by Ann Mullen
What You See
by Ann Mullen
http://www.aftonridge.com
Copyright © 2003 by Ann Mullen
ISBN 13: 978-0-9725327-1-6
This book is a work of fiction. Any characters portrayed, living or dead are imaginary. Any resemblance to actual persons is completely coincidental. Any places, business establishments, locales, events, or incidents in this book are the product of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Table of Content
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Once in a while you come across something that really catches your eye. But beware, what you see is not always what you get, and what you get is not always what you want. My mother taught me that when I was a kid. Bless her heart, to this day she has a saying that applies to everything under the stars. As a matter-of-fact, she comes up with some stuff that just baffles my mind. It makes you wonder if parents sit around all day and think up stuff just to confuse you. Don’t they have other things to do?
I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning. My name’s Jessica Watson. My friends call me Jesse. My childhood was like any normal childhood, with the exception of being fortunate enough to have the same two parents. Nowadays, not many kids grow up with a mom and a dad, especially ones that are happy and create a good home life. I’m not saying everything was perfect, but it was about as good as it gets. I have an older brother, Jack, and a younger sister, Claire. Jack’s a lawyer and Claire’s married, with two kids, a house, and a new Mercedes. That says it all. They grew up and met all the expectations of our parents, while I just grew up. I think I did, however, sometimes I wonder. I’m thirty-one years old and have never been married. I’ve done my share of dating, but my luck with men is like my luck with jobs—pitiful. The right job hasn’t come along and Mr. Right hasn’t shown himself. I haven’t given up; I’ve just quit looking.
Like my brother and sister, I was born and raised in Newport News, Virginia. We call it Tidewater because it’s part of several cities located on a small peninsula on the east coast that boast of great fishing and hunting. You either made a living doing one or the other, or you worked in the shipyard where boats are overhauled. I don’t think any of those challenging careers alone was the lifeline of our city. We also have Langley Air Force Base, Fort Eustis, Fort Monroe, Camp Peary, and the Norfolk Naval Base, where my dad, Mack was last stationed until he retired a year ago. Upon his retirement, he decided it was time to leave what was now an overgrown city, and move to a quiet place a little less populated. My mom, Minnie, was ready to do anything he wanted.
Somewhere along the way, Mom and Dad finally found the place they wanted to live. They bought a house in the mountains located in a little town called Stanardsville, Virginia, thirty miles the other side of Charlottesville. I never thought they’d actually pack up and leave until I got the call from them saying they had found that special place they were looking for and wanted me to go with them to see it.
I found it hard to accept the fact that the home we had all shared was going to be sold and there would be nothing left, except the memories. Claire and her family lived in Washington, D.C., Jack lived in Fairfax, and now, Mom and Dad would be living in a little cabin in the woods, leaving me to be the only one left in our hometown. It made me feel so alone. I tried to comfort myself by the knowledge that at least we all lived within a few hours of each other. I could see this was going to be a major adjustment.
Saturday, while I was sitting around the house indulging myself in self-pity and trying to get my laundry done, the phone rang.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hi, honey. This is your mom. I just wanted to see if next weekend would be a good time for you to go with us to see the house. We’re planning to stay overnight. Oh, I just know you’re going to love it. As I’ve said before, if you want to, you could move in with us. There’s plenty of room.”
How many times is she going to tell me that? I thought, but didn’t say. Instead, all I said was, “Sure, next weekend will be fine. When are you leaving?”
“We’ll be leaving on Friday. Why don’t you come over after work and we can leave right after you get here?”
“I’ll be there,” I said and continued to listen as she went on and on about the house, the mountains, and how much I was going to love it. “Okay, Mom, I’ll see you Friday.”
I hung up the phone and went back to the task at hand—laundry. I hated doing laundry. I really hated doing laundry when I was depressed.
Friday came all too soon and the next thing I knew, we were on our way. The closer we got to our destination, the more I understood how my folks felt. I had forgotten how beautiful the mountains of Virginia are. Dad had taken us camping on the Skyline Drive several times when we were kids, until Mom had finally had enough of tents and the great outdoors... putting an end to our frolicking in the woods.
The weekend turned out to be very interesting. Mom was right. I loved the house. It wasn’t as big as the one in Tidewater, but it wasn’t the little cabin in the woods I had expected. It was just like one of the country homes you see in magazines. The structure was a Cape Cod design featuring a wraparound porch, and I couldn’t believe how far off the ground the house stood.
“I guess you don’t have to worry about floods, huh?” I asked.
“Exactly,” Dad replied. “That was the whole purpose.”
The minute I stepped onto the front porch, a swarm of flying insects attacked me. “What in the world was that?” I screamed as I swatted at the flying pests. “Oh, yuck... beetles.”
“They’re not beetles, they’re ladybugs. They won’t hurt you. Just knock them off,” Mom replied.
Dad went on to explain, “It seems some years ago, the Dept. of Agriculture released millions of them to eat the Gypsy Moths that were killing off the Oak trees. As many as there are of them, it must be working.”
“I hope so. However, I think they have reproduced to the point where you’ll have to wear bee’s netting to be able to be outside without having them land in your face, hair and who knows where else.” This was just too much. I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Let’s go inside,” I said as I listened to them fly into the outside walls. “Do you have to put up with this all the time?”
Mom looked at me like I was such a child. Imagine this attitude coming from a woman who couldn’t stand camping, sleeping on the ground, cooking meals over an open fire, and dealing with insects and animals that you come across only while you’re in the woods. Yet, she was born and raised in North Carolina, out in the country, and was the daughter of a tobacco farmer—a long line of tobacco farmers. We won’t go there. There’re some things in my past that I don’t want to get into. I will tell you that my grandfather was a major player as a Tobacco
Lord. He paid his people twenty-five cents an hour, the going rate at the time, and treated them like they were dirt. They were his niggers and weren’t worth a dime. I still get mad every time I remember hearing him say stuff like that. He’s been dead for twelve years now, the unfortunate victim of something he ate—his shotgun. What does that tell you?
“Mr. James, the previous owner, said they only get bad like this in the early spring and late fall. By the way, Mr. James is a very interesting man,” Mom said as I knocked off the remaining ladybugs and went inside the house.
The inside was just as warm and cozy feeling as the outside. Fortunately, I didn’t see any of those nasty creatures lurking around. The living room had shiny hardwood floors that led into a kitchen and dining room, which was one big open area with a pass-through bar separating the living room from the kitchen. Off to the right of the dining area was a utility room. In between the living area and master bedroom to the left was a spare bath. The master bedroom had a private bathroom, walk-in closet and the biggest floor space for a bedroom that I’ve ever seen, except, maybe in the movies. I was impressed. You could almost fit my two-bedroom duplex apartment into this room. It had a fireplace just like the one in the living room.
It was constructed with some of the many mountain rocks I saw lying all over the place outside. Dad claims this land was a riverbed at one time. You could dig forever and still come up with nothing but rocks. That must be why piles and piles of rocks surround all the flowerbeds. I do notice some things. It was early spring. You couldn’t miss all the flowers beginning to bloom.
As Mom was leading me upstairs to show me the rest of the house, she went into her usual mode of explaining everything in great detail. “As I was saying, the previous owner, Mr. Tobias James, Jr. was the son of Mr. Tobias James, Sr. and Anna James. Together all three of them built this house when Tobias, Jr. was a teenager. When Tobias, Sr. and Anna eventually passed away, Toby and his wife, Carol, who was expecting their first child, moved into the house. They lived happily ever after until a couple of years ago. It seems his wife couldn’t live out here in the middle of nowhere any longer and packed up the three kids they had by then and left. I’m sure there’s probably more to it, but that’s all he said. Says he’s moving to Florida. Anyway, here we are!”
“It’s a fine place to be,” I said as I was checking out the rooms and making conversation. There were two large bedrooms and a full bathroom in between, with a hallway big enough to set up a table and eat dinner. This wasn’t bad at all. If you were going to live in the mountains, this would be the perfect house.
“Minnie,” I said, which is what I called Mom sometimes when I wanted to get one of those happy, yet confused looks on her face. “I think you and Dad will be very happy here. It’s lovely. Now show me the kitchen. I’m starved and I know you must have something to eat, because I saw a cooler in the back of the minivan. By the way, are we going to sleep here tonight?”
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “We brought sleeping bags.”
I’ve been camping. I can handle this.
Saturday morning I awoke to the glorious smell of coffee, a stiff neck, and something crawling on my arm.
“Mom, I thought you said these things wouldn’t come in the house!” I screamed as I brushed the creature from my arm and started to crawl out of the bag. I looked down and saw a dozen more. “Oh, no,” I said to myself.
Mom walked into the living room and handed me a cup of coffee.
“For someone as old as you are, you sure can act like such a baby. Let’s have our coffee on the porch. Your dad’s sitting out in the swing.”
As we walked onto the porch, I expected to be attacked again by some of those things that seemed to have taken a liking to me, but instead, I was treated to a cool spring breeze and the sweet smell of flowers. I sat down on the steps and looked up at the sky.
“What’s that sound? Is that water running I hear?’’ I asked.
“Yes,” Dad replied. “That’s the South River you hear. Across the road, on the front part of our property is a stream. After we finish our coffee we’ll walk over and check it out, and then I’ll take you on a tour of the rest of the property.”
Ten acres is a lot of property to check out. By the time we got back to the house I was exhausted, not to mention the creepy feeling I had that I might be taking a tick or some other creature back to Tidewater with me.
Since none of us was big on breakfast we had an early lunch of sandwiches and iced tea. As we sat on top of our sleeping bags and ate, I watched the two of them chat and carry on like two young lovers. I sure was going to miss not seeing them all the time. They’ve always been so happy together and so much fun to be around.
Once the kitchen was cleaned and our gear packed, we headed back home. For most of the trip they talked about what they were going to do with all their extra furniture—store it or give it away.
How were they going to decorate the new house? Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, I dozed off and didn’t wake again until we were pulling into the driveway.
“Have a nice rest, dear?” Mom asked. “All that walking must have really worn you out. Mack, isn’t that Claire’s car? What’s she doing here? She knew we were going to be gone, and she didn’t know what time we’d be back. Something must be wrong. She never comes for a visit without calling first.”
Mom jumped out of the minivan and ran to the house in search of Claire as Dad and I crawled out and began the task of unloading our things.
“Let me put my bag in my car and I’ll help with the rest,” I told Dad, knowing full well that Mom was going to be tied up listening to whatever exciting things Claire would have to say. Claire always had something wonderful going on. I could almost imagine it word for word: “I’ve been selected as the new President of the PTA; the kids are perfect as always; Carl got a promotion and a big, fat raise; we’re buying an even bigger house; and we’re going to have another baby. Isn’t it all wonderful?” My sister doesn’t gloat, but she has a way of saying things that makes me want to crawl under a table and hide. She has it all, and I don’t have squat. Am I jealous? Maybe just a little. Why do some people get it all and some never get anything? My green-eyed dragon reared its jealous head.
I put all my jealous rivalry and nasty thoughts aside and helped Dad unload the contents of the van. The house was already starting to look like the deserted shell it was going to be. Boxes were stacked along the walls; the Persian rug was rolled up; and newspapers and empty boxes were scattered everywhere.
Lucinda, the housekeeper, met me as I walked in and said, “You must go be with your sister.” Her tone let me know things were not cozy in paradise. “She has bad news, and your mama and papa are going to be very sad. Oh, things are not well.” Lacy, as I always called her, was Puerto Rican and most of the time I couldn’t understand half of what she was saying, especially when she was excited. She walked away speaking to herself and then turned to me and said, “Tell your mama the movers will be here first thing Monday morning instead of Tuesday.”
I was thrown for a loop. I couldn’t figure out why there were packing all this stuff so early. Then it dawned on me that they weren’t wasting anytime. This move was happening ASAP. They hadn’t even sold the house and they were already out the door.
I followed the sound of voices to the den. Mom and Claire were seated on the couch, one of the few remaining pieces of furniture left in the room, and Claire was crying. Mom had her arm around her, trying to lend comfort, in a way that mothers do best.
Trying not to upset Claire further by jumping right in on the conversation, I looked at Mom and calmly whispered, “Lacy said to tell you the movers will be here Monday instead of Tuesday.”
To my astonishment, Claire jumped up and screamed, “Who cares about movers? Don’t you realize my whole life is falling apart and all you can think about are movers? Whatever happened to ‘How are you? I missed you. How are the kids? How’s Carl?’ I can tell you how Carl is.
He’s having an affair... that’s how Carl is. It’s probably that blond bimbo who works in his office. He’s having an affair and I’m pregnant.”
I felt like someone had just punched me in the gut. I didn’t know what to say. This news was definitely not what I’d expected and I couldn’t believe my sister was using that kind of language. I don’t think Claire has ever uttered a curse word in her whole life, so this must be serious. And she was going to have another baby! Didn’t she have enough? When is it going to be my turn?
“Calm down, honey. I’m sure you must be mistaken,” Mom said.
I sat down on the floor, looked up at Claire and said, “I hate to say this Claire, but if you think something is amiss, it probably is. Have you come across any clues? He must be acting differently or you wouldn’t suspect him of cheating. Tell us the details and we’ll try to put your mind at ease and help you figure out what you can do about it. Where are the kids?”
“They’re upstairs taking a nap. They were so tired from the trip, Lucinda fixed them a snack and sent them to bed,” she said, losing herself in thought for a minute. With the stamina of a race horse getting its second wind, she blurted out to Mom, “What about Lucinda? Is she going to stay on with you and Dad when you move to the mountains?”
“No,” Mom replied. “She’s going to go live with her daughter.”
“Not to beat a dead horse, but what’s the deal with you and Carl?” I asked Claire. “Perhaps you’re mistaken. Maybe your hormones are in the ozone. You told me on several occasions your hormones go into orbit when you’re pregnant. Why should it be any different this time? Come back to me with proof and I’ll help you to nail the rat.”
Chapter 2
I laughed out loud. Mom and Claire looked at me as if I had lost my mind. What can I say? I’m not the most perfect person. I don’t have all the answers. When something smells bad, I’ve learned that it most likely is bad. I didn’t know what to do or say, but I did know that someone here had to get it together. Face it—people tell lies, people steal and people cheat. That’s life, unfortunately.
