by Diana Wagman
She was trying to make him understand. He wiped his eyes and nodded.
“It seemed like such a good idea.” He looked so sad. “A perfect plan.”
“Tell me.”
“I met Lacy online. I saw her picture, I read about her. We started emailing back and forth. Then texting. Then I asked for her number and I called her. She said she was eighteen. I swear I didn’t know she was so young. She said you kept her locked in her room; only let her out for school. She said you let the dog bite her and you had a chauffeur that almost raped her and you did nothing about it. She said you wouldn’t let her see her father. She said you made her wear shirts that itch and uncomfortable baggy pants and would not let her shower.”
How unhappy did Lacy have to be to make up all these things? What life was Lacy missing? “Oh God.” A prayer as much as an exclamation.
“I wanted to save her. I thought she would love me if I—if I—”
“If you killed me?”
“No. If I taught you a lesson. If I made you be nice to her. She and I would get married and you would learn—eventually—to appreciate what I had done.”
She put her hand on his head. Her fingers tucked a curl of his clown-colored hair behind his tiny ear and stroked his cheek. “Don't be scared.”
He closed his eyes. The tears did not stop.
“I'm not scared anymore,” she reassured him. “Really, I’m not.”
He bowed his head, touched his forehead to her thigh. She smoothed back his hair and wiped his tears from is cheek. Cookie scratched at the door. Winnie tried to stay focused.
“Lacy can’t come here,” she said. “She’s too young. This will hurt her, damage her forever. We made a deal. I’ll stay here. I’ll give you whatever you like. Please,” she whispered. “Tell her not to come.”
She was so sure she was dying. Her body was a mass of pain, it could not last long. She would miss her darling girl. She missed her now, almost more than she could bear. Lacy’s constant singing, the way she giggled, the curls on the back of her neck. Winnie groaned. She could not come here. Winnie had to stay alive long enough to make sure Oren told her not to come. Lacy had her life ahead of her. She was smart and she would survive this. Her father would help her and he would get her a good therapist. If only Winnie could make her one more sandwich. It seemed so important to make Lacy one more peanut butter and honey sandwich.
“I don't feel well,” Winnie said and it was true. “I'm going to be sick.”
He had a bowl there with a little soapy, bloody water. The same bowl she had used to clean the carpet. He got it to her just in time. She turned her head and vomited. There was nothing much to come up. She retched and dry heaved and he held her hair back from her face.
“Sorry. Thank you.” He was sweet to help her.
Cookie scratched. He wouldn't stop. Scratching. Lusting.
“Cookie!” Oren shouted. “Cookie, for fucks sake!” He shook his head, took a deep breath, and turned to her leg. “You’re still bleeding.”
“If I bleed to death,” she said. “Then it definitely wouldn’t be your fault.”
He stood up. He picked up his knife from the coffee table. She closed her eyes. She did not want the knife to be the last thing she saw.
“You’re a good mom,” Oren said quietly, “I can tell. You worry about everything, the little things. You would never let anyone hurt your daughter. You love her. You like animals too. You take care of them. You give them the food they like and you pet them and talk to them. You don’t think they smell. You bake pies and make dinner at night and help Lacy with her homework. You love your daughter. You smile at her even when she can’t see you. You touch her all the time, whenever you can, when you walk past her, or when you give her something to eat. She doesn’t even notice you, but you’re always there.
“You smell good,” he continued. “You are good at keeping things clean, staying organized, making the bed. You never forget a birthday or a class project or what she wants to be for Halloween. You buy the good candy. You make her eat healthy food, not just fast food. You want her to go to bed early and get plenty of sleep and get up and go to school and pay attention and do well. “
“No mother is that perfect all the time.”
“I should have known how good you are when I picked you up. I should have seen that and let you go right away.” He sighed. “Why me? Why do the bad things always happen to me?”
Winnie gave a little laugh. “I think, this time, the bad thing is actually happening to me.”
Cookie clawed at the door. It sounded like he was coming through the wood. She reached for Oren involuntarily. When she touched his thigh he tensed. Then he relaxed and put his hand over hers.
Outside, they heard an ice cream truck. The annoying repetitive tinkling song, the first four measures of "You Are My Sunshine," grew louder and louder as the truck came closer. Outside there were children. Fathers getting home from work. Mothers offering dollar bills for ice cream just to keep them quiet until dinner, and bath, and bed. A child's voice called to a friend again and again. The singsong blended with the bells on the truck. She and Oren looked at each other. Then he turned back to the closed Venetian blinds. Listening.
“Want a popsicle?” she asked. “Sure is a hot day.”
Oren almost smiled, but looked toward the kitchen. Cookie’s scratching was becoming a soundtrack, their soundtrack. He stood up. He opened the front door, made sure the screen was unlocked.
“You can go,” he said.
“What are you going to do?”
“Who cares?”
“Wait.”
“Go. Isn’t that what you want?”
If she started to leave, he decided, he would kill her. He would stab her in the back as she headed out the door. He would not stand one more betrayal. He would kill her if she tried to leave.
“Go on,” he said again.
Part of him wanted her to try it. Part of him, the bigger part, was begging silently for her to stay. He waited. She shook her head.
“I can’t go now,” she said in the smallest voice. “Not until you tell Lacy not to come.”
As if on cue, his cell phone rang with Lacy’s special, heavy metal ringtone. He looked at Winnie. Silently she pleaded with him. Unfortunately, he had to finish what he started.
“Well?” he said into the phone. “Are you coming over?”
“I want to speak to my mother,” Lacy replied.
Her voice sounded weak, tremulous. Good, Oren thought, she knew she was in trouble.
“Lacy! Stay away!” Winnie summoned her strength to shout. “Stay away!”
“You heard her,” Oren said to Lacy. “Obviously she’s fine, for now, as long as you get your ass over here. Better than fine, your mother is a very honest woman.”
Lacy was quiet. She did not have anything to say to that. He heard papers rustling.
“Where are you?”
“School. I’m still at school.”
“Can you get over here?”
“My—my friend can take me.”
“Do you even know how to drive?” She did not reply. “What about that night you told me about? Remember? You broke out of your room, snuck past the guards, and took your mother’s Mercedes?’
He stamped his foot, ran his hand through his hair. He had not meant to get into this now. When she arrived there would be time enough to clear up all the lies, to get everything out into the open.
“Oren, I’m sorry,” Lacy whispered.
That surprised him. “Really?”
“Please don’t hurt my mother.”
“She’s the good girl here.”
There was a pause and some more rustling of papers. Then Lacy’s voice, tiny, scared. “What’s your address?”
His heart went out to her. She was still the beautiful girl he loved. She realized her mistakes and she wanted to make amends. He gave her the address and told her it would take about thirty minutes. He did not want to hang up, but he had to, s
o she could find her friend with the car.
“I can’t wait to see you,” he said. “To meet you face to face.”
When he set his cell phone down he saw that Winnie was crying. “Don’t worry.” He squatted down beside her. “It’s going to be great. You and I will talk to her.”
The terrible day did not seem so bad. His plan had worked after all. Lacy was coming to his house. He had wanted her here for so long. This is what his plan was about. This was everything he wanted. He was not stupid; he was not an idiot. He had made it happen. She was coming and his anger liquefied and drained away. She had lied because she was young and she wanted to impress him. She was young, but not so young. He could wait for her. Plenty of high school students got married. He smiled at Winnie.
“I’ll be nice to her. You’ll see. I will.”
“Like you were to that other girl?”
“What other girl?” He had no idea what she was talking about. It had been years since he had a girlfriend. More than years, it seemed there had never been another girl in his life. Only Lacy.
Winnie’s eyes fluttered and shut. Her face was pale gray and shiny as if oiled. She looked like a vampire.
“Winnie,” he said. “Winnie, sit up.”
She didn’t move so he took her wrists and pulled her to sitting. She grimaced and complained with a groan.
“You don’t look good. You need to sit up, feel better. You can go home soon. I’ll drive you both home. We’ll have dinner together.” His fantasy come true. Still she did not move or open her eyes. “I’ll bring you some water.”
When he got to the kitchen, Cookie was waiting for him. His head bobbed up and down. His tongue flicked in and out. His tail whipped across the floor. His dewlap was puffed up and extended. He was really, really angry.
“Not now, Cookie.”
Oren stepped across him to get a glass and water and Cookie lunged. Oren jumped out of the way just in time.
“Cut it out.” He would not let Cookie ruin his happiness that Lacy was coming. “I’ll give you a good scratch later.”
But when he stepped back toward the sink, Cookie snapped at him again. Oren gave up and turned to the refrigerator. He had a Coke in there somewhere. It would probably be better anyway—give her some energy.
Winnie heard Oren talking to his pet. All she really wanted to do was lie back down and go to sleep, but she knew Lacy was coming. She had to last that long. More than that, she had to figure this out for Lacy. The front door was still open and the screen unlatched. The air coming in was cool and dry. She took deep breaths and struggled to her feet. Her bitten leg hurt like hell, but it supported her. The worst of it was the wet squish of blood in her shoe. Maybe she could get outside and wait on the front step in the cool afternoon air. If she could get outside, she could keep Lacy from coming in.
Then she saw Oren’s cell phone on the coffee table. He had left it there. She would call Lacy and tell her not to come. She would call Jonathan and tell him to come get his daughter, take her far away. She held the phone in her hand and her brain clicked back into gear. What? Jonathan? Dial 9-1-1. She almost laughed—happy to be thinking again. But the kitchen door swooshed open and Oren was returning. She stuffed the phone down the back of her tennis panties and sat down.
“Here.” He handed her the soda.
“Thank you.” She popped it open and drank it. It was cold and bubbly and absolutely delicious. She felt the phone press into the small of her back, a plan, an idea. The pain swelled and receded like waves against the shore. It was there, but she could stand it.
“Oren,” she said. “Don’t you have someone tied up, passed out, hurt in the back room?”
His eyes went wide as he remembered. “Oh. Mary.”
“And there’s blood all over the carpet. The new carpet. And Lacy is squeamish.”
“Shit. Fuck.”
He looked around. A trail of Winnie’s blood led from the kitchen door, across the white carpet to the couch. The blood had soaked the towel he put under her and dripped into a sea anemone-shaped puddle on the floor.
“It wasn’t me. It was Cookie. I bandaged you. Helped you. The carpet is not my fault.”
He picked up the bowl of bloody water and vomit. It was obvious he did not know what to do with it.
“Dump it in the toilet.” Winnie used her mom voice. “It will flush away.”
He hesitated.
“Go,” she said. “Lacy will be here soon.”
He practically ran to the bathroom. Winnie took the phone from behind her. She flipped it open, but then she couldn’t see the numbers. They swam, blurred, melted in front of her. Then he was back. She closed the phone and hid it under her good hand, pressed down into the awful couch.
“Now,” she said.
“Now what?”
“Don’t you think you should deal with Mary? Isn’t that her name? The girl in the back? The girl who fell?”
“Well, but—” He did not want to go back there. Winnie knew it.
“Lacy will not be happy if another woman comes out of that room.”
“She is not my girlfriend.”
“It doesn’t matter. It looks bad.”
“Okay, okay, okay.”
Cookie was scratching again. Faster, louder, worse than ever.
“Cookie, shut up!” Oren shouted.
Winnie knew how flustered he was. The girl of his dreams was coming. Lacy was the reason he had ruined his entire life. What if she was not what he wanted? What if she didn’t like him?
“You should wash your face. Put a shirt on.”
“Cookie!”
“Can you calm Cookie down? You don’t want Lacy to be scared of him. You want them to like each other, right? Can’t you give him something?”
Oren turned left and right. She had given him too many instructions. Mary. Blood. His face. His shirt. And Cookie. Cookie scratched and scratched. He dropped his head between his knees, and then swung it up. His face was red and wild. “COOKIE!”
He slammed the front door shut and whirled around. He strode to the kitchen door.
“No, Oren. Don’t.”
He looked over his shoulder at her, at her leg, and at the blood all over his uncle’s carpet. He was cold now in his hot house. The late afternoon light turned dark and brittle. His heart flopped in his chest. He could not breathe or see or think. All his happiness was gone and it was Cookie’s fault.
He pushed open the kitchen door with both hands. “SHUT UP!”
Cookie hissed.
“FUCK YOU!” He kicked his friend hard in the ribs. There was a scrape as Cookie slid back across the floor, his long nails clawing the linoleum. “KEEP AWAY FROM THIS DOOR.” Oren kicked him again, in the belly, and again. Cookie gave a woof and then began to squeal. It was the stupid thing’s own fault. Cookie had brought this on himself. With every kick Oren’s heart accelerated.
“Don’t hurt him,” came Winnie’s thin, tired voice from the living room.
Oren nodded as he kicked Cookie again. Winnie was beginning to understand. Only Winnie knew how to help him. He had opened the front door and she had stayed with him. He had gone into the kitchen and she stayed on the couch. Oren wanted her to make him a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner. Kick. Kick. Kick.
Winnie carefully opened the cell phone. She dialed. 9. 1. 1. He had not locked the front door again when he closed it and this time the screen was ajar. When she got out of here, when Lacy was safe, she would make everyone see the Oren she had seen.
“Help,” she said into the phone. “I’ve been kidnapped.”
Oren rushed in, grabbed the cell phone from her and threw it against the wall. It broke. He leaned over her and almost fell.
“I trusted you.”
“I was only calling the doctor. I need a doctor.”
“I take care of you!”
She saw his agony, his glazed eyes and trembling hands. Something had happened.
“Oren,” she said, “What did you do?”
<
br /> His mouth fell open. He dropped his head. His arms crossed around his ribs, his hands grabbing on tight to his shoulders. He seemed to catch himself, trying to literally hold himself together. He held his breath as if he wanted to get rid of the hiccups.
“What is it?” she asked again.
“I hurt Cookie.”
“Come here.”
He lurched toward her and fell onto his knees. She put her good hand in his hair. He looked up, took her hand and held it to his face. He stared into her eyes. She sighed. He was a beautiful boy, as familiar to her as her own past. He made her think of Jonathan when she had met him. A man and a child rolled into one.
“Stupid iguana,” he pouted.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Did I say it was?” And suddenly he was that other self. He stood and stepped away from her. The color crept back into his face. He looked at his watch. “Get up.” “Why?”
“I can’t believe you broke my phone.”
“You threw it.”
“Get the fuck up!” He thumped on her shoulder.
She sat up slowly. She did not know if her call had even gone through or had lasted long enough for them to trace her. Gingerly she put her feet on the floor. She was dizzy, but she tried not to show it. She didn’t want him to put her in that back room again. “I don't know if I can walk.”
Oren took the knife out of his pocket and opened it. She could see her reflection in the blade.
“What is that for, Oren? You don’t need that anymore.”
A car came down the street and stopped in front of the house. Oren leaned over her to look out the blinds. Winnie twisted around to look too. She caught her breath. It was Lacy in some old brown car, driven by a boy. He seemed familiar, but she wasn’t sure. Lacy was getting out of the car, frowning at the house. The boy got out on his side. Winnie banged on the window and shouted.
“No, Lacy! Go home! Don’t come in here! Lacy, no!”
Lacy heard her. She hesitated outside. She looked back over her shoulder, down the street as if help would come. Winnie knew there was no help.
“Run away!”
Lacy took a step back toward the boy’s car.
Oren smacked Winnie hard on the side of the head and she fell back onto the couch. He would not have her ruin this for him. Lacy was here, almost here, almost inside. He was not stupid. His plan had worked.
