The Waiting

by Joe Hart

  Wait around, it won’t be cold for long.

  He nearly brayed insane laughter at that.

  Hope you have good homeowner’s, Jase. ’Cause this one’s gonna catapult the old premium!

  A loud bellow came from the basement, followed by a metallic clang.

  Evan slowed and then stopped, breathing with his mouth wide open, listening over the pounding of his blood.

  Silence. No whoompf of the clock igniting, no crackle of flames eating wood in burning bites. Serene quiet. He gulped down air, trying to slow his heart and the racing thoughts in his head. What the hell happened? All this buildup and no fireworks? The feeling of laughter came again, and he squashed it, because he knew if he started now, he might not stop.

  Shaun’s snores came from the partially open door of his room. Cold sweat formed on Evan’s back, and he shivered as a bead ran down the groove of his spine. Still no sound from below.

  Get Shaun out of the house, that’s your only concern right now.

  He nodded and took a few steps back the way he’d come, stopping to listen every other second. Nothing. Afraid that he would see the shiny barrel of the handgun appear in the doorway at any moment, Evan walked closer and closer to the stairs. With a quick movement, he poked one eye around the doorjamb and then drew back.

  The stairway was empty. As silently as he could, he moved down the first two treads, ready to run back at any sign of approach from below. Another step. Another. Evan stopped at the landing and peered around the corner, mimicking the move he’d used at the top of the stairs.

  The basement was empty.

  The absence of Becky’s father startled him more than if the man had been inches away, the gun pointed directly at him. He blinked, searching the floor and corners. Where was he hiding? Evan moved from the safety of the stairwell and took the last steps down. The cold cement leeched heat from the soles of his feet, sending frigid runners up through his calves. He scanned the boxes to his right, the sewing area, the table—everything was where it should be. He knelt, making sure the other man hadn’t crouched beneath the worktable. Only shadow and dust lay there. He walked forward, a new, unnamable fear falling over him like a wet sheet.

  Turning in a circle, he looked at every possible hiding place. Outside of Becky’s father being a professional contortionist, the options were limited. He opened each of the cabinet doors above the workbench to quell the need to be sure. After making his way to the end of the bench, he stopped, staring at the glass encasement below the clock’s face. A man could hide in there. Definitely.

  Evan walked around the table and approached the clock, his hands blocks of ice at the ends of his arms. The air in the basement seemed to have dropped several degrees, feeling more like a meat locker with each passing second. With one hand, he reached out and touched the brass knob on the center door and tried to turn it. It wouldn’t budge. He tried harder, the flesh of his fingers turning white with effort. The knob squawked and then turned, and the door opened. A waft of air smelling of dust brushed past him as he leaned in closer. The pendulum and its surrounding darkness were all he could see. No man, no gun, nothing but shadow.

  Evan stepped back and shut the door, a thought striking him. He’d heard the mineral-spirits can hit the floor, but where was it? Where was the spilled thinner that should’ve assaulted his nose the moment he walked down here? He bent his knees again and looked under the table, sure he would spot the can on its side. Evan stiffened, one hand braced against the cement for balance, his neck craned down, his eyes wide—

  —as he stared at the mineral spirits can in the corner beside the workbench. His mouth opened, and a word tried to come out. Instead, it stayed on his tongue and resounded in his head.

  No. No. No. No.

  Evan stood, the unreal quality of a dream surrounding him as he walked around the length of the table and moved to where the can sat. Bending down, he touched the cap, tight with rust on its spout, the cobwebs clinging to its top, unbroken.

  Dizziness washed over him, and he staggered away from the corner. The basement swayed as if though rested in the middle of a titanic teeter-totter. Evan moved with it, the unreality of everything compounding at once. His mind strained at its bindings, stretching them, forced by the incongruence of what he’d seen.

  “It didn’t happen, it didn’t happen, I’m not here right now,” he said, taking the first step on the stairs.

  The pleading sound of his voice scared him; it was hollow and detached, the voice of an automaton going about its commanded task. He shut off the lights with a swipe of one hand and trudged up the stairs, his left forearm sliding along the wall to keep him upright.

  The air in the kitchen smelled wonderful compared to that of the basement, and he hauled in several deep lungfuls before turning off the last light and shutting the door behind him. Evan moved through the house on numbed feet, the feeling growing steadily up his legs, as if he’d stepped on bed of Novocain syringes.

  Without thinking about it, he stripped his bed of blankets and pillows and laid them down in Shaun’s room, only inches from his bedside. He collapsed onto the floor, the blankets barely padding the hardwood, but the relief of being next to Shaun more than offset the discomfort.

  One of Shaun’s hands dangled off the bed, and Evan reached up to place it back under the blanket but stopped. He held it in his palm, closing his eyes as he did. He fell asleep that way, as the darkness in the east bled to gray.

  20

  Evan sipped his coffee and watched Shaun across the table.

  The simple act of feeding Shaun his morning cereal grounded him, anchoring his mind in the normal, keeping his thoughts from returning to the night before. Evan clamped a hand on to his forehead and rubbed his temples. Nothing had happened last night, nothing. There was no gun, the mineral-spirits can wasn’t moved, there was no man. He sighed, rubbing his bloodshot eyes before draining the rest of his coffee.

  “Wawee?” Shaun asked.

  “What, honey?” Evan said, sitting forward.

  Shaun furrowed his brow and tried to point toward the bedrooms. “Wawee?”

  Evan glanced in the direction and then turned back. “I don’t know what you want, buddy.”

  Shaun’s eyebrows drew down, and he struck the cereal bowl with one hand, causing the spoon to fly free. Milk and soggy flakes spattered the table, and a few dollops landed on Evan’s thigh.

  “Shit! Stop it, Shaun,” he said, grabbing Shaun’s flailing arm.

  “Wawee! Wawee!” Shaun cried, tears beginning to run down his cheeks.

  Evan stood and hugged his son’s arms tight to his body.

  “Shhhh, honey, stop, you’re going to hurt yourself. Don’t, don’t, don’t.”

  The boy continued to struggle, but his movements became less frantic, and gradually he lapsed into simply crying.

  “I know, buddy, I know it’s hard. I’m sorry I can’t understand sometimes.” Evan looked at the kitchen counter and saw the iPad there. “Do you want your iPad? Flash cards?”

  He grabbed the slim case and held it out to Shaun. Shaun shook his head.

  “Na.”

  “Okay, okay, buddy.” He set the device down, and his shoulders sagged. “Let’s just get ready to go.”

  ~

  They left the island in the pontoon half an hour later, the day warm but muddled with shining silver clouds in the sky. Evan began to steer toward the little marina on the mainland, but a thought struck him like a hammer.

  A boat.

  If Becky’s father had really come to the house last night, he would’ve come in a boat. Evan scanned the shoreline on the west side of the island. No crafts jutted out into the water, and from what he could see, none were pulled up into the woods.

  “Let’s take a little side trip, buddy,” he said, turning the pontoon south.

  They cruised over the calm water, around the end of the island, the little clearing with the fire pit coming into view after a few minutes. When they rounded the heavily
wooded southeastern side, Evan let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Small waves lapped against rocky shore. He could see no boats anchored along its edge. To be sure, he throttled up and cruised the entire length and turned left, until he could see their dock again.

  A strange relief came over him, followed by a layer of fear on its heels. Not seeing a boat made him believe that nothing had happened the night before, but the absence of one confirmed the cold inkling that had been with him all morning.

  You’re going crazy.

  That’s what’d been happening since they arrived. All the unsettling occurances, they were all in his mind.

  He looked at Shaun, who was enraptured by the approaching land as he always was. What would happen to Shaun if he lost it completely? He would have nowhere to go. Evan’s parents lived in southern Florida and didn’t have the capabilities to care for Shaun, and he had no other close relatives, since Elle’s parents were deceased. There was only Jason and Lisa, and although Jason meant well, he wondered if his best friend could care for Shaun in the way he deserved.

  Stop it, he chided himself. Just stop. He wouldn’t lose Shaun, and he wasn’t going crazy. It had been a dream, a horrible and realistic dream, but a dream nonetheless. There were no other explanations.

  Ghosts.

  The word floated through his mind, wrapped in absurdity as well as a niggling fear.

  “Ghosts,” he said, tasting the word while feeling foolish at the same time.

  So you don’t believe in ghosts, but you believe in time travel?

  “How about a dream, Shaun?” he said, drowning out the voice’s annoying musings. “How about that’s what it was. No more fried food for Dad before bed.”

  Shaun looked at him and smiled. The simplicity of joking out loud did wonders for him, and he breathed in the fresh air, feeling better. Or maybe it was putting distance between them and the island.

  Evan focused on the approaching dock and shut all other thoughts off.

  “Too much thinking never does anyone any good,” he said, in a bravado he didn’t feel.

  Shaun didn’t respond, and Evan wondered if he would agree if he could.

  ~

  After dropping Shaun off at the hospital for therapy, Evan drove through town, not entirely sure where he was going. He found himself back at Collins Outfitters, and sat looking at the side of the building for over a minute before he climbed out and headed for the door. Arnold and Wendal were at their customary posts, and Evan realized their seats had been empty when he and Shaun came through earlier.

  “Morning,” Evan said.

  Arnold nodded. “Morning to you, young fella.”

  “Going to be hot today, you think?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s hot every day now that the snow’s gone.”

  Evan laughed, struck by how normal the conversation seemed, in contrast with what had happened the night before.

  The dream.

  “You get ahold of old Cecil out there?” Arnold asked.

  A little twinkle in his eye told Evan he already thought he knew the answer.

  “Actually, I did,” Evan said, satisfied at the startled look both the twins gave him.

  “You’re kidding?” Arnold said.

  “Nope. She even let me come inside.”

  “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. That’s the first I’ve heard of her talking to someone besides the grocer or repairman.” Arnold eyed him up and down. “You must’ve had a silver tongue to charm that old biddy.”

  “Something like that. Is Jacob in, by chance?”

  “Oh yeah, the old mick’s in there somewhere.”

  “Thanks.”

  Evan moved past the twins, through the door of the building. He wanted to stop and go back, to tell them both off for not having said anything about Jason’s grandparents, for they surely knew about what had happened. Well, he couldn’t fault Wendal for not saying anything. The dark humor made him smile a little.

  “What’s so funny, boyo?” Jacob said, standing behind a counter.

  “Nothing. How’s it going today?” Evan reached out and shook the older man’s hand.

  “Goin’ well, goin’ well. Didn’t see ya come in with yer boy this mornin’.”

  “Yeah, he’s at his therapy now.” Evan watched Jacob nod and then begin to unpack a box of spinner lures. “Jacob, I know I owe you a beer.”

  “Three, I think,” Jacob said, giving him a smile.

  Evan didn’t return it. “But could we go get some coffee in lieu of those? I need to speak with you about something.”

  Jacob looked at him for a moment, and then nodded. “Okay, boyo, what’s this about?”

  “Jason’s grandparents.” He watched Jacob’s face fall a little. “I know about everything.”

  Jacob sighed, looking down at the glass top of his counter. A boy no older than seventeen, holding a stack of fishing vests, came out of the back room behind Jacob and paused, his eyes going from his boss to Evan.

  “Nate, why don’t ya watch the store fer a while,” Jacob said.

  “Sure thing, Mr. Collins.”

  “Come with me, Evan,” Jacob said, heading through the doorway behind the counter.

  Evan followed him, smiling politely at Nate as he went by. The room behind the counter held several tall shelves stocked with boxes of fishing gear of all sorts. Jacob led the way through the stacks to a gray steel door with a cartoon taped to it. Jacob opened it and beckoned Evan inside.

  “Me office,” Jacob said, closing the door behind them. “Ignore the mess, will ya?”

  The office was spacious, with two wide windows overlooking the lake. Dark paneling lined the walls, and several massive fish were mounted here and there, their taxidermied eyes glaring in glassy stares. Jacob’s desk had piles of papers and photos littering both ends, with a clear path down to the wood in the middle. The air smelled of sweet tobacco. Evan sat in a threadbare chair in front of the desk, while Jacob rummaged below it on the other side.

  “I know it’s early, but it’s noon somewhere, me father used ta say,” Jacob said, standing with a can of Budweiser in one hand.

  Evan almost said no, and then sat forward, taking the ice-cold can from the older man. “Thank you.”

  “I keep a little stocked at the back of the fridge,” Jacob said, pulling another can out. “Keep it fer emergencies, mind ya.”

  “Is this an emergency?” Evan asked, opening his beer.

  Jacob’s eyes darkened. “No, but it helps.” He snapped his beer open and took a sip, pulling the corners of his mouth tight as he swallowed. “Me wife’d kill me ass if she knew we were drinkin’ in here. But what she don’t know won’t hurt me.”

  Evan said nothing and drank. It tasted good and felt great on his parched throat.

  “I suppose Jason told ya the nasty details?”

  “He did.”

  “Then ya know how much I cared for Daniel, his granddad.”

  Evan remained silent, and Jacob continued, looking down at his beer.

  “When Ray passed away, Daniel and Maggie were devastated, as was I. I took food out ta them from time ta time, jest ta help out. When I saw Daniel startin’ down the road of depression, I took him fishin’. It was all I knew ta do ta ease the pain. We’d spend hours in the boat, and even though he’d be away from Maggie most of the day, she didn’t mind so much once Dan started comin’ back around.”

  Jacob took another long drink from his beer, and set it down but kept his fingers wrapped around it.

  “I guess in a way we did some replacin’ of sorts. He became me best friend, and I became somethin’ like a son ta him.”

  “Why did you lie to me when we first came here and I asked if you knew Jason’s grandparents?” Evan said. The earlier anger diminished when he saw how affected Jacob was.

  “I didn’t want ta scare ya away.” Jacob rolled his tongue around in his mouth, as if tasting something bitter. “Lots a rumors fly around this little town. People gab when they shouldn’t
, make up parts where they’ve lost the story, and soon ya have shit rollin’ around town that’s nothin’ like the truth.” Jacob looked at Evan, his eyes sad but sober. “I didn’t want ya gettin’ scared off by a bunch of ghost stories.”

  Ghost.

  “What do you mean?”

  “After Dan and Maggie passed, all kinds of things were said. Superstitious bunkum, all of it. I tried ta quell it. It made me madder than a shaken hornet, but people will talk, as they say.”

  Evan sipped his beer and looked past Jacob’s shoulder, to where the island sat on the lake. “What do you know about the clock?”

  Jacob finished his beer and set the can down with a thunk. “Ugliest stack of sticks I’ve laid eyes upon. Dan bought it at auction when the title dispute fer the Kluge property was finally resolved, got it as a project ta fix on.” Jacob laughed once, a short bark, and shook his head. “I asked him, ‘Dan, why would ya want a feckin’ clock that don’t work?’ and he jest said it was valuable.”

  “When did he buy it?”

  “About a year before they passed, I suppose.”

  “And did Daniel seem different after he bought it?”

  Jacob eyed Evan, wariness on his features for the first time since they’d met. “This fer yer article?”

  “Yes, and out of curiosity.”

  Curiosity killed the cat.

  Jacob paused and then pulled another can of beer out of the fridge beneath his desk. “Evan, I like ya, boyo, but I won’t tolerate Dan and Maggie being misrepresented. Follow?”

  “I follow. I just want to know.”

  Jacob stared at the desk. “He became a little distant after buyin’ the clock. Maggie told me once that sometimes he’d spend most of the day down in the basement, tinkerin’ away. You see, he bought that thing in several pieces. Someone had partially dismantled it durin’ the years, maybe tryin’ ta do the very thing that Dan was.” Jacob shrugged. “Either way, Dan was no clockmaker, but he was smart and good with his hands. He got it mostly assembled, showed it ta me one day before we went out on the lake.”