, no doubt about it. Look at that. I have her phone number and email address right there. I owe you one.”

  “Ah, it’s nothing,” Michael said. “It was fun, actually, like solving a case. I don’t often get that kind of excitement. I love the rush of making a discovery.”

  “I’m happy you enjoyed it.”

  “Hope all goes well with Diane, and that you can convince her to end her estrangement from her mother. Maybe you’ll tell me about it when I pick you up on Thursday?”

  “I sure will.”

  “All right, well, you have a good night now, Anna,” he said softly.

  “Sweet dreams,” she said, and ended the call.

  Anna looked long and hard at Diane’s phone number. She agonized over what to do next. Was she really going to call Diane, out of nowhere, on a Saturday night? Would she even answer the call? And if she didn’t, what then, leave her a voice mail? Ugh, she always felt so weird leaving voice messages.

  An email could be the way to go, at least as a first attempt.

  She opened up her email application, copied Diane’s email address from her resume, and began writing, quickly in the beginning, but then more slowly, stopping periodically to think, replacing words that she thought Diane could misinterpret or deem objectionable.

  Hello Diane,

  I hope that this message reaches you soon and, most importantly, that you’re happy and doing well. When we get to talk, I’ll be sure to explain how I managed to find your email address. For now, I’ll be brief, as the intent of this communication is simply to reach out to you. I’m sure that we have so much catch up to do that we could fill up two or three evenings, and I would love to do just that. We could start with a phone call, whenever you’re free for a half hour, and then we’ll go from there.

  I do want to talk to you about something that concerns both your mother and mine.

  I came upon something that caused me to worry, and I just want to chat with you about it and see what you think. Don’t fret too much about it, though. I’m hoping that, together, we can clear up the matter and that it ends up not being much of a big deal.

  That’s all for now. I do hope to hear back from you real soon. Call me anytime, or write to me, either way.

  Take care,

  Anna

  She included her phone number at the bottom, under her name. Satisfied with the message, she sent the email. Now, it was just a matter of waiting and hoping for a prompt response from Diane. If this failed, she could still try calling her.

  Anna picked up her book and went out to the deck. She would read the next chapter al fresco. There was a very pleasant, lulling breeze. She looked up and saw dark clouds racing under a bright, near-full moon.

  “Howdy, neighbor!” a voice startled her. It was Michelle.

  “Oh, hi Michelle. How are you?” Anna walked toward her.

  “Enjoying the little things, you know? What are you reading?” Michelle lit a cigarette.

  “It’s a novel. A little suspense, some romance.”

  “I see, but on a Saturday night, a gorgeous girl like yourself—how come you’re not out there living the romance?” She gave Anna a clever little smile while exhaling smoke upward through a tiny gap between her lips.

  “Actually, I think I might be ‘living the romance.’”

  Michelle smiled. “Well, good for you.”

  “How’s Ashley doing in college?”

  “She’s loving every minute. I just spoke to her. Oh, you remembered her name.”

  A flash of lightning crossed the sky just then, and a resounding thunderclap followed. A few drops of rain had started falling. Michelle said, “Well, we better take cover. Looks like a storm is coming.”

  “Yes, yes, it does,” Anna said more cryptically than she had intended. Michelle looked at her funny. Anna just smiled and went back inside.

  A rainy night such as this, Anna thought, will be ideal for sleeping—and dreaming. She went to the front door and made sure it was locked. She had an impulse to look through the peephole but felt a chill down her spine—she didn’t dare. A big crack of thunder shook the house. She stepped back from the door, sat down in the living room, and turned on the TV, wondering what country she and her world-traveling friend would visit next.

  CHAPTER VII

  A little bell rang, seemingly very far away.

  Then another one, closer.

  The next one dinged so close it could have been inside her head. It had come from her phone on the night table. Anna rolled over and stretched her arm to grab it.

  Still groggy, she opened her eyes wide to see the time—already 10:30 a.m., and Michael had sent her three messages.

  “Morning! Wondering if you’re a fan of big Sunday breakfasts.”

  Followed by, “Just in case you woke up hungry and in the mood for eggs, bacon and pancakes.”

  And last, “So, breakfast for two then?”

  Funny guy. If he knew how much she loved lavish Sunday breakfasts, he might not even find it cute. But they already had plans for Thursday. Too much, too early?

  Nah, go for it. Whose rules are these anyway?

  “Sure, why not? Always hungry on Sunday morning. Pick me up in one hour,” she replied and quickly sprang into action. She needed her first cup of coffee of the day, like medicine, so she brewed it and drank it unceremoniously in the kitchen, then jumped in and out of the shower, blow-dried and brushed her hair, and put on some light makeup. She slipped into a teal summer dress and added a pair of rose-gold hoop earrings for the final touch. Ten minutes later, Michael came to pick her up.

  The rain clouds from the night before had all but dissipated, and the sun blazed overhead unfettered in the bright blue sky. “Looks like it will be a hot one,” Michael said as Anna got in the car.

  Was he talking about the weather?

  “That dress was made for you. You look gorgeous,” he said before driving off.

  “Thank you. You don’t look half bad yourself.” That black shirt did look great on him.

  “Have you been to Rosemary’s Diner?”

  “Is that where we are going?” Anna asked. Of course, she knew the place—one her mom’s favorite escapes. She used to take her and Frank, and she would sketch their portraits on napkins while they waited for their food. “I’ve been there for lunch, but never for breakfast.”

  “They have the greatest pancakes. And we got to have some bacon. It’s the best.”

  They arrived in another ten minutes. Michael opened the door for her, and she stepped in, greeted by the mouthwatering smell of sizzling bacon, but also the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the alluring smells of maple syrup and butter.

  They were quickly shown to a table in the back and their waitress, a skinny brunette named Liz, went over the menu in detailed fashion, pointing out the diner’s all-time favorites and specials of the day. She came back a few minutes later to take their order—scrambled eggs and bacon, sausage too, and toast, buttermilk pancakes, French toast, orange juice, and coffee; they wanted it all.
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  “We may have gone overboard with the food,” he said, beginning to laugh. “Do you have a dog? They love bacon.”

  Anna shook her head. “I had a Labrador when I was a kid. How about you, any pets?”

  “We had a Persian cat. My older sister, Allison, named her Jasmine, like the princess from the movie Aladdin; she was our Persian princess. Cute, right?”

  “Very cute. Do you have other brothers and sisters?

  “No, just her,” he said.

  “So, you and I are both youngest siblings.”

  “Yes, we are probably spoiled brats.” Michael leaned forward as tiny wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes. “Isn’t that what they say?”

  Liz came over and served their coffee, which smelled fantastic.

  While putting brown sugar in her cup, Anna said, “I’ve read that youngest siblings tend to be more confident and willing to take risks. That could make one seem like a spoiled brat.”

  “So, we’re not insufferable after all, then?”

  “Well, you might be.”

  “Ha!” Michael’s jolt of mirth rocked the table, coffee swaying perilously near the brim in both cups.

  She loved a man with a sense of humor.

  “But seriously, spoiled brats are made by parents who overprotect their children and hand them everything on a silver platter.” She sipped her coffee and added, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember getting a darn thing on a silver platter.”

  “No, I don’t either.” Michael became pensive. “I’m sure Mom and Dad would have liked to hand me the world, though. They were great, just had terrible luck.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. What happened to them?”

  “My dad was a steelworker. All the overtime he could get, he worked, just to pay the bills and put food on the table. My mom had a few jobs but couldn’t seem to hold on to any one job for long, and then she got sick. She was just forty-eight when she died from cancer; and Dad just…it just broke him.”

  Michael shifted uneasily in his seat. A smile tried to break through the fog clouding his face but retreated; his glassy eyes avoided a direct encounter with hers.