NOT a CREATURE WAS STIRRING

by Christina Freeburn

  Ebenezer greeted us with whistles of excitement and tried to run out the door.

  I shut it before he escaped. “I’m going to build him a habitat downstairs once I have some time.”

  “I can help you or build it for you.” Paul leaned down and scratched Ebenezer’s head. The guinea pig remained still, enjoying the attention way too much. “Whichever you’d like.”

  I started to say neither then stopped. Paul was trying to be a friend, and I could use a few more. It wouldn’t hurt to have some help especially since I had no idea how to build a guinea pig habitat. “I’d appreciate it.”

  “Just let me know the times that are good for you and I’ll check my schedule.”

  We went upstairs. The pull down for the attic was near the guest room. I was surprised Grace hadn’t heard someone walking around in the attic. Well, she had gone down to the kitchen, and I was sure Cassie stayed as still as possible.

  Or I was wrong about who was up there. I hesitated.

  “Want me to go up first?” Paul asked, reaching for the string that lowered the ladder.

  “I’ll go first. I’m ready.” I motioned for Paul to tug down the ladder.

  With one smooth yank, the ladder unfolded. Carefully, I made my way up, hoping with everything inside of me that it was Cassie and there was nothing incriminating against her. Even though it meant that I was still the number one suspect on Grayson’s list.

  I flicked on the attic light. In a corner, there was a scrunched up My Little Pony comforter and a pillow. Stepping closer, I saw a backpack with a t-shirt peeking out. I knew that shirt. I had bought it for Cassie when we went to Hershey park.

  “It was Cassie.” I was relieved—for a moment. Now, if only I could find evidence that she had nothing to do with her father ending up in the dinette bench seat of the RV.

  There was a banging on my front door.

  Paul headed down the ladder. “I’ll get that for you.”

  The pounding continued as Paul made his way down, jumping down before he reached the last rung. The sound intensified. I hurried after Paul, wanting to offer whatever kind of protection was possible. Whoever was at my door was angry.

  Paul yanked open the door.

  Cornelius stepped back for a moment, confused. He huffed and puffed. “I saw what you did. Don’t think I won’t call the home owner’s association about this.”

  Paul leaned toward me. “What is he talking about?”

  “The Christmas decorations I put up.” I gave Cornelius my best Christmas smile. “I’m not going to turn them on tonight.”

  “You can’t win me over with your sweetness.” He shook his finger at me like I was a naughty child tramping through his yard. “You’ve been trying to turn those lights on sooner and keep them on longer since you moved in.”

  He was right. Every year, I attended the Christmas planning meeting and asked about moving up the date. Every year, it was vetoed. I couldn’t help it. I loved Christmas lights. The brightness during the darkest part of the year made the world seem so much more hopeful and bright.

  “I promise I won’t turn the lights on sooner, Cornelius.”

  He crossed his arms and evil-eyed me. “Don’t believe you.”

  “If I do, just call the cops.”

  “Don’t think I won’t. And you better not think of permanently parking that traveling circus vehicle in front of your house. It’s not supposed to be here. I called the HOA and Milton about it. Told him as your attorney, he should do a better of job of making sure you abide by the law.”

  “He’s my divorce attorney,” I said. “He doesn’t care where I park my RV.”

  “He should along with every other person in this neighborhood.” He huffed and stomped across the street, muttering under his breath about the crazy, Christmas lady.

  Our HOA consisted of twelve houses and rules were minimal: no goats, no horses, no Christmas lights on until Black Friday, and no obstructing the road. That one came about because the kids in the neighborhood liked to play football in the street. The problem wasn’t so much the kids in the road as they ran to the yards whenever a car drove down the road, but the huge makeshift goal posts they created. One day, a goal post tipped over onto Cornelius’s car as the kids tried to haul it out of the way.

  A sound came from my backyard. What was it? I strained to hear. The faint hints of “We’re a Couple of Misfits” reached me. Brett. The fall didn’t break my phone. I needed to leave a five-star review for the OtterBox case.

  “My phone. It’s my lawyer. My other one.” I raced through my house to the back door. By the time I stepped out into the backyard, the phone quit ringing. It was somewhere back here. I secured the door to make sure Ebenezer stayed in the house. I didn’t want to have to chase him around the neighborhood.

  I searched through the bushes under the windows of the kitchen. “Where are you?”

  The phone rang again. Brett was determined to reach me and knew my habit of leaving my phone in a different room.

  “What did you find out?” I asked out of breath.

  “Do you have a copy of your divorce decree?” Brett’s voice was strange, a cross between gargling and choking.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you?”

  “No. I haven’t received one in the mail. Since you’re at the courthouse get a copy. Get two. Bonnie needs one also.” Saved me some time.

  “There might be a problem with that,” Brett said in the new strange tone I never heard come from him.

  “You’re my attorney. They’ll give you one.”

  “They can’t give me a document that doesn’t exist.”

  “What?” I screeched.

  “Everything okay?” Paul stood behind me, his breath drifted across my cheek. His hands settled a little too comfortably on my shoulders. He like likes you, Mom.

  I jerked away. Paul’s touch slipped off, and I increased the distance between us. As I hustled into my house to take the private call, I called out to Paul, “Thanks for your help.”

  “Sure thing.” He sounded disappointment.

  “Brett, what are you talking about?” I watched the dejected man walk away. Should I have offered more of an explanation? I didn’t know how to navigate or what to call the relationship between me and Paul. He had been my son’s friend. My son said Paul was interested in me in a romantic way. Paul’s actions hinted at that. The truth was, I wasn’t ready to confirm or deny if my son’s intuition was correct.

  “There’s no copy of the divorce decree at the courthouse. My appointment with the judge was bumped, and since I was here, decided to get a copy for my case file.”

  “It’s not there?”

  “I’ve had them check every file cabinet and in-box. It’s not here.”

  “I’ll see what my attorney has to say.” I ended the call.

  At least I knew why Grayson didn’t believe a word I said, he thought I was lying about being divorced. Knowing my voice betrayed me, I texted Milton. Found a photo album of Samuel’s and am wondering who a few people are. Can you help me when you’re back in town?

  Almost immediately, he responded. Sure can. I can see you at my office in twenty minutes.

  While I was there, I had one more question for Milton: Why wasn’t my divorce decree at the court house?

  Twenty-Three

  Strangling the steering wheel, I headed to my attorney’s office. This was what it felt like to want to harm someone. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. My nerves felt on fire, every organ tight, and my brain pinged from one thought to the next, most of them on ways to harm Milton. Best divorce lawyer in town. Ha. It was like ordering a lovely rum cake from a baker and receiving a fruitcake. No one in the world wanted fruitcake.

  Did Cassie know there wasn’t a divorce decree on file? Did that mean I was still technically married to Samuel? My heart s
queezed for a moment, rendering me breathless and frozen in place. I rubbed at the spot. If so, I was still Cassie’s stepmother. Responsible for her. I groaned. This situation was getting more complicated.

  “Thanks a lot Samuel. And Milton.”

  Rage built. Why hadn’t Milton, or the judge for that matter, filed the decree? How hard could it have been when the document was signed in the courthouse? It was a long hallway, six steps, through a metal detector, and two doors away. Heck, they’d have to walk past the office to leave the building.

  Milton’s office was a mere block away from the courthouse. He had no excuse for not filing it. He was in the courthouse at least three times a week, or so he had told me when I scheduled appointments and complained about his lack of availability. I whipped around the corner and slowed down as the police station was at the end of the block. My income already took a hit this week, no sense adding an unnecessary bill.

  All the street parking was taken. I continued down the one-way street and turned, inching past the police station to the overflow parking lot for the business and the courthouse. I chose the spot farthest from the buildings as I didn’t want anyone seeing my car near the police department and creating some interesting gossip.

  The cold hit me the moment I stepped out of the car. The ducks who refused to go South for winter and lived year-round in the reservoir area across the street quacked at me. The critters were a source of contention between the residents of Season’s Greetings as some found them a nuisance and likely contaminating the water, while others marveled at the ducks’ antics. Personally, I was fond of them, though they took away from the Christmas ambiance this time of year. It wasn’t like we could round them up and put them in Christmas sweaters.

  I cradled the albums to my chest, wishing I opted for my winter jacket. I hadn’t remembered it being this cold when I was on the roof, though I hadn’t just stepped out of a car where the heat was blasting. The sudden temperature change was what got me.

  The wire light wreaths were hung on the streetlamps, and red ribbons were tied around the parking meters. The town was preparing for Christmas. By next Monday morning, the street would be alive with the Christmas spirit: holiday vignettes displayed in windows and others frosted with “snow,” wreaths on doors, holiday music piped from the police station. Some people saw the old buildings and thought run-down and faded, I saw a history lived, open to exploring.

  Why was my life in a tailspin? I maintained a happy and cheerful disposition. I was kind to people. Kept Christmas well and lived with the Christmas spirit all year long. Why did that make people think I didn’t know my own mind? I was a pushover. I had no backbone. Samuel found out I had one. Or then again maybe not. He figured a few dollars, or rather twelve million of them, would persuade me to stay married to him. I stomped away from my car.

  “Merry Christmas, Merry.” Someone called out.

  I hmphed a response. Not very Christmas like. Not Merry Winters like. Don’t let anyone change your spirit. My dad’s voice drifted into my head. I hadn’t had an easy life. Abandoned as a baby. Bullied as a child because of that. Married a man I loved only to discover he didn’t love me enough to stand up to his family. Struggled financially for many years. Yet through it all, I remained hopeful. Happy. Filled with love and forgiveness. I was forty-five years old. Why lose it—correction—give it away because of Samuel and Milton?

  Life wasn’t perfect. It was good. I had amazing children who loved me. Friends. A hobby I loved that turned into a job and now might be my career. The good outweighed the bad. And, it was almost Christmas.

  I smiled. My spirits were picking up. My gait changed from a march into a leisurely stroll. Take time to see the good in the world. I was focusing so much on the evil and bad, I forgot to refill my spirit. There was a couple walking hand-in-hand, heads bowed toward each other, conversing in quiet, excited whispers. She lifted her hand and giggled. An engagement ring gleamed. He held tightly to a velvet box. Eloping. The courthouse was nearby.

  Love. It was a beautiful emotion. A lone duck waddled down the sidewalk. There were always a few ducks who remained behind and took up residence in the water reservoir across the street from the parking lot near the courthouse. They usually remained there unless someone disturbed them, or the temperature dipped too low and DNR rounded them up to move them indoors. Usually kids throwing rocks into the water or cars speeding by. The noise sent the ducks into a frenzy.

  I leaned over and shooed at her or him, trying to direct the duck back to its home. “You don’t want to go that way. Nothing but lawyer offices and two eateries. One’s a hot dog place so they won’t be interested in you, but Charlie’s Hometown Grub might add you to the menu. If you’re a mommy, your little ones are the other way.”

  The duck quacked and continued in the direction I advised against.

  “You’re definitely a male. You’re not listening to me.” I side-stepped to get in front of the duck and waved at him. “Come on, dude, go in the safe direction.”

  He quacked at me, a series of loud duck curses. At least that was what it sounded like to my ears. He arched his neck forward, snapping at me.

  “Fine. Have it your way.” I sighed and stepped aside. The duck waddled down the sidewalk as if he knew exactly where he was going to. “You’ll find out you should’ve accepted the directions I gave.”

  Why hadn’t the judge given the clerk the decree to walk it to the proper office? Didn’t matter. I’d find the decree and file it myself. Today. If Milton was running late, I’d call his wife and ask her to open the office. I was a little scared of that option as Barbara wasn’t the type of person you asked favors from. It wasn’t that she expected any back, it was just that she didn’t like them period and let you know about it. From the picture Milton had of her on the wall, she had been a very happy young lady in her youth. She beamed at the world, a delighted glint in her eyes. The woman nowadays wore a permanent frown and acted like life was getting in her way.

  I always wondered what happened from the time she graduated from college and married Milton to now. The story went that they meet their junior year of college, she had been trying to win his affections since the day she saw him walking into the first class they attended together. At first, Milton only had eyes for another, later noticing Barbara and knowing she was his soul mate.

  The blinds were closed, no light seeping through the slats, though I heard banging coming from the office. What was going on? I paused at the window and peeked inside, cupping my hands over my eyes. There was faint movement coming from the back of the building. I twisted the knob and the door opened. I walked into Milton’s law office.

  Bland and empty were the words to describe it today. Two closed boxes were on the floor near the table where the microwave and Keurig were kept. The coffee pods were gone along with the coffee cups Milton stored beside the brewer. Good to know that my drawn-out divorce financed an office redo. The place needed a sprucing up as the décor style was Ikea mixed with camouflage.

  The framed degrees that had hung on the wall were in an open box on the faded couch where I had waited for my appointment. Milton didn’t have a secretary and used a wooden sign on a platform, “Meeting in Progress,” to let clients know to stay in the waiting area. It was in the middle of the small hallway that led to the private office and the bathroom.

  The pictures of his rock-wall climbing hobby, chili cook-off wins, and fishing trips with his friends, including the one of a teenage Milton, Samuel, and a girl who I presumed was Milton’s wife, were also gone. It had seemed a conflict of interest to hire an attorney who had been Samuel’s friend at one time, but everyone I asked said Milton was the best attorney in town and I should snag him before Samuel hired him. They had been friends since they were young children, the relationship cooling between them when they returned from college.

  The girl in the picture. What if it wasn’t Barbara, but someone Samuel ha
d dated? The mysterious Lynne? The girl had been standing between the two men, and it would explain the total one-eighty facial personality change. The reason Barbara didn’t have the same bubbly personality was because it wasn’t Barbara in the photograph.

  The photographs were in the box with framed degrees. It wouldn’t take long to pull the picture out and snap of photo of the one with the girl. The young girl was smiling, leaning more toward Milton than Samuel. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders, long bangs obscuring her eyes. There was something familiar about the shape of her face. The smile. Her name might be written on the back. The thought plucked out at my desire for knowledge and battled against my conscience. It was one thing to take a picture of the photograph and quite another to take it out of the frame to see whose name was written on the back.

  Before I talked myself out of it, I placed the albums on a chair then opened the box. My hand shook as I took out the photo. I moved the metal hinges on the back of the frame and slid the backing from the groves in the wooden frame. Written in pencil was Samuel, Grace, and Milton. College. Freshman year.

  A door in the back of the office closed. Cold air came from the direction of Milton’s private office. “Milton?”

  It was quiet. Too quiet. Where was he? I wandered back to the office. Nobody was in there. I placed the photo albums on the desk, my gaze being drawn to the open laptop placed on the edge of the screen. The screen was on the start-up screen of Chrome. One of the easy click boxes was for Facebook, and the small image of the Facebook page held my attention. Was that my picture?

  I checked the office for Milton. He must’ve stepped out for lunch, not hearing me come in. I nudged the mouse over to the box and clicked it. Milton was signed on to Facebook—or rather Gary Meadows’ page was up. Milton was Gary Meadows. I clicked on the messaging icon. Milton had been interacting with Samuel, Evelyn Graham, and me. There was a message from Evelyn, sent yesterday: Why are you ignoring me? I did what you wanted.