Dead Enemies

by K. E. Garvey

  He opened the screen and motioned Gail through as she hit the bottom step wearing her sneakers. “She gets to skip her nap and color outside,” he said with a hard smile as he followed Gail.

  ~

  Warren killed the engine and surveyed the Strasburg train yard. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was closed. Usually bustling with tourists eager for a glimpse of days gone by, he couldn’t find more than a handful of people wandering around. He knew many had jobs to get back to once the holiday was over, some even went on summer vacations. But he thought it might be the unusually heavy fog that had kept most away. It seemed to have settled on the valley three days ago and made its mind up to stick around until early afternoon each day. As he was deciding whether to stay or go, he heard the excursion train’s whistle announce its approach to the station. A shimmer of anticipation raced through him.

  “There it is,” Gail shouted over the whistle.

  “Sure is. Come on, we don’t want to miss the next one.”

  Gail had slammed her door and rounded the front of the truck before he stepped out. “Can we stop for the picnic on the way out?”

  “Maybe next time,” he said. “We didn’t bring anything with us, and besides, we just ate lunch.”

  If she was disappointed she didn’t let it show. Instead, she raced ahead of him to secure a place in the empty ticket line.

  Tickets in hand, they stood in line until the few riders from the last trip exited the car. A Pullman porter motioned them up the stairs. Warren chose a seat in the back and she bounced into the spot next to him. He watched as stragglers purchased last minute tickets and made their way to the train. Each time they boarded a different car, he said a silent thank you.

  “Is it going to start soon?” Gail asked with an exuberance she usually only displayed during the unwrapping of Christmas presents.

  “Any minute, Mooshie. Sit tight and enjoy the ride.”

  Just then the engines began to whine. The porter closed the door, glanced back at them, and then disappeared into the second car.

  The train pulled away from the depot slowly. They watched as several kids pointed toward them with jealous fingers. Warren waited until the train had reached its top speed, which he guessed was about 35-40 mph, and turned to Gail.

  “Can you see well from where you’re sitting?” he asked.

  She offered an excited nod.

  He took another look around, and then moved in close to her. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you sit on my lap so you can see everything better. I wouldn’t want you to miss the Amish farmers out in their fields with their mules.”

  Before she could answer either way, he took a light hold of her elbow and guided her between his legs. With his hands around her slender waist, he hoisted her up onto his lap. She used the window and the seat in front of her to steady herself and settled onto his legs.

  Warren pointed out several sights as the train rumbled past farm after farm and corn, wheat, and alfalfa fields. As he talked, he inched his left hand slowly around her side. He kept his touch light, his voice soothing, as he continued to make small talk. When his hand rounded the front side of her shorts, he felt her tense. “Nothing to be afraid of, Mooshie. I’m right here.” Although she was still tense, he felt no resistance.

  There was a piercing metal on metal grinding sound as the train began to slow. His eyes darted back and forth between the doors watching for someone to enter their car. The train always stopped at the picnic grove, on the way out and once again on the way back if anyone had departed the train during the first stop. It was ten minutes to the picnic area and ten minutes from the picnic area back to the depot, leaving twenty-five between stops.

  Only one couple and a child got off the train before it began to pull away. Gail sat erect, every muscle in her body taut. He deliberately kept his hand where he let it rest before the stop. Once the train was moving along at its top speed, he slid his hand across the front of her shorts until it reached the Y where her legs met. She closed her legs, but it did nothing to remove his hand.

  He whispered, “Ssh. Relax and look out the window.” With his free hand, he pried one leg from the other.

  Using two fingers, he began caressing the spot just below the bottom edge of her zipper. He closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath. He smelled her perspiration, which heightened his arousal. When she let out a faint whimper, he pulled her against him until her back rested on his chest and began rubbing in a circular motion, faster, harder, rocking his hips underneath her. She grabbed hold of his wrist and tried to squirm off his lap, but he pinned her against him with an arm around her waist. A scream filled the car and broke the spell he’d been under. His muscles went limp. She jumped off his lap, but remained in the seat with him.

  He stared out the window for the next few moments, a painful silence enveloping them. Finally, he turned to her, cleared his throat, and said, “I was just trying to show you how much I love you. If I hurt you, I’m sorry. Please don’t hate daddy, Mooshie.”

  Unable to read her expression from her profile, he leaned forward and turned his head to face her. She looked toward the aisle.

  “You hate me, don’t you?”

  At first there was no answer, no nod, no sign she had even heard his question. He turned back to the window and tried to figure out how he’d get her talking before they got home and Wanda with the watchful eye began asking questions.

  An Amish man stopped his team and removed his straw hat to swipe at his forehead with a handkerchief under the broiling July sun. Young Amish girls held their aprons, filled with tomatoes, by the corners as they ran through the family garden on their way to the house. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and slid down a bit in his seat.

  “I don’t hate you.”

  He straightened in his seat and turned to face her. His first instinct was to wrap an arm around her shoulder and kiss her forehead, thanking her in earnest. But he resisted. She was fragile now and she needed her space. “You don’t know how happy that makes me because I love you more than anything in the world.”

  She seemed to be contemplating his words, trying to find a common ground between them and what he had done to her. After a moment, he said, “You like secrets, don’t you?” When she didn’t reply, he said, “Sure you do. Doesn’t matter how young or old a female is, she loves her a good secret. I have one I think you’ll like.”

  Was that a glint of interest?

  “Did you know that the Lesters sold their house and are moving away because Mrs. Lester has a boyfriend.” Her eyes grew wide. “That’s right. Mr. Lester told me just the other day. He’s moving his family away so she can’t see her boyfriend anymore and they can start fresh. Sure, he was hurt by what she did to him, but at the end of the day he loves her and he’s willing to forgive her.” Not a word of what he said was true, but the point he was hoping to get across was worth the slight chance that she might talk to the Lesters before they pulled away with their final load.

  She turned her face away from him, but continued to sneak peeks from the corner of her eye.

  “Mooshie.” He waited until she turned toward him. Rather than the anger he had expected to see, there was unmistakable hurt in her glistening eyes. “Can you forgive me? You know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

  Although she looked away again, her shoulders relaxed.

  “Do you love your old man enough to forgive him?”

  There was no verbal answer, but he was able to read the answer in her eyes. That left only one more thing to take care of. “Do you think you can keep what happened today a secret? You know how your mother is. There’s not much she won’t fight about and I’d hate to see you drug into the middle of it. I’m looking out for you. So, does it stay between us? Our own little secret?”

  Her arms uncrossed and she rested them on her lap. Barely above a whisper, she said, “Okay.”

  His insides unclenched and he took his first full breath since she had screamed. He ran a hand q
uickly over the top of her head, and said, “That’s my girl.”

  When the train ride ended, so did their outing. He was met with “no” when he suggested a movie, stopping for ice cream, even an offer to stop by Park City to do a little shopping on their way home.

  She could go home and tell her mother everything before the screen door closed behind her. That was a definite possibility and something he would have to fix on the fly if it happened. Or, she could keep it to herself like the Lester girl had. He never pretended to understand the minds of women, let alone little girl women, but something told him his little Mooshie could keep a secret as well as Annie Lester.

  They rode the last ten miles in silence.

  ~ Gail ~

  As the truck pulled into the driveway, Gail looked over at the house next door. The boy’s cars and Tonka trucks on the dirt pile, the curtains on the windows, the shiny blue ball on the concrete pedestal, even the bird feeders on the fence posts, gone. It was as if the Lesters had never occupied the Craftsman style house on Ridgeview Street.

  She unhooked her seatbelt and slid out of the truck without waiting for her father to put it in park. He called to her as she ran to the house, but she didn’t slow. She had had to concentrate harder than she had ever concentrated in her life to keep from throwing up on the ride home, and now that she was here she wasn’t sure she could hold it much longer.

  Her mother stood in the center of the living room, hands on hips in a stance Gail knew meant business. Although she didn’t appear as upset as she had been before they left, there was no smile or, “How was the ride?” Gail was glad for that.

  “I was wondering if your father was going to get you back in time for dinner. I’m still not pleased, but that’s between him and me. Go wash up, dinner in ten.”

  “I’m not hungry,” was the only thing she could think to say.

  “Did your father fill you up with junk food?”

  Gail felt a cold chill creep up her back at the sound of the screen door opening. “No ma’am. Can I go up to my room now?”

  “Warren, what do you know about this? She was fine when she left.”

  She cast a quick glance toward her father, and waited for his answer.

  “Know about what?” His eyes darted between his child and his wife.

  “She says she doesn’t want any supper. Says she’s not feeling well. You didn’t let her fill up on junk food, did you?”

  Again, she looked to her father. You got me into this, you can get me out, she thought.

  “No, no. It wasn’t junk food.” He looked toward her and began nodding along with his lie. “You know what I think it was? I think it was the dust. That’s right, it was mighty dusty at the depot today, lack of rain and all. The air was thick with it, had everyone sneezing. She’s probably got a belly full of dust.”

  Wanda studied her for a moment, but said nothing directly to her. Instead, she turned toward the kitchen and called over her shoulder, “If you change your mind, it’ll be in the warmer.”

  She didn’t look at her father again before she dashed up the stairs. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to look at him again. Although he looked the same and sounded the same, he was different. He had hurt her and she believed he had done it on purpose.

  Her first stop was the bathroom. Even though the vomit she choked back on the ride home had begun to settle, she had another problem. She locked the door behind her and pulled her shorts down to her ankles. Using the hand mirror her mother kept on the sink, she sat on the edge of the tub, spread her knees, and examined her private parts. She didn’t recall ever having looked at them so closely before, so she wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for. What she did know was that she throbbed down there as bad as her finger throbbed when Cheryl had closed it in the car door. That time, she had waited for it to swell to five times its size, turn bright red, and visibly pulsate like that of cartoon characters when they got hurt.

  Using her index finger, she pushed back skin to examine the entire area and eventually decided a doctor wouldn’t be necessary. There was no blood, just hurting caused by the hard spot where the seams of her shorts come together as it rubbed over her. Relief filled her. The thought of having to tell a grownup about the train ride scared her almost as much as the thought of it happening again.

  She made up her mind right then and there. There’d be no more train rides. She didn’t care if she had to climb a tree just to fall out and break her arm, she’d never get on a train with him again.

  She hadn’t been in her bedroom more than a minute when the door squeaked open. She held her breath until she saw it was only Cheryl. “What do you want?” she asked, not caring how mean she might have sounded.

  “How was the train? Did it go fast? Did you have fun? Can I go next time?”

  Cheryl’s questions were like tiny hammers on her head. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, not even her little sister who usually never bothered her no matter how many questions she asked. “I have a headache. If you leave me alone now, I’ll promise to color with you in the morning. Deal?”

  Cheryl danced in place as a little girl who had to use the bathroom would. “Promise me?”

  Gail flopped onto the bed and closed her eyes. “Promise what?”

  “Promise I can go with you next time? Pretty please?”

  She turned away from her sister to keep her from seeing the tears that stung her eyes. “You can’t.”

  “How come?”

  She turned to look at her sister. “Because I’m never going on the train with Warren again. Now drop it.”

  Cheryl let out a gasp and backed up a step. She stared at Gail through wide eyes. “You’re not supposed to call daddy that.”

  She lifted herself away from the bed and flipped to her back. Staring at the ceiling, she said, “He does things he’s not supposed to do, too.”

  Cheryl didn’t speak for several minutes. She turned to leave and got as far as the door before she turned back, and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”

  Gail turned her head toward Cheryl, and said, “You’re the best sister ever.”

  Cheryl pulled her shoulders in, tucked her head into her chest, and smiled before letting herself out of the room.

  Chapter Six

  Sali - 2018

  For the last forty-five minutes, Sali had been sitting with one hand wrapped around a glass of hand-squeezed vegetable juice while running a finger over the raised grain on the railing of her deck. She was waiting patiently for the fog to lift. As thick as mud, the sun worked feverishly to burn it off. If it didn’t lift, it wouldn’t affect the outcome of the race. It was her mental state that would take the hit. Ever since childhood, she had found fog ominous and the perfect veil to disguise the darkest parts of her life. Although many of the bad memories had turned to ash over time, the creeping fog was a reminder that her secrets were hidden, but very much alive.

  The patio door rolled on its track and Steve poked his head out. “How is my bride to be?”

  Her smile came after the thought regarding how corny his question sounded. If he noticed the hesitation, he didn’t let on.

  “Mental prepping?” he asked.

  She cast another glance into the fog before turning toward him. “Just finishing breakfast. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  He closed the gap between them, kissed the top of her head, and said, “If you don’t mind I have to drop film off at the studio on the way, so we can either leave about fifteen minutes early or take separate cars. Whichever you prefer.”

  “Whichever.”

  “I guess I’ll take mine then. Meet you there?”

  Her smile came more quickly this time. “Try not to be too late or you’ll never find parking.”

  He placed a quick kiss on the top of her head and disappeared inside the house.

  Although she was inwardly grateful he chose to drive separately, time alone wasn’t what she needed to change her frame of mind. She needed the sun to come out.
She needed to be around excited people. She needed Amy. Not one to resent or hamper someone else’s opportunities and good fortune, especially Amy’s, she never told her sister how much she’d miss her when she delivered the news that she had received an offer to study at Parsons Paris under the tutelage of Pierre Dixsaut. Paul, Amy’s too-often intoxicated boyfriend, was quick to express his displeasure citing the imminent demise of their relationship the ocean between their respective sides of the bed was sure to cause. Sali had remained quiet and wished her sister the best as she watched her board her plane, never revealing to Amy that she was taking a piece of her soul with her.

  Although her time away had dragged like a club foot, she was in the homestretch. Only weeks before her plane would land on American soil. For the first time in memory, the race through the upcoming weeks was more important to her than the race she would run later today.

  Sali lifted her head as a robin broke through the fog and disappeared into the lower half of a pear tree at the property line. She wondered how they were able to maneuver through the dense mist without flying into trees and buildings when she seemed to be trapped within it. The pondering reminded her of a time in her life when she had wished she were a bird and said prayers to that effect each night. That was, until the day she stopped believing there was a God watching over her.

  She lifted her cell phone and turned it over in her hand. Eight-twenty. That would make it only two-twenty in Paris and Amy would still be in class. Saturday’s class wasn’t at Parsons, but a storefront studio with a small group who had taken their projects outside the classroom in order to “feed off each other,” as Amy had put it.

  As Steve slipped the ring on her finger the previous night, Sali was already calculating Paris time. She wanted to call Amy even more than she wanted to finish the poached pears Steve had ordered in for dessert, but decided against waking her at three in the morning. But oh, how she needed to hear her voice. Amy being so far away had come to feel like a withdrawal of sorts and even the smallest fix would see her through. She looked at her phone again. Eight twenty-two. For the first time since she began competing a decade earlier, she had the urge to scrap the race. She wouldn’t, but she knew her mental attitude would not be running with her. If there was a word to describe the funk she was in, she didn’t know it. Even in a race with several hundred people, and Steve and a handful of friends cheering her on, she would feel completely alone. That fact deepened her sadness and she added it to what lie behind the fog.