by Hunter Shea
He may have loved horror books and movies, but he was still scared to death of snakes and rats. Anthony had a pet snake and no amount of cajoling would get West to even touch it with the tip of his finger.
He shuddered just thinking about it.
Once he felt the coast was clear, he resumed making his way through the least-tended field in history. He wondered what had once grown on all of these acres. An image of a young Grandpa Abraham hauling bales of hay, his squat, simian body lumbering from side to side, made him laugh out loud.
West breathed a sigh of relief when he emerged from the jungle into an immense clearing. On the other side, at least a hundred or more yards away, were tall, green rows of corn. He looked back, but couldn’t see over the grass, much less the house.
Uh oh. How far had he come?
“Hey there.”
The voice startled him so much, he actually jumped.
A beautiful girl lay on a blanket. Her long blond hair was the color of the afternoon sun, her eyes green as jade. Taking in her round, smiling face, West figured she had to be right around his age.
She wore a pink bikini, the small triangles barely able to contain her round, heavy breasts. She had the body of a woman, with curvy hips and long, shining legs.
In an instant, all of the saliva in his mouth had dried up.
She shaded her eyes from the sun. “Are you lost or something?”
Stop standing there like a mute dork! Say something!
“No… I’m, uh… I was just walking. I didn’t know you were here.”
She giggled. “How could you know? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Jamming his hands in his pockets, he said, “I wasn’t scared.”
“You sure looked it.”
“I just didn’t expect to find anyone.”
“Me neither. That’s why I kinda made this my spot. How did you end up out here anyway?”
She didn’t look the least bit nervous having some strange boy stumble upon her in nothing but a teeny bikini. Her total lack of concern had him a little off balance. Not that she had anything to be concerned about.
“I, uh, live back there… somewhere.”
She pushed herself into a sitting position. West willed himself to look her in the eyes.
“You mean the old Ridley place?” she said.
He swallowed, feeling his heart throb in his throat. “Yeah. It’s my grandfather’s. Me and my parents just moved in.”
“Wait, you mean your grandfather still lives there?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Wow. I thought it was abandoned years ago.”
Now he had to chuckle. “Trust me, I can see why. I guess he doesn’t get out much.”
“I guess not.” Her smile blinded him. What were the chances of finding the hottest girl he’d ever seen out here in the middle of nowhere? He wished Anthony were here to see this. Scratch that, he’d rather tell him about it later. West wanted this moment all to himself. “What’s your name?”
He had to stop and think for a moment. Finally, he blurted out, “West.”
“West? That’s different. I like it.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “My name’s Faith. Faith Simmons.”
“You’re the first Faith I’ve ever met.”
She reached up to tie her hair back, her breasts swaying while she worked the knot.
Her eyes, her eyes, West shouted to himself. He couldn’t help taking a quick glance at her chest.
“Everyone’s gotta have a little,” she said.
He said, “A little what?”
“Faith. You get it?”
He felt himself blush. “Oh. Yeah. I get it.”
“Well, now that you’ve trespassed on my family’s land, what do you plan to do?”
Oh Christ. He remembered what Grandpa Abraham had told him about going over the property line. Plus, he’d seen enough movies to know it never ended up well for the unwitting interloper.
“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was on your property. I could barely see where I was going.”
She laughed so hard she had to hold her stomach. “You should see your face!”
That was the last thing he wanted to see. He was pretty sure he looked like a world class dumbass.
Seeing he wasn’t joining in the joke, she settled down and said, “Look, I’m sorry. I was just kidding around. We’re not all bumpkins with shotguns.”
Trying to save some face, he said, “I knew that.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, her smile widening. “Uh-huh.” She stood and gathered up her blanket. “Well, it was nice meeting you, West. I dipped out for a little bit before I had to head off to school.”
“School?”
“Yeah, I flunked earth science so I get to go to summer school. Yay. One more week to go. It really sucks because there’s no air conditioning. Well, that and a whole bunch of other reasons.”
West was disappointed when she draped the towel over her shoulder, covering the front of her insane body like a toga.
“Maybe I’ll see you around?” she said.
He nodded. “Yeah, that would be cool. My days are pretty much free.”
“Good. I hope you can find your way back here some day. I’m out of school by eleven. I like to come here to get away from things, you know?”
“I just hope I can find my way home,” he joked.
“Make sure of it,” she said with a wink. She gave him a little wave and walked into the corn rows. In seconds, it was as if she’d never been there.
West exhaled for what felt like the first time since he’d come here.
Faith Simmons.
Finally, a reason to not run away from this place.
***
Matt Ridley started his morning just like every other – cursing his damaged brain and nauseous as hell. He gripped the puke bucket between his knees, choking back bile while the room spun slower and slower.
“Fuck me,” he said, spitting into the bucket.
He’d taken a pill last night and it had knocked him out good.
Guess old vertigo is just making up for lost time, he thought.
He’d heard Debi getting ready for work hours ago. He could have woken up and kept her company while she got ready.
He chose to go back to sleep. It was the only place where there was order and sanity in his world. Truth be told, being awake pissed him off. It was a painful reminder of all his limitations.
Debi had been urging him to see someone, a shrink who’d helped one of her friends, but their insurance didn’t cover it. When she volunteered to work extra hours or get a second part-time job, he’d lost it. He was enough of a burden. The last thing he’d do is let his wife work herself to death just so he could give lip service to a head shrinker. No goddamn way.
Coming back here was insult enough to the man he’d once been.
Now there was the Guardian note he found out back, not to mention the one slipped under the cat bowls and the writing on the mirror. Debi and West hadn’t mentioned it to him, but he’d heard them question his father about it, sticking to the shadows to observe what the old man would say. He wasn’t surprised when he simply wiped it off and stormed out of the room.
It can’t be happening again. This shit ended years ago.
He’d talk to his father about it. That old son-of-a-bitch would do his best to give him the runaround. He just knew it. No matter. He couldn’t bluster his way out of this one. Not this time. Matt was a grown man with a family of his own. He wasn’t a scrawny kid easily pushed around, verbally and physically, by his father anymore.
When he was sure he could walk without dropping to the floor, he grabbed his cane and headed for the living room. As usual, the TV was on.
He hoped it was West. He still felt bad for the way he’d barked at him yesterday. There was no way he could apologize in front of Debi. Then she’d know something was wrong, and he wasn’t in the mood for a discussion that would surely lead to a fight. She’d pleaded with him to be on his be
st behavior when they made the decision to move. If she knew he’d yelled at the kid over nothing their first day without her around as a buffer, it would be bad.
“West, is that you?”
He turned the corner into the living room. His father was in his chair, the fabric stained and faded just like his clothes. He was watching a rerun of a game show from the 80s.
“Well, if it isn’t Nick Esasky,” his father mumbled between slurps from a bowl of bitter-smelling soup.
“Who?” Matt just knew it was an insult. It was how the man dealt with most things, but especially something he didn’t know much about or was uncomfortable with.
“You remember him. He used to play for the Reds. He got what you have when he was on the Braves and had to retire.”
“No, I don’t remember him.”
“Good first baseman. Soft hands. He got that whaddyacallit…”
“Vertigo?”
“Yep. Last time I saw him on a field, he was stumbling like a drunk in the playoffs to celebrate with his team.”
There was no mystery as to why Matt had worked his ass off in high school to get a full ride to a college a thousand miles away. He’d only come back here a handful of times since heading off to college – the last time being when his mother had passed away.
Matt swallowed the hundred replies he wanted to hurl. “Good to know I’m not alone.”
His father grunted, tipping the bowl to his lips.
“What’s with this Guardian crap again?” Matt blurted out. Sometimes the best way to get his attention was a sucker punch to the gut. His father raised an eyebrow, still guzzling from the bowl. If he wanted the element of surprise, it looked as if he’d lost that gamble.
The bowl clanked down on the table.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. If you think you’re going to start that just to get me out of your hair quicker, you needn’t worry. I’m just as anxious to move on as you are.”
His father wiped his mouth with the end of his shirt, settling back into the chair. “If you don’t appreciate my hospitality, the door is right at the end of the hall.” He glowered at Matt, dribbles of soup on his chin and chest. “That is, if you can walk it.”
Matt’s fingernails dug deep crescents in his palms. His teeth were clenched so hard, bolts of pain daggered down his jaw.
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
The old man waved him off. “You have an overactive imagination. Always did.”
Was his father serious?
Did he forget Matt lived with him and this bullshit for two decades?
Matt huffed. “Not about this I don’t. Just do me a favor and stop. I don’t need West and Debi any more uncomfortable than they already are. Can you do that for me?”
His father bristled, gripping the chair’s armrests. “Why don’t you visit your mother and sister’s graves while you’re here? Maybe you can regain some perspective.”
“Trust me, I have every intention.”
And he did. Even though he barely remembered Stella, she had still been his only sibling. Any recollections he had were really just bits and pieces of things his parents had said about her. Poor Stella. Life had never been easy for her. From what he’d gleaned from his mother, had she not drowned, her life was going to be one fraught with difficulties. He never knew specifics, just that she was considered special, both mentally and physically.
She was buried with his mother in the family plot, a plot he’d made sure he’d never spend eternity in. He’d bought his own in Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx five years ago. It was scary to think how close he’d been to making good use of it.
They stared at one another for a spell, his father breaking first and locking on the game show on the television.
There was no sense talking. They’d both hurt one another.
All those years away, and nothing had changed.
Absolutely nothing had changed.
***
Dizzy or not, Matt had to get out of that house. He hoped to run into West lurking around, but his son was nowhere to be seen. It was warm but the air was fresh and sweet. He filled his lungs, feeling a little better, a little lighter with each breath.
“Think I’ll go for a stroll.”
His cane barely touched the ground as he made his way down the winding road, away from the house. He figured if things went bad and he fell, he could always wait for Debi to see him when she came home later.
He did have to watch his step. The ground looked like Normandy the day after the invasion.
Lost in the moment, happy to be doing something as simple as walking without falling, he was surprised when he stepped onto the main road. His feet hit the smooth blacktop. A crow cawed, swooping from a tree across from him and landing atop the telephone pole. It cocked its head, regarding him with onyx eyes.
Matt’s surprise was doubled when he saw an SUV headed toward him. He took a step back, even though there was plenty of room for it to pass.
The blue Forester passed by, stopped, and backed up.
If they need directions, I hope it’s to someplace I actually remember.
When the car pulled level with him, the driver’s side window rolled down. A woman in her late fifties with long hair tied back in a braid smiled at him.
“Excuse me, but are you Matt Ridley?”
He couldn’t help smiling back. “I am. Do I know you?”
“Don’t tell me how, but I just knew it!” She slapped the steering wheel. “I used to babysit you about a hundred years ago.”
“Babysit? Holy cow. Andrea?”
“The one and only. I haven’t seen you since you were in high school.”
“I really haven’t been back much since I graduated.”
She looked up the drive, as if she could see Abraham’s farmhouse. Her face darkened for the briefest of moments. “Oh. Yes, that makes sense. So, what brings you back?”
He leaned forward on his cane. “Just an extended visit. I guess you’re still in town.”
“Yep. My husband and I live just up the road. It’s the house with the old timey chuck wagon in the front yard. Bill likes to think he’s a cowboy. I overindulge the man.” She laughed. “You should come by some time. We can finally share a happy hour.”
Matt chuckled. “Sounds good. Well, I better head back. It was good seeing you.”
“Good seeing you, too. Wow, Matt Ridley. My little man turned out to be a tall drink of water. Don’t be a stranger.” She flashed him a cougar smile and sped off.
Wow. Andrea Lender. The babysitter from hell.
The happy hour line was what made him want to end their reunion. He remembered how much she used to drink when she watched him, threatening him if he told on her. She was smart enough to bring her own booze, knowing his father kept a sharp eye on his own stores.
The more Andrea drank, the stranger she acted, calling him her little man, making him sit close to her, kissing his face, sometimes grazing his lips. Yeah, all men had fantasies about being seduced by the babysitter, but when you were ten and nowhere near puberty, your idea of a good time was playing with your Star Wars figures, so the advances of an inebriated woman fifteen years your senior were unsettling.
To make him feel even more trapped, she babysat him for next to nothing, an offer his father couldn’t refuse, no matter how much he hinted to his parents that he didn’t like her. He wished he could tell them why, but he was afraid of what she’d do.
How did she recognize me? I don’t look even remotely the way I did in high school. Before the accident, yes. But not now.
It was as if she already knew he was back, and had been waiting for a chance to ‘run in’ to him.
He walked slowly back to the house.
It’s the house with the old timey chuck wagon in the front yard.
Now he knew which house to avoid.
***
Debi stopped at the Sam’s Food Mart on the way home
to get fresh ground turkey. It had been a long, trying day and she needed the familiar comfort of making dinner for her family.
To her relief, West wasn’t a burned lobster waiting outside. He was at the kitchen table, reading a magazine with a blood-drenched woman on the cover.
“That looks just lovely,” she said. “Promise me you’ll put that upstairs before we eat.”
“Okay,” he said, flipping through the pages. He had a faraway look tonight. Wherever his mind was, he at least looked happy.
Abraham was in the basement puttering around, banging and thumping under their feet. She heard him curse a few times, and then settle down.
Matt came into the kitchen just as she was browning the turkey and adding salt, pepper, and cumin to start.
“Tacos?” Matt said. He looked his usual less-than-chipper self.
“With all the fixings,” she said, bracing herself. He never asked how her day went. The fact that he didn’t now, when she was dealing with the commute from hell, irked her.
“I got sick so bad this afternoon, I think I strained my ribs,” he said instead. “And this damn headache won’t leave.”
Please, not now. I’m not in the mood to hear about your litany of ailments. I just want to make dinner, eat, and go to sleep.
“Uh-huh,” she said, her back to him, adding more spices while breaking up the meat with a wooden spatula.
“I’d hoped the fresh air out here would make things a little better. Jesus, the spins have been worse than ever.”
There was a time when Debi felt like a monster for not giving a damn about Matt’s repetitive complaining. It was always the same thing, day in and day out. But it wasn’t his fault he was this way. He didn’t ask for that accident. She was his wife. She was supposed to give him comfort, even if it was just hearing him out.
There were days, though, when saying something positive or just suffering in silence wouldn’t have killed him. Times like this, she just didn’t want to hear it. She wanted to shout, “I know, Matt, I know! You’re dizzy. You’re nauseous! It’s hard to get around! You’re sick and tired of not being able to do things! I know. I know, goddammit, I know! Anyone who’s been around you for more than five minutes over the past few years knows!”
