by Megan Hart
“We were just fooling around,” he repeated.
“That’s what the other boys said, too.”
“Mrs. Adams,” Janelle said coldly, “I’m getting the feeling you think my son’s not telling the truth.”
The counselor didn’t answer.
Janelle stood. “Come on, Bennett.”
“Ms. Decker—”
“I’m taking my son home. If you have any further concerns, please feel free to call me.” Janelle gestured at Bennett, who didn’t move fast enough to suit her. “Let’s go. Now.”
In the car, he said nothing while Janelle counted to ten, then twenty, then another ten while she figured out what to say. “What’s going on?” was all she could finally come up with.
“Nothing.”
She thought of the missing hats, the dirt and scrapes. “Are you being bullied?”
“No!”
“You can tell me.” She had to swallow hard to get the lump out of her throat. “If they’re bullying you, Bennett, I’ll talk to the school—”
“No,” he insisted. “Mom, don’t. It’s fine. We were just fooling around, I told you. It’s fine.”
She said no more into she’d pulled into the driveway and turned off the ignition, but made no move to get out of the truck. “If something is going on, you know you can talk to me about it, don’t you?”
He shrugged and got out of the vehicle. Janelle followed him to the back door, pausing to toe off her shoes, but her head went up at the sound of Bennett’s startled cry.
“Mom!”
Heart dropping into her stomach, Janelle ran into the family room to find a chair overturned, Nan and Bennett nowhere to be found. They were both in the kitchen, Nan standing over a flaming pan on the stove. She backed away, eyes wide, as Janelle pushed past her to shove the pan off the burner. She twisted the knob to turn off the gas, but the flames didn’t disappear. Oil sloshed as she grabbed the pan and turned to dump it in the sink. Nan cried out, but Janelle couldn’t focus on her—she had to find the baking soda. Minutes later she’d dumped an entire box on the mess in the sink, dousing the flames.
The kitchen reeked, and everything was very, very quiet.
“Oh,” Nan said. “I’ve made a mess.”
There was the briefest second when Janelle imagined herself turning around and walking out the door. Getting in her truck. Driving away.
She didn’t.
“Bennett. Upstairs. Take a shower. Change your clothes. Put your dirty clothes in the basket and put it in the hall. Do your homework, and no games.” Bennett ducked away without protest, while Nan gave Janelle a trembling smile. To Nan, she said, “I’ve told you before, you need to let me handle the cooking.”
“You weren’t here,” Nan accused. “I woke up and you weren’t here.”
“I left you a note.”
Nan hesitated, shoulders hunched. She looked shrunken, diminished. “I didn’t read it. I didn’t...remember, honey. That you were supposed to be here. I woke up and was hungry for some fried potatoes. I didn’t remember you and Bennett.”
Janelle could think of no answer to that but words she didn’t believe. “It’s going to be fine. Everything’s okay.”
NINETEEN
JANELLE WAS MAKING a list.
Normally, she wasn’t the list-making sort. That had never meant she was unorganized—she’d needed to be on top of her game in the real estate business—just that she’d never been the kind who gained satisfaction from checking things off on a to-do list.
This house, though, needed a list. And how. Not just the usual sort, cataloging the amenities—the built-ins, the original woodwork, the hardwood floors that could be gorgeous if refinished. But also a list of the upgrades and repairs that the house would need before it could go on the market.
She didn’t want to make the list. Every item she wrote in her notebook was one more reminder that things were changing—had to change. No choice about it. She could refuse to get working on any of them, but it wouldn’t make a difference.
The problem was not just the number of problems she found as she went around the house, checking light switches and outlets and fixtures, but the cost of it all. Everything came down to money, in the end. As Mr. Tierney had said, it always came down to money when there wasn’t enough of it.
She peeked in on Nan, napping in her bed, before dialing Joey at work. He cut her off before she could do more than begin to describe the bulk of the work she thought needed to be done. He didn’t mean to be rude, she was sure, but still the brusqueness irritated her.
“How much do you think it’ll be? For the hot water heater and the dishwasher?”
“I haven’t really done any pricing yet. I’m just trying to get things organized, put in priority.” She paused. “It would be much nicer if we had a working dishwasher sooner rather than later. Same with the hot water heater. Right now I can get through one shower and one load of laundry—”
“The washer’s new,” he said. “We bought it for her just last year.”
The inside of Janelle’s cheek was already sore, but she bit it, anyway. “There’s nothing wrong with the washer. It’s the hot water heater. And about the rest...the big ticket items should be taken care of first. Someone might want to buy a house with outdated light fixtures or lovely wooden floors hidden under old and ugly carpet, but they’re not going to make a good offer on one without updated appliances.”
“What’s the matter with the carpet?”
Oops. Land mine. “It’s out of style and worn, that’s all. I pulled up a corner to see what sort of subflooring was under there, and—”
“It’s hardwood. When I was a kid, it was hardwood, but we paid for Mom to put in carpet for Christmas one year. We all chipped in.”
Janelle had never known the house without the burnt-orange shag carpet, so that Christmas must’ve been a long time ago. “We might want to consider ripping it out....”
“I don’t think so. No, I don’t think anyone will agree to that. If someone wants to buy the house, let them rip it out.”
Janelle wasn’t going to push it. She’d seen people cling to dumber things for longer, and for stupider reasons than sentimentality. “Okay. That’s fine. We can reevaluate it after...when the time comes.”
“And the rest of it?” he asked after a pause. “Those other things. The problems with the wiring, redoing the back porch steps...how much can we get away with leaving as-is?”
“I guess that depends on the buyer. And the market. All the things on the list are important to think about,” Janelle said. “Will some of them make a huge difference in whether or not we can sell the house? Probably not. But you never know.”
She’d been through this a hundred times before. Sellers wanted to get the most money out of their house, and the “you have to spend money to make it” argument didn’t always fly.
Her uncle sighed heavily. “Let me talk to Deb about it. And I’ll give Marty and Bobby and John a call, too. I’ll get back to you on the dishwasher. Have someone look at the hot water heater, see if you can get it fixed instead of buying new. Listen, I have to get back to work. Give my love to Mom, okay? I’ll shoot you an email with what we’ve decided.”
“Uncle Joey,” she said tightly. “Listen. I need a working hot water heater that can handle three people living in this house. There are dishes, showers, baths. The laundry alone is...” Janelle sighed and put a hand over her eyes for a moment. “Nan’s incontinent, okay? There are accidents. I need to be able to wash her things in water hot enough to get them really clean.”
“When we asked you to come out here and take care of her, it was with the understanding that you’d do that. That includes doing her laundry.”
For a moment, Janelle couldn’t think of how to reply. He’d totally missed the point. “I’m not complaining about doing the laundry. I’m just saying that I had to run a few loads of sheets and towels and other things today, and the hot water heater isn’t—”
�
�You know, we could’ve hired a nurse to come and stay with her, Janelle.”
“A nurse would’ve cost you more than a new hot water heater and a new dishwasher,” Janelle snapped. “You’ve given me power of attorney for your mother’s medical needs. Which means that if she goes to the hospital, I can sign her in. I can sign her out. I can determine if they give her lifesaving care. Or not. If she needs to be taken off of life support, I can do that, too, without consent from any of you. But I can’t spend more than a hundred dollars at a time at the store, and I can’t change any of the utilities or make repairs to this house without your permission.”
She paused to draw a breath, forcing herself to keep her voice calm and steady, not to give in to her emotions. “How does any of that make sense?”
Silence.
“What are you so worried about?” she asked finally, when he wouldn’t say anything.
“We’re not worried...it’s just that...look, the house is all she has,” Joey said. “The house and that little bit of money in the bank. It has to last. That’s all.”
Janelle thought of Nan, sleeping when she ought to be awake, and wakeful when everyone else slept. Of how frail she’d become. “It’s not like I’m asking to remodel the entire house. I don’t understand what the big deal is. If you don’t want me to tear up the carpet or make decorating improvements, that’s fine, but...but...” Janelle let out another low sigh, hating that it had come to this. “I need to be able to do these other things. Necessary things. Without being hobbled.”
“Your dad,” he said. And that was all.
Janelle’s stomach twisted. “What about my dad?”
“You don’t know, I guess. You wouldn’t.”
Across the alley, Gabe’s light went on. His curtain twitched, but he didn’t pull it all the way open. Janelle stood at the window, not even pretending otherwise, though her attention was taken up more by the phone pressed to her ear than any sort of strip show going on across the way.
Janelle could easily believe the worst of her father, but this sounded bad. “What did he do?”
“He was always a big talker, your dad.” Joey’s laugh sounded harsh. “A storyteller. He could sell ice to the Eskimo, you know what I mean?”
Janelle remembered her father’s stories. Promises made and broken. She’d learned not to count on him to show up on time for birthdays, but to expect something grandiose as a surprise when he did. “What did he do?”
“He talked Mom into giving him money. A lot of money. He talked her into taking out a second mortgage on the house to start some record producing business. He took things, too. From the house. To sell them.” Her uncle paused as though to give her time to reply, but her stomach was too sour for her to speak. “He stole from Mom, Janelle. Right out from under her.”
She hadn’t known, but she wasn’t surprised. “I’m not my dad. And you all asked me to come here, did you forget that? Because apparently none of the rest of you want this responsibility. Did you forget that, too?”
“Let me talk with everyone else about the repairs. About seeing you get a little more of a budget....”
Janelle shook her head, though of course, he couldn’t see her. “No. No budget. When you asked me to come out here, it wasn’t just to take care of Nan, it was to take care of the house. While she’s still here, and after. You told me that you wanted someone who’d make sure it was in the best condition to be sold, someone you could trust with it. Either you trust me...or you don’t.”
“I can’t just give you free rein! It’s not up to me!”
Janelle didn’t want to argue about it anymore. “Fine. Talk to them. Get back to me. But I need to be able to do things around this house, and I can’t if my hands are tied. If you’re really worried that I’m going to run off with something, or...I don’t even know what, then maybe you’d be better off hiring a nurse.”
“You’d leave Mom?” He sounded astonished.
“I don’t have to leave St. Marys,” Janelle told him. “Even if I don’t live in this house. I can still love my grandmother even if I’m not the one changing her sheets. After all...you all do.”
With that, it seemed obvious he had nothing more to say, so she disconnected.
Nan called her name from the bedroom. Tapping her phone against her palm, Janelle went to the door. “Hi. Can I get you something?”
“I’m going to get up, honey.” Nan yawned and set her book aside. “Who were you talking to? Is Benny home from school?”
“No. He will be soon, though. I was talking to Uncle Joey.”
“About the house.” Nan sighed. “He doesn’t want you to change things.”
“How’d you know?”
Nan laughed. “Because I know my son. Getting him to come around here to do anything has been a trial for years. You’d think this place was a national monument or something. I’m the one who had to live here all these years, it was my house, but Joey...oh, Joey, he likes to hold on to things tight. Your dad, now, if he were here and in charge of things, he’d never have argued. Your dad...he was never one to hang on to things.”
As a victim of her dad’s lack of sentimentality, Janelle understood that very well. “I don’t really want to change anything, either, Nan. I like your house the way it is.”
Nan smiled. “Me, too, honey. I’ve lived in this house for most of my life. I had five children in this house. And I’ll die in it, too.”
“Oh, Nan.” Janelle shook her head. “Don’t say that.”
“Don’t you start,” Nan scolded. “Nobody wants to talk about it, but that’s the truth. It won’t be long now. I’ve been hearing them calling.”
Janelle didn’t understand. “Who? The phone hasn’t—”
“No, no, not the phone.” Nan paused. “I hear them calling my name.”
“Who, Nan?”
She shrugged slightly. “I’m not sure, but I think it must be...angels.”
Janelle didn’t laugh. She didn’t even bite the inside of her cheek. Somehow the idea of angels calling out to her Nan seemed...right. “What do they say?”
“The first time it happened was just before I fell down the stairs. I’d taken a little nap, and I heard someone calling my name. ‘Maureen,’ they said. ‘Maureen!’” Nan lifted one finger. “Well, I thought it must be Helen, maybe coming by to pick me up for card club, but it was too early.”
Intent, Janelle leaned forward. “Who was it?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I got up out of bed and went to the living room. I thought for sure someone had come in.” Nan leaned forward a little bit, too, to whisper, “But there was nobody.”
“Maybe you...dreamed it?”
She sagged back onto the pillows and tossed her hands up. “Maybe I did! But it happened more than once.”
“Have you heard them lately?” This story intrigued Janelle. She didn’t discount it. She had never believed in ghosts, exactly, but she’d never not believed. It was a cliché to say that she’d met her share of New Age spiritualists while living in California, but it was true.
“Oh, yes,” Nan said quietly. “I still hear them. They say my name.”
“And that’s all?”
Nan hesitated. “Yes. Just my name.”
Janelle had experienced that sudden jerking feeling before falling asleep before. She tried to think if she’d ever heard someone calling her name. She thought of waking, heart pounding, sweating, ears straining for whatever it was that had torn her from sleep—Bennett’s cry, the snick of a locked door opening, an alarm. “Does it scare you?”
“Oh, no,” Nan said. “Why would it?”
“It would scare me,” Janelle admitted.
“It wouldn’t, if you knew it was someone who loved you.”
Janelle laughed lightly. “But...how would I know if it was someone who loved me?”
“You’d know.” Nan patted the bedspread again, then made motions of getting up. “Now help me up, Janelle, it’s time for my program.”
TWENTY
Then
GABE HAS A new blaze-orange hunting vest, an early Christmas present, his dad says. That means there won’t be anything else under the tree, but that’s okay. The new rifle that he can use now makes up for not having any presents on Christmas Day.
This is the first time he’s been invited along to camp. Four days and three nights, a half-dozen guys in the cabin, all of them his dad’s friends and none with sons of their own. Gabe’s known these guys his entire life. Not one has a second’s hesitation in cuffing him upside the head when he gets a smart mouth on him, but all of them make sure he’s fully equipped and prepared for the hunt.
Archie Miller gives him a bottle of deer pee to rub all over himself. Eddie Smith offers advice on packing toilet paper in his backpack, “just in case.” These men are like brothers, his dad included. And he’s different at camp, Gabe’s dad. Gabe’s never seen his dad smile so freely, much less burst out in knee-slapping laughter. The jokes are dirty, some of them going over Gabe’s head, and he knows better than to laugh or else face good-natured ridicule from the men asking him if he knows what he’s laughing at. Good-natured maybe even from his dad, who’s nothing like he is at home with his sour face and ready fists, but Gabe’s not taking a chance. He keeps quiet, drawing no attention to himself.
For dinner they eat pork ’n’ beans with franks cooked right in the pan. Hamburgers. Deer sausage, the last from the previous year’s hunting, and supposedly a good omen for bagging a buck this time around. Gabe’s never seen his dad so much as brown a piece of toast, but here he puts on a silly chef’s cap and a fake French accent as he whips up a meat loaf that rivals anything Mrs. Moser has ever left for them. After dinner, Gabe does the dishes in the sink, which doesn’t have running water, just buckets drawn from the pump outside and heated on the wood stove. The men play cards and drink beer and smoke cigars until the smoke’s so thick it turns them into ghosts. They lift their legs and fart. More dirty jokes, more stories that get louder and more graphic as the night wears on, until Archie, who Gabe’s dad has always said is half a moron, says, “Talking about whores, I seen your old lady over in Dubois last week. Damn, the titties on her....”
