by Lacey Silks
Dim light flickered behind the draped sheets over the windows.
“Stay in the car. Keep your phone with you.”
“But…”
“No buts, Millie. I can’t have you hurt. I’ll go in on my own, get the necklace, and come right back out. Savage’s probably stoned anyways. He won’t even know I was there.”
“Okay.”
I closed the car door softly and first thought about going into the house from the back, but when I saw the front door ajar, I took option number two. Inside, the house was quiet. Dozens of shoes, some pairs, some singles, were scattered on the hallway floor. A dirty shirt hung on the railing and another one lay crumpled in a corner. Stray socks completed the littered look. A stench of unwashed clothes and dirt hung in the air.
I turned right, toward the room I’d seen lit from outside. Savage was leaning back on the living room couch, his mouth open and eyes closed, feet up on the table, and a baseball cap covering his face. An urge to strangle him curled through me but I shook it off. If it weren’t for this bastard, half of Millie’s troubles wouldn’t have existed. But as much as I wanted to hurt him at that moment, I couldn’t find the will to attack an unsuspecting man. A snore rumbled from his mouth, and he moved his feet sideways.
Shit.
A few inches more and he’d knock all three candles off the table. In his hand, clenched between his fingers, was Millie’s necklace. I crouched beside him and started untwining the silver. The chain was broken at one end, but looked fixable. He’d strung it around his hand, over and over again. I freed the pendant with care just as Savage startled and opened his eyes. Groggy, he thrashed out with his feet and the candles fell to the ground, instantly lighting a stray shirt. The half-full bottle of booze rolled off the table and added fuel to the fire. It only took a few seconds before it looked like the entire room was lit.
I grabbed the drunk Savage under his arm and carried him out the front door.
“Is there anyone else in the house?” I asked him, but he wasn’t coherent enough to reply.
Millie ran up to the front of the house as I set him on the front lawn.
“Get out of here, Millie.”
“I called the fire department.”
“Good. Now go!”
“What about you?”
“I have to check the upstairs.”
“Dave, don’t… I can’t lose you.”
“I can’t have anyone die in here. Not because of me.”
“Let me go, then. It’s breaking and entering. You can’t have something like this on your record if you’re going to be a cop. He’s stoned. He won’t even remember this.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not risking your life.”
I kissed her quickly and went back inside. The house was full of smoke. I covered my mouth and nose with a cloth and went through the house, calling out. “Is anyone here? Hello?”
But no one answered. By the time I got upstairs, the staircase behind me was ablaze, leaving no way out. I broke the window in the back and jumped out onto the shed roof a few feet away from the house, hoping I hadn’t missed anyone. The sound of the sirens wailed in the distance. In between, I heard Millie crying my name. I jumped the fence and ran to the front of the house.
“You’re okay?” Millie’s yellow dress was covered in dirt and soot.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t think there was anyone else inside. And the necklace…” I reached into my pocket. It was empty. “It’s gone. I must have dropped it. I’m so sorry Millie.”
“Don’t be. I’m just glad you’re safe and alive. And at least he doesn’t have it.”
She held her arms tightly around me, but disappointment consumed me. I had let her down.
Chapter 15
Millie
Another foster home.
I was beginning to wonder whether a good home, the kind I saw other kids have, even existed for me. Then I wondered some more – about what I’d done in the world to deserve this.
At least Timothy got adopted. That’s what Child Services told me. He was in a good home¸ with both parents and one other sibling. I wished it were me. I missed my little brother. I missed the way he smiled at me and the way he made me feel loved. We hadn’t had much time together, but he was the only true piece of innocence from my childhood. I wondered what he looked like, whether he had my mother or father’s eyes, and whether he liked school. He should be starting grade one this September. For me, two more years of high school and I’d be done!
Freedom was within my grasp, that is, if I could only live with these savages.
I chuckled to myself because Karma sometimes got it right – their Savage last name was well deserved.
“So, what happened to you?” Mark, the oldest brother, asked.
“Life.”
“You want a beer?”
“I’m underage.”
“So?”
“So, you shouldn’t be offering me beer.”
“You’re a goodie two shoes? Well, we can work on that.” He eyed me from the bottom up. I didn’t like the look; I’d seen it often enough. That night I pushed the dresser in my room against the door, put my backpack underneath my head, and listened as Mark fucked a girl on the other side of the wall. He grunted, she moaned, and I knew they were doing it all so that I would hear them.
Fucking asshole!
Present time
As I was pouring the pumpkin batter over the pie crust, Dave walked through the front door. My breath hitched. Even covered in dirt, he managed to look like he belonged on a calendar cover. Their police station should have done one a long time ago. They would have raised big money.
He held my gaze longer than usual. What was he thinking? Would my heart beat as wildly each time I saw him return from work, the way it did now? Had he forgotten about his promise to have me before we left? I doubted it. After my conversation with Mrs. Bowers, that was all I’d been thinking about in this kitchen. In fact, if it weren’t for her presence here, I was pretty sure I’d make a move of my own. Heck, we’d hooked up before, why couldn’t we now? Especially since my hormones were misbehaving and my mojo was at an all-time high. Was it because I knew I couldn’t have him? Right now, Gwen was the only one allowed to scratch her nails over those hard muscles. Jealousy filled me in an instant. Why would he have made that promise to me, then?
This place was making me think crazy. As I looked at Dave, I saw his mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear him. What the heck happened to his voice? It wasn’t until a ball of Mrs. Bowers’ yarn hit me over the head that I came out of my trance.
“Millie?”
“Yeah?”
Dave laughed and came over to the counter. “When did you become so domesticated?”
The smell of sweat and earth fused around my nostrils. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve just never seen you this homey.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Truth was, when we’d lived together, my culinary skills hadn’t exactly matched Martha Stewart’s. When I’d tried to cook, I’d either burned stuff or served it partially cooked.
He reached forward to the pumpkin pie filling in the pan and I slapped his hand. Ha! Maybe now he’d realize that Gwen wasn’t the only one with domestic talents.
“You better shower if you want to eat with us.”
“I’ll shower. And yeah, I definitely want to eat.” He gave me that look again, the one that warned me and excited me at the same time.
As soon as Dave left, I cleaned the kitchen and started setting the table. The sun was shining through the windows, and Mrs. Bowers shuffled her feet back and forth across the room, looking for something underneath the decorative plant, the couch, and behind her big dusty chair.
“Dorothy,” she called out. “Where are you? That cat has been going out more and more. Everyone’s left, and now the cat,” she mumbled. I’d never seen her worry about Dorothy. She was either angry or obnoxious, but never too concerned about her cat.
/> “Don’t worry about it. She always comes back.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“She will.”
I didn’t want to start the argument that the cat could be looking for a quiet place to give birth all over again. I had a feeling this cat meant more to Mrs. Bowers than she was willing to admit. Just as I was garnishing the sweet potatoes and spooning the cranberries into a bowl, Dave came back downstairs. I hadn’t thought he could be more attractive than when sweaty and dirty and all worked up, with bunched muscles and grease streaking his body, but apparently, he could. His fresh scent wafted toward me, and I felt weak in my knees.
Dave moved one of the chairs away from the table, took Mrs. Bowers’ hand, and helped her to one of the seats. The gesture was so kind, it kept me frozen in one spot. He then moved a second chair out and extended his hand toward me. I brought the two remaining bowls to the table and came around to where he was, taking the seat he offered, but keeping clear of his touch.
Why was I so afraid to touch him? It was that stupid look he had in his eyes, which softened my knees and made me wonder whether I was strong enough to resist him.
As I reached forward, Mrs. Bowers frowned. “You need to pray.”
“All right.” I lowered my head and closed my eyes, somewhat surprised at the sudden interest in faith she was showing.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Praying,” I said, through my teeth. My jaw snapped, and if I bit down any harder, I’d crack a tooth.
“Not that way. Hold hands, look at each person around the table, and tell them what you’re grateful for. That’s what Thanksgiving is all about.”
When had she turned into a saint? I wasn’t even sure if Mrs. Bowers remembered what the inside of a church looked like. Besides, it wasn’t Thanksgiving just yet. It would be tomorrow, but figuring it would be a shame not to cook early and indulge in leftovers for the next three days, we had started a day early.
“I’ll start,” she continued. “I’m grateful that I’m alive.” She then squeezed my hand lightly and looked at me. “Also that I have someone who will cook a decent meal for me on Thanksgiving, even though it’s not until tomorrow.” Then she looked to Dave: “And for the handsome young man who never forgets that an old lady like me may not be able to do all the chores on her own.”
Wow, that was nicer than I’d expected. Both pairs of eyes were on me. I turned to the right, where Mrs. Bowers was sitting. “I’m grateful that you were here when I needed someone to spend Thanksgiving with.” And theI squeezed Dave’s hand. “And I’m grateful to have my closest friend with me.”
Honestly, I should have thanked him for not bringing Gwen, but I didn’t want to ruin this peaceful moment.
Dave cleared his throat. “I’m grateful I haven’t given up on you, Millie. And I’m grateful that the house where I created the most important memories of my life is still standing.”
Wow! My cheeks felt hot, and my gaze flew from him to Mrs. Bowers. But if she knew what we’d done in the attic, she wasn’t letting on.
I cleared my throat and started plating a little bit of everything while Dave sliced through the turkey. With a little bit of chitchat, I managed to make it through dinner with minimal eye contact.
“So, where have you been this week?” Dave finally asked.
Before I got a chance to open my mouth, Mrs. Bowers jumped in. “The old house you took her shooting at.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”
Was that his foot I just felt under the table? “Because I wanted to be left alone.”
“What if the owners came back?”
“She’s the owner.” I pointed to Mrs. Bowers, somewhat hoping to draw Dave’s attention away from me, but he only seemed to be getting closer to me by the minute. Had he just moved his chair over? And that was his foot. I gave him the stop-that look and jutted my fork into a piece of squash as if I wanted to murder it. If he continued sending all these mixed signals my way, I was afraid I’d lose it. I was so tired of thinking about us, I no longer had any strength to fight him off. I just wanted to eat the meal in peace.
And as if hearing my plea, Dave left me alone for the remainder of dinner. We chatted with Mrs. Bowers about the days when Tim was still alive and how much more difficult it was for her to take care of the farm now.
“Why don’t you just sell it?” I asked.
“No, it’s not the right time yet.”
“You’re afraid if you die, the money will go to Katie, aren’t you?” I asked.
“No, because she’s not the heir. Her daughter is. And I will not let the grim reaper step over the threshold of that door until I know that Molly is aware of this.”
“Hhmm, and what have you done to find her?” Dave asked.
A look of confusion passed over her face, and I said, “Why don’t you let us worry about that for you? We can check the city records.”
“Thank you,” she yawned. “But don’t think that I’ll kick the bucket just because you find out where my granddaughter is.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.”
“I think I’ll call it a night, then.” She stretched her arms out and rubbed her full belly before letting out a satisfied sigh. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“We wouldn’t dare.”
Dave helped Mrs. Bowers to her bedroom. She had started yawning around her seven o’clock bedtime. Part of me wished she’d delay it, because in all honesty, I was afraid to be left alone with Dave. But another part was anxious. Would he fulfill his promise tonight? Did I want him to? Heck, yes!
Once Mrs. Bowers had retreated to her room, Dave loaded the dirty dishes into the sink. I washed them one by one, setting them aside. Dave cleared up the rest of the table before coming over to stand beside me. He dried the wet plates and utensils on the rack and stacked them back in the cupboards. The routine felt nice and familiar, reminding me of when we’d lived together, when Dave’s dad had first adopted me. Back then, he brought the comfort of safety. The years I’d spent there were probably the best four of my life.
With him standing so close to me, I felt goosebumps cover my arms. Afraid that he’d keep his word and drag me up to that attic, my stomach began doing flip flops, so when Dave went to the washroom I took the opportunity to dash out of the house. Armed with a flashlight and a warmer sweater, I went for a walk to the stream where we used to jump off the swinging rope.
Maybe my ‘memories’ from the river at the old house were mixed with the ones I had from here? Perhaps I was meant to clean it for Molly. As I pushed my feet through the dried leaves on the ground, I wondered whether I could actually find her granddaughter and bring peace to the old lady before she died. The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that I was meant to find out the truth about that blue house. It all made perfect sense now. Everything had a purpose in life, including an asshole like Mark Savage. If he hadn’t been let out early, Dave would have never taken me to the blue house to shoot, and I would have never found it. It was meant to be. I knew I was connected to that house somehow, and now that I’d found the answer I felt the excitement bubble up inside me.
As I walked, the wind howled. It wasn’t completely dark yet, but the sun had already dipped below the horizon, and the longer shadows were becoming creepier. While I knew this path well, it had been a while since I’d been here, and maneuvering through the overgrown dried shrubs was proving difficult. Even though we came to Mrs. Bowers’ house several times each year, I hadn’t ventured this far out onto the property in years. The sound of flowing water made me want to pee, and I wished I had used the washroom before running out.
At the riverbank, one of the trees looked like it had been struck by lightning and split in two: half of it leaned out over the water, its thinner tips touching the other side of the shore. I climbed the tree up onto the branch before sitting down on the trunk over the water, dangling my feet in the air.
Today had brought me peace, and
for the first time in a long while, I smiled at the universe. The everyday loneliness wasn’t as difficult to process now— probably because I wasn’t on my own. But what would happen once my mission to find Molly was complete? Would I feel as fulfilled if I were in Mrs. Bowers’ shoes, living alone, with few visitors through the year?
The rustle of leaves startled me, and I shined my flashlight toward the sound. It was almost pitch black, and I couldn’t see further than a couple feet of the shore.
“Dave?” I called.
“Yes?”
“Just making sure.”
“You know there are bears around these forests.”
“Never seen one.”
“And wolves.”
“You’re trying to scare me.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe. Why did you leave on your own?”
His hands were in his pockets. Standing at the water’s edge, with my flashlight illuminating him, Dave looked too darned cute for his own good.
“Just wanted to think,” I said, and looked down at my dangling feet.
“Do you remember how much fun it was to spend our summers here?” he asked.
Of course, I remembered. It was where I realized how deeply in love I’d fallen with Dave. Despite it being Mrs. Bowers’ piece of land, this had always been one of my favorite places to come to. It felt like a second home to me. I felt the tree crunch and bend lower, giving way to more weight. Was he coming over? With the tree skewed to the back of me, I couldn’t turn around to have a look — not if I didn’t want to fall.
“I don’t think it will hold us both,” I said.
“Sure it will.”
I noted this moment in my memory for the next time that he called me stubborn. “You know, you haven’t changed, Dave. Still as determined as ever.”
