The Gingerbread Boy

by Lori Lapekes

  “You’d what?” Daniel asked, raising his eyes in suspicion. “You’d stalk her?”

  Catherine gulped and put her hand over her mouth. “That’s not what I meant! Beth is a liar. She’s poisoning you against me. I saw her pull up in her car at your house one morning, I was watching behind the window. I have an idea what she was doing there, what she wanted…”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters!”

  Daniel’s face shot back up at her. “Catherine, do you honestly believe I want you scampering around as my nursemaid…” his voice trailed off, his eyes took on a stunned look. “I mean, trying to nurse my career along, while you let yours go? I don’t need a clinging vine. Because in the big picture, that’s what you’d become.”

  “Where do you get this crap?” Catherine whispered, her knees weakening treacherously.

  “It’s the truth.”

  Catherine reached back and had to grasp the doorknob to catch her balance. Daniel reached for her, and suddenly she was in his arms, suddenly gushing out words she was helpless to control.

  “What’s happened to you? Why won’t you talk to me anymore? You used to tell me everything. I know you cared about me. Once… once when you were swinging me around on the porch, you said you loved me. I heard it. Maybe you didn’t think I did. What happened to that?”

  She felt Daniel’s strength drain. He trembled against her and turned his face away. His voice was a whisper. “I’m a performer. I’ve always been good at it. You were just another audience. Just another private audience.”

  Before she even knew what she was doing, Catherine pulled away. She drew back her arm. The sharp sound of her hand slapping Daniel’s face filled the house.

  There was utter silence as she stared at the red mark growing on his cheek.

  “I’m sorry!” she sputtered.

  Daniel turned to look at her. His voice was oddly calm as he felt his cheek. “You hate me, don’t you?”

  “Hate you?” Catherine asked.

  “Yes. Hate me. Because you should. It’s better off that way. I could use you. I could use you over and over and over again, and you’d just keep bounding back, like a gullible little puppy that’ll never learn. I’m glad you’re devoting your life to helping animals, because you can’t help me. Do what Hazel wanted and expected you to do. Concentrate on your own career, because you certainly can’t help me with mine.”

  Catherine stiffened, made a face. Her arm trembled; she wanted to slap Daniel again. He seemed to be deliberately asking for it. Deliberately trying to…

  He raised one hand, tipped her chin up with his finger. Once more, his eyes were cold and remote. “Goodbye. Goodbye my little fluffy-puppy fixer.”

  Then he backed a few steps and reached past her for the doorknob. Grasping it as best he could, and yet fumbling oddly with it, he finally opened the door, still staring at her.

  Then he turned his back and was gone.

  ****

  Catherine lounged in the hottest bath she’d ever tortured herself with. She stared numbly at the opposite end of the tub, staring listlessly at her toes poking out of the water and resting against the porcelain. She felt hollow, deflated.

  She wished she could cry.

  No tears came.

  She wished she could scream.

  She had no voice.

  She wished she could beat the walls down with her fists, tear something apart, as the tornado had.

  She had no energy. She had no body.

  Just a head and feet. The insides had caved in, been smeared away. There was nothing there. Just a hollow shell.

  She could hear Joanne clanking dishes in the sink downstairs. She heard Penny’s music playing faintly in a room down the hall.

  They didn’t know what had happened, yet. But they could guess.

  Catherine closed her eyes to let the world melt away, but all she could visualize was Daniel as the Grim Reaper in Bruiser’s driver’s seat.

  ****

  Daniel walked alone in the brisk wind.

  He’d been walking a long time. Shuffling, actually. Trance-like. Zombie-like.

  At last he stopped. He lifted red-rimmed and streaming eyes to gaze at billowing white clouds in the sky. Puffy white clouds with edges tainted a rosy pink from the lowering sun.

  He was also in the stages of a lowering sun. Then the enormity of what he’d just done to Catherine because of it finally hit him like a fist. He lurched over, grasping the rough edges of an old wooden-railed fence just in time to keep from falling. Gasping, tracing the hot spot on his cheek from the slap, Daniel walked crab-like along the fence until he found a spot to settle on.

  What had he done? Had it really been the right thing to do? Was it truly noble, or truly cowardly? He’d miss Catherine with all his soul. He missed her already.

  Below him, a tattered yellow newspaper fluttered across his path and plastered against a bush. Daniel stared at the remains of the dog-eared paper rippling in the wind. Then he turned his face toward the sky.

  “Rescue Catherine,” he groaned, his voice breaking, “Please, rescue her from me.”

  Then he turned his tear-streaked face down and sobbed violently, praying he’d done the right thing, and thinking, horribly, that he might never know.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Joanne folded her arms together and arched a skeptical eyebrow at the stuffed-to-the-brim vehicle. She then slumped into a chair on the porch.

  “I can’t believe that old heap will take us all the way to Maryland without some kind of hideous disaster,” she said.

  Catherine shrugged off a couple of totes and let them drop to the floor.

  “It’ll make it. Don’t worry. I’ve done this before.”

  Joanne grimaced. “Yeah, just with you and your things, not with my stuff, me, and my wide world of sports to boot.”

  Catherine looked at the old car and sighed. “It is kind of beat up,” she agreed.

  “Kind of how I feel,” said Joanne. “I can’t even imagine how beat up you feel. How are you going to drive all that way home without a long, hot bath to soak in? Maybe we should just fill the car with water so only our heads stick out, and you can pretend it’s a hot steam bath.”

  Catherine shook her head. “Nah. I’d get carsick.”

  “I’d get sea-sick.”

  Both girls laughed.

  Catherine rested against the wall of the house and tipped her head against the siding. She shut her eyes. “What’s become of us, Joanne? Whatever will we do now?”

  “Oh I don’t know,” Joanne said. “All I can say is I’m glad I have a newly rich best friend who’s going to let me rent a mansion with her for seventy-five cents a week this summer.”

  “It’s a dollar a week” said Catherine.

  Joanne’s eyes bulged. “Highway robbery, I say!”

  Catherine opened her eyes. “The cost of bath suds is higher in Maryland — forgot to mention that.”

  “Well, I never,” Joanne groaned. “I’ve been had! Had, I tell ya!”

  “I think we both have.” Catherine said quietly. She’d been trying not to be gloomy, trying not to be morose. After all, Joanne and Joey were no longer seeing each other, either. She felt somehow responsible for that; it was as though Daniel’s moodiness had rubbed off on Joey, too, causing his and Joanne’s relationship to fall apart. Although their fallout happened less abruptly, Joanne had feigned indifference to the disintegrating nature of her and Joey’s relationship, but Catherine knew better. Joanne was deeply hurt and confused as well.

  “Silly old southerner drove me nuts, anyway,” said Joanne. She leaned forward and put her chin in her hand. “All that ’epitome‘ stuff. Too weird for me. We were never a real couple, anyway. You know that, Cath. Not like you and Daniel were.”

  Catherine cocked her head at her friend. “Know what, Jo? I’ve been thinking. I’d only known Daniel for about seven months. Seven months of life is too short to get so messed up, isn’t i
t? Too messed up for such a short time.”

  “My cousin Sherrie knew her boyfriend for seven years before they got married, then they got divorced after seven months,” Joanne said. “But my mom and dad met, and got married within six months. And they’re still together today. Happily married for twenty-five years. I don’t think time has a lot to do with it when you meet the right one.”

  “The right one,” Catherine whispered. She gazed over at the railing she and Daniel had fallen over together not that many weeks ago. It had been badly repaired by the landlord. He’d just kind of re-nailed and glued the broken pieces together in such a shoddy fashion it looked even more of an eyesore than before. But it was so much more than an eyesore to Catherine. It was a memory. A wonderful memory. After the fall, Daniel had picked her up, twirled her around and told her he loved her.

  “Cath… what is it, are you okay?” Joanne asked, pushing out of her chair.

  Catherine held up a palm in a ”stop” motion. “I’m fine,” she said, trying to force the nostalgia back into that tight little spot in her heart where she could slam down the lid. But as she pulled away from the wall to take a few steps to collect herself, and wiped her eyes, she opened them only to find an image of Daniel leaning against that same wall, sound asleep, as he had that wonderful morning after reappearing from his supposed identity crisis.

  “He haunts me, Joanne,” Catherine said. “But I have to get past it. There’s so much to do, so much to look forward to now. I’ve got to regroup. I’ve got to, ‘Think, girl, think!’” she added, mimicking Hazel with a pitiful laugh. She looked up in the air and tightened her fists, facing Joanne, who was looking at her with a strange darkness in her eyes.

  “I will get over this!”

  “What ol’ Robin Hood did to you was inexcusable,” Joanne said. “Identity crisis or not. Career choices or not. Sucking up to Beth, or not. No lame excuse will ever be good enough for me to forgive him. And he’s supposed to be so righteous, so above the grit in this world. Him and his band, changing the world for the better. Right. At the expense of how many broken hearts? It’s all a front, Catherine. Just like the name of his stupid band. We should have both figured it out earlier.”

  Catherine put her face in her hand, felt her head spinning. What Joanne was saying all seemed true. Hard to accept, but true. Yet there were still things that didn’t add up, something that pulled at the back of her mind.

  Something that wouldn’t let go.

  “I once knew the real Daniel, Joanne, and he wasn’t a phony. I can’t help but think there was something else going on within him. Maybe it had to do with growing up in South America, I don’t know. He’s had a lot of trials to face.”

  Joanne twirled a finger in the air. “Whoopie do. Everyone has baggage.”

  Catherine nodded. “It’s just that last time I saw him keeps going over and over in my mind. I’m not totally nuts, but something wasn’t right that day.”

  “That’s because he told you, and quite cruelly, that it was over. You have to forget it.”

  “I know, I want to. But something else was wrong that day, and I just can’t put my finger on it. It was almost as if he tried too hard to get me to hate him. And he looked so drained. Sick, almost. He’d been pushing himself so much he was getting weak. He was exhausted, and tripping, and moody… and he’d been that way for a while before that. Maybe he just couldn’t keep it together. Not with the band, and me, and his memories. It was just too much. He wasn’t strong enough for it all, no matter how much he tried, or how much he prayed.”

  “Maybe he didn’t pray for the right things.”

  “I’ll probably never know,” said Catherine, and something sank deeper in her heart than it ever had. “I don’t know everything that went on in his head, and it seems he didn’t, either. Maybe the only thing real to him was God.”

  “Fine way to show it, don’t you think?” Joanne said, lifting from her chair. “Especially if he did run off with Beth. Or even if he just took her advice to dump you in exchange for his career. Even if he just one day says to ditch this all and slinks back down to South America to hide in a cave on some lonely mountaintop to be one with the universe, it was wrong of him to treat you like he did.”

  When Catherine remained quiet, Joanne eyed her peculiarly. “You do agree with me, don’t you?

  When Catherine still didn’t respond, Joanne tugged on her shirtsleeve.

  “Don’t you?”

  “I like that mountaintop image,” Catherine said in a small voice. “And I think, even after all this, I might still go up there and sit with him and try to figure it all out together.”

  Suddenly Joanne’s hands were on her shoulders, shaking her. “Snap out of it, Sealy! Forget the mountaintops. Don’t be such a wuss! Wusses don’t make good drivers, and I’m not going to be the one driving that four-wheeled contraption in the driveway hundreds of miles because you’re stuck in La-La land again.”

  “All right all right!” Catherine said. “I’ll slip back into reality now.”

  As Joanne sighed and lowered her arms, Catherine bent down to reach for the bags she’d dropped earlier. “I’m ready to go. I really am.”

  She gazed out past the porch rails, past her car, and tried to smile at the still, peaceful morning. Dewdrops still sparkled on the bushes and the scent of grass hung in the air.

  There was so much to look forward to. There truly was.

  As she hoisted the bags over her shoulder and started down the steps, she stopped and looked over her shoulder to study the house.

  “Maybe I’ll buy this place,” she said.

  “Buy this ol’ dump?” Joanne said, retrieving a few small bags of her own. “Why would you want to do that?”

  Catherine shrugged, then glanced surreptitiously at the broken rail.

  “I don’t know. For the memories, I guess.”

  Joanne came up beside her, turned, and looked back at the home.

  “It also has memories of Cave Pig chasing you around like a demented gorilla before you locked him in the basement.”

  “True,” Catherine agreed, “But it also holds memories of me stuffing Beth under the bed and pushing her with my foot.”

  “But at the time you did that to keep her safe.”

  "Yes, but even back then I could have done it a little more gently. I sort of enjoyed it.”

  Joanne laughed. “The truth comes out at last.”

  “It was a little fun.”

  “I think Beth and Calvin have disappeared off the face of the Earth, and that’s fine with me,” said Joanne. “I never want to hear about either of them again. If I don’t hear about Joey or Daniel or the band ever again, either, that’d also be all right with me.”

  “Me, too,” Catherine said softly.

  She wasn’t at all sure she meant it, and knew Joanne understood. She was so lucky to have a friend like Joanne. A true kindred spirit. Joanne smiled one of her goofy smiles at Catherine, and flung an arm over her shoulder. The connection felt good, real and hefty, and helped to keep Catherine rooted in reality.

  Then they turned and walked across the sun-dappled lawn to the old vehicle, preparing for a journey that had nothing to do with physical distance.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “So which wing of this shack is going to be mine?” Joanne asked, plopping her suitcases down on the marble floor. The sound echoed across the mansion.

  Catherine also flung her suitcases down. She stretched, gazing around the formal entranceway, checking for scrapes on the floor. They were gone. She glanced up at the banister, and smiled. Apparently Stewart had worked on the rails, too.

  “This place is beautiful.” Joanne gushed, turning in circles. “I thought you said it was dark and horrid.”

  “It was,” Catherine replied. “I guess Stewart’s been cleaning. All the drapes are open now, too.”

  “Ah… but are the windows clean?” Joanne asked, raising an indignant finger.

  Catherine glanced to the
top of the stairs at the hallway. Sunlight coursed through it, brightening the whole second floor.

  Beautiful, healing sunlight.

  For the first time in a long while, Catherine’s mouth tipped in a true smile.

  Joanne fondly shook Catherine’s shoulder, looking giddy. “You’ll never have to clean. You’re rich now. Hire some tall, dark and handsome man to do your every whim and bidding.”

  Catherine laughed.

  Joanne shook her head. “Just make sure he’s not from the South, okay? Transylvania would be better than that.”

  “You got it.” Catherine said. Then, looking about she whispered inconspicuously to herself, “Hazel… I’m finally home.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Catherine was sorting through a bag of winter clothes when a blur of fuzzy red fabric surfaced. She froze, gazing at it in shock.

  A few seconds later feeling returned. She pinched the scarf between her thumb and index finger and raised it in the air, letting its full length dangle before her eyes.

  Daniel’s scarf. The scarf he’d had since he was twelve years old. That faded, worn old scarf she’d forgotten about all these months. Suddenly she was balling it in her hands, crushing it to her chest. Tears filled her eyes as memories flooded back to her…

  Daniel when she first met him, the scarf snuggled around the lower part of his face so she could barely see the kind voiced stranger who slid down in the snow next to her. Daniel, yanking the scarf away from his face in the lonely, cold ballroom, then dropping it slowly to the floor. She pressed the scarf to her nose, hoping to still smell him. But there was only the scent of an old yarn. It prickled her nose.

  Catherine sank to the floor and bunched the scarf up under her head for a pillow. Daniel had once tied it around her head to warm her from a blizzard. She would wear it once more. At least for a little while.

  ****

  Catherine sat back, rested the spade against her knee, and stared at the basketball-sized hole she had made in the Earth. She lifted the shrunken-head doll to gaze at its grotesque stitched eyelids and stringy black hair for the last time.