Rose Gardner 01 - Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes

by Swank, Denise Grover

  Daniel Crocker’s body jerked, his face turning a bright red that I suspected wasn’t from embarrassment. He and Sloan glared at each other a bit longer. Daniel’s eyelid twitched. His face lit up with an evil grin. “It’s not like she was wearing a fuckin’ sign or anything.” He left without his beer.

  “Thanks,” I said, humiliated that I needed saving. I had to admit I wasn't sorry he left even if I hadn't gotten any information out of him.

  Sloan watched him walk away then gave me a half-hearted smile. “Well, since you told me you were new to drinkin’, that pretty much told me you were new to hangin’ out in a bar, too. You gotta watch out for guys like him. They’ll see you as fresh meat, no offense.”

  “None taken.” I was clueless to the minds of men.

  “You look really green. They’ll latch on and try to take advantage of you. If you’re gonna hang out in bars, you’re gonna need to be more assertive.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on ya. When you’re ready to go, just let me know and I’ll call a taxi.”

  “Thanks, Sloan.” I took a sip of my wine while I tried to calm my nerves. I welcomed the warm tingly feeling, but decided I would only have one. I couldn’t risk acting like I had with Joe. Heavens knew that someone like Dan wouldn’t stop because I was drunk, making me appreciate what Joe had done that much more.

  Melancholy washed over me thinking about Joe, bringing confusion with it. I thought he liked me until I found out he had a girlfriend. I tried to cheer myself up knowing I had just taken care of two more things, drinking wine and going to a bar. Five items done. Twenty-three to go. But sadness overshadowed my joy.

  I asked Sloan to call for a cab.

  I gave myself a pep talk during the short taxi ride home. First, Daniel Crocker was some weird coincidence and had nothing to do with Momma's murder. While I had to admit he was slimy, my overactive imagination tied him to her death. Surely, murderers didn't lounge around bars trying to pick up women. Wouldn't they be hiding out?

  Second, it was Steve’s loss. I wasn’t the only woman to have an awful date, even an awful first date. I could do better. There were other fish in the sea. And all those other idioms. I actually felt better when the driver pulled up in front of my house. Until I discovered Joe still sitting on his front porch. I got out and walked to the side door, trying to pretend he didn’t exist.

  “Where’d your date go?” Joe called out.

  Ignore him.

  “Did you kill him before he could bring you home?”

  I wanted to tell him that murder was nothing to joke about, but had to admit that Steve being so scared of me was a tiny bit funny, especially since I was half his size.

  “You’re goin’ to run out of rollin’ pins soon.”

  I jerked my head around and glared at him. Don’t answer him! I fumbled in my purse, looking for my keys, cursing myself for not digging them out in the cab. I found them and hurried to open the locks, the locks Joe installed for me, before I did something I would regret. My heart was already beginning to soften. That wasn't good.

  “Rose, can’t we just talk about it? Please?” His tone had changed, the teasing gone. I wanted to talk to him so bad, and do even more with him something fierce, but I couldn't trust him and I didn't trust me. I went inside, shutting the door behind me.

  Joe McAllister couldn’t be part of my life.

  Chapter Ten

  The phone rang nonstop for an hour after I came home. I finally answered, deciding I couldn’t avoid talking to Violet any longer. She apologized profusely, and although she didn’t deny that Mike forced Steve into the date, she didn't admit to it either.

  The next afternoon she came back to take care of the rest of Momma’s things. While we sorted through boxes and photos in Momma’s closet, we discussed what to do with the house. Violet was adamant we split it fifty/fifty. We decided to have a couple of real estate agents come give us an estimate of the value of the house and go from there.

  The next morning was Monday. Time for me to go back to work. I set my alarm earlier than usual since it took me a bit longer to get ready than it used to—the only downside to my new hair.

  I walked into the DMV, my thermal mug of coffee in my hand, expecting the stares of my coworkers but still not fully prepared either.

  “Well looky at you, Miss Rose, all purty.” Betty crooned. “What happened, did ya go and find yourself a man?”

  I laughed, feeling a blush creeping its way up my neck. “No, my aunt came to visit. She’s a hairdresser and she cut my hair. It’s no big deal.”

  Suzanne, shot a sneer in my direction. “Somebody got new clothes, too. What happened to the gunny sacks?”

  I shrugged.

  “Looks like your mother’s death agrees with you.”

  Her smug tone confirmed that she knew I was a suspect. I ignored her.

  The morning went by quickly with lots of customers. Thankfully, most were pleasant and easy to please. Working at the DMV was a soul-sucking job. If I was changing the rest of my sad life, why not change my job too? The idea lit a spark of hope and I began to daydream about possible career choices. I called the next number and glanced up to see Daniel Crocker standing in front of me.

  My eyes almost popped out of my head.

  And from the look of him, his did too.

  “You?” he asked.

  I took his paperwork off the counter, wondering how he had gotten it back and why he hadn’t processed it already. But then I remembered his insurance card had expired. Maybe he had just got it replaced.

  He rubbed his chin, then leaned his forearm on the counter, looking down at me in confusion. “Weren’t you the girl who fainted last time I was here?”

  I gave him a tiny smile. “I don’t know, maybe.” I checked his paperwork. Everything seemed to be in order this time.

  “How many of y’all faint around here anyway?” he asked in amazement.

  “Well… I guess I’m the only one.” I answered, trying to shrink into my chair.

  “Sloan isn’t your brother, is he?”

  Crap, crap, crap. “Why do you ask that?” I asked, trying to keep my voice cheerful and professional.

  “He’s a cop, isn’t he?”

  My head shot up, my eyes wide in shock.

  He leaned his head over the counter. “So I guessed right, huh?”

  I had no earthly idea what he was talking about. “You really must have us mixed up with someone else. Sloan’s just a bartender and I work at the DMV.” I grabbed a sticker out of the drawer and stapled it to his registration paperwork. “See? I process license plates,” I said with a forced smile. “Everything is in order this time and you’re all set.” I handed him his forms. “You have a nice day now.”

  He gave me a snarly glare, then walked away, looking over his shoulder.

  “Jeez, I’m glad you processed him,” Suzanne said. “He stalked this place all last week. He’d come in and look around and leave, sometimes coming in a couple of times a day. I wanted to call the police but Betty wouldn’t let me. Guess he had a thing for you. Go figure.” She said the last part with disgust. Almost as if she were jealous.

  I tried to figure out what happened. Why did he ask if Sloan was a cop? And even if he was, what did that have to do with me? I didn't have time to dwell on it, because the rest of the day was one big swarm of customers with complicated issues. It didn't help matters that I told one man he would be in a fender bender the next day and a woman that her deep freezer got unplugged.

  By the time we closed, I was worn out and couldn't wait to get home to take a bath. I could enjoy one as long as I wanted without Momma pounding on the door, telling me I was taking too long. I tried to find some guilt over the thought, and finally found it, but I had to dig deep. I was sorry she got killed, but I didn’t miss her harping on me all the time.

  If that wasn’t an evil thought, I didn’t know what was.

  When I pulled in next to the house, I couldn’t stop
myself from looking for Joe’s car. I thanked God for the empty driveway; otherwise I wasn’t sure I could be responsible for my actions. I missed him. How that was possible, I didn’t know. I hardly knew him. I didn’t even know what he did for a living, yet I missed him. I sounded like a hormone-riddled teenager. In a way, I supposed I was.

  Dirty plates and glasses filled the sink. Part of me wanted to just leave them for the next day since no one forced me to do them now, but the responsible part of me said to wash them. Perhaps if I dragged the responsible Rose out, I could trust myself not to run across the driveway to talk to Joe.

  I told myself I could take a bubble bath when I finished the dishes. A little motivation. I piled the dishes in the sink and started to wash. When I opened the dishtowel drawer, I was surprised to find a Walmart bag. It was the nightie I’d bought and stuffed in the drawer the afternoon Joe came over to help me paint.

  I hurried through the dishes, casting glances at the Walmart bag. Maybe I could wear it after I took my bath. That sounded decadent. A bubble bath, with candles. Then the nightie. I was turning into a wanton woman. I smiled at the thought. Too bad none of those things marked anything off my list.

  I filled the tub with warm water and a lavender bubble bath, an old birthday gift from Violet. I found some candles and lit them before sinking into the water with a book, relaxing in the warm glow of candlelight and the smell of lavender. I could get used to this.

  When the water cooled off, I got out and patted off with a towel, staring at the nightie that lay folded in a heap on the toilet seat. Could I really wear it?

  Oh for heaven’s sake Rose, it's a nightie you’re going to wear in your own home. It’s not like you’re posing for Playboy.

  I slipped my arms through the straps of the gown, letting the silky fabric slide down my body. I reveled in the feel of it and turned to look at myself in the mirror. For the first time, I felt sensuous. I knew I should feel evil, but I didn’t.

  I felt sexy.

  I gasped at the thought. I’d never felt sexy in my life.

  As I stood in front of the mirror, watching the silky fabric cling to my curves, I couldn’t help but think it was a shame this didn’t check anything off my list. Of course, there was the empty number twenty-nine. I could write wear a nightie in the spot, or take a bath by candlelight. But neither seemed big enough to put in the space. I’d leave it empty for now.

  I went through the list from memory. Was there something else on there I could do tonight?

  Dance. The conversation I had with Joe jostled its way into my head.

  “You’ve never danced?”

  “Nope.”

  “Now that’s a damn shame. Everyone has danced in their living room.”

  I could dance in my living room.

  I blew out the candles and made sure the curtains in the living room were closed. I had a CD player in the hall closet, but the only music I had was Momma’s gospel CDs. I wasn’t sure it was really possible to dance to gospel music, even if I got around the wrongness of it. Then I remembered Daddy had an old AM/FM radio he would sometimes listen to while working outside. Last time I’d seen it was out in the shed.

  Grabbing an oversized sweater from my room, along with a flashlight and the key to the shed, I opened the side door. The coast was clear, so I hurried to the shed, not running but not walking either. A giant magnolia tree shaded the corner of the backyard, making it hard to see the padlock on the metal shed door. But I didn’t want to turn on the flashlight until I got inside. What if someone saw me? After a bit of fumbling, I managed to get it unlocked. I slid the door open, trying to minimize the squeaking. During the daytime, it didn't sound so loud when I opened the door to get out the lawnmower, but in the quiet evening, it echoed off the trees.

  I slipped through the small opening and cracked the door about six inches behind me, flinching at the screech. The air in the shed was stifling. I hadn’t opened it in over a week, obvious from the slightly overgrown yard. The smell of gasoline and mildewed grass permeated the confined space, making me want to gag. I turned on the flashlight and edged my way past the mower toward the rear, stubbing my toe on the gas can. It banged into the metal wall, vibrating the sides with a loud rattle.

  Crappy doodles.

  I stopped, muttering to myself to be more careful. The radio wasn’t going anywhere. I needed to slow down, but the confines of the space tested my rising anxiety, my claustrophobia eating at my nerves. Turning sideways, I slid past the mower and managed not to kick anything else. Daddy’s old tools and odds and ends littered the rusted shelves against the back wall. The radio was tucked behind a power tool case on the top shelf. As I stretched to reach it, I heard the squeak of the metal door. I turned in panic and saw the door shut.

  I was trapped inside the shed.

  Later I thought of a handful of things I should of have done, but I didn't do any of them. Instead, I did the first thing that came to mind. I released a blood-curdling scream loud enough to rouse every neighbor in a two-block radius.

  “Rose?” Joe’s muffled voice called outside. The door scraped open and he filled the doorway. “What on earth are you doin’ in here?”

  I still stood on the chest, my arm reaching up, frozen. At least I had stopped screaming. Instead, I bawled like a baby, to my utter embarrassment. “I was gettin’ the radio… and the door closed…and I thought I was trapped…”

  Joe pushed his way past the mower to reach me. “I heard noises out here and thought someone was prowling in your shed. I didn’t know it was you.”

  He helped me work my way around the clutter into the night air. I couldn't make myself stop crying.

  Joe leaned down and looked into my eyes, smoothing my hair with his hand. “Hey, are you okay?”

  I nodded. Physically, I was fine, in spite of my shaking.

  He pulled me into a hug and I laid my cheek against his chest, trying to compose myself.

  “I didn't mean to scare you. I’m sorry.” He rubbed my back.

  “It’s okay,” I said, my tears finally subsiding. “I’m just terrified of being locked up.”

  “Why?”

  “My Momma used to lock me in the closet sometimes.” My voice trailed off in embarrassment. What on earth possessed me to confide that?

  “Your mother locked you in a closet?” He sounded incredulous. “Why?”

  “Punishment.” I couldn’t admit that she locked me up when I saw things about people. At first, she thought I was spying and she tried to teach me a lesson. Later, it was because I scared her.

  “What on earth could you ever do to warrant such a thing?”

  I didn’t answer. Nothing could justify what I’d endured.

  We stood there a moment, me in his arms, his breath in my hair. My fear dissipated, replaced with another reaction.

  “What were you lookin’ for in the shed?” Joe finally broke the silence.

  “The radio, but I couldn’t quite reach it.”

  Joe dropped his arms and went into the shed. “On the top shelf?”

  “Yeah.”

  He emerged from the shed with the radio in his hand. It was old and encrusted in dirt. “Is this what you were after?” He held it out.

  I nodded and took it from him. “Yes, thanks.”

  “Need anything else?”

  I shook my head, still having trouble forming words.

  He closed the shed and we walked in silence to my side door. I expected him to say something about the other night, to try to explain himself again. I’d listen this time, but he didn’t.

  I reached for the doorknob. “Thanks…I think.” He helped me, but only after he scared the tarnation out of me.

  “I’m sorry. I really was trying to help.”

  I hesitated, not ready for him to leave yet. “Would you like to come in?”

  An array of emotions played across his face. First, happiness, from the way his eyes lit up. Then indecision dimmed the gleam. And at last, resignation. “I can’t.
I’m sorry.”

  “Oh…okay.”

  “I’m right next door if you need me.” It came out as kind of a sigh.

  I didn’t answer, just went in and shut the door behind me. I took a couple of deep breaths while I tried to slow my racing heart.

  I was too late. He'd changed his mind. I set the radio on the table, no longer wanting to dance.

  I tossed and turned in bed, shadowy images haunting my sleep. I dreamed I heard glass breaking. And then realized I wasn’t dreaming. I sat up in bed, straining to listen. Just when I was about to lay back down, I heard the creak of a window, the wood scraping the frame as it opened.

  I jumped out of bed and stood in the doorway, trying to determine where the sound came from. Momma’s room. I bolted down the hall and into her room, just as a dark figure dressed in black and wearing a stocking cap stuck his leg through the window. I screamed. He jerked his head up, whacking it into the window frame. I grabbed a broom I had left in the room when Violet and I cleaned and started beating the prowler, who hung half in and half out of the opening. My wild swinging broke the glass in the upper window.

  The burglar worked himself out the window and fell to the ground, scrambling up and bolting toward Joe’s house. It took me a second to realize I was still screaming.

  Get a grip, Rose. He’s gone.

  I tried to turn on the lights, but whoever broke in must have cut the electricity. Again. I heard pounding on the side door, causing my panic to return. What if the intruder was trying to get in the side door?

  “Rose!” Joe shouted between the banging. “If you don't open this door, I’m gonna break it down!”

  Relieved, I shouted, “I’m comin’, give me a second.”

  I fumbled with the locks and turned the knob just as Joe burst through, half-naked. He stood in front of me wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts.

  “Are you okay? I heard you screaming and when I got outside, I saw someone running from your house. I tackled him, but he knocked me off and got away.”

  In the dim light of the streetlamp pouring through the window, I saw multiple scrapes covering his head and back.