by Nicole Young
I smiled at the memory. I turned on my side and stared out the picture window at the maple speckled with a few persistent leaves. Anne’s cable TV had been a big plus too. Where else could I have enjoyed hours of Star Trek reruns and Movie of the Week television premiers? Even so, cable had been my first introduction to fear. Seven was too young to be watching Injun Joe pursuing Tom Sawyer in the caves. Anne had walked me home across the alley that night. I’d been terrified that Crazy Joe was lurking in the garage waiting to leap out at me with that long, curving knife.
A sunbeam bounced off a passing car and caught me in the eye. I blinked back a tear. Seven short years of bliss. Then, it was as if God had let loose a whirlwind in my life.
My stomach sent out a resounding gurgle. Grateful for an excuse to avoid the tour of days past, I jumped up and pulled on my jacket. Grocery shopping couldn’t be put off another minute, or I’d never live to see another day.
I brushed my hair and a few minutes later turned out the drive onto Main Street and slowed at the tracks. Deucey took the rails like a ship on rolling seas. The car behind me tooted with impatience. I looked in the rearview mirror. Sun glinted off the windshield of a red midsize. I’d have to remember the vehicle for future reference. Its owner was completely rude.
At the next block, I stopped at the traffic signal. The clock tower on the adjacent corner read 1:15. It was surrounded with corn stalks to mark the season. I marveled at the quaint details that drew tourists to Rawlings by the droves.
Beside me, a store window caught my attention. Home sweet home, the sign above the door said. Antiques and accessories were arranged behind the plate glass with irresistible charm. A brightly colored quilt draped the chair beside a spinning wheel. A drop-leaf table was set for tea.
I hummed a sigh. Too bad I always rented furniture. This was one home I’d love to decorate with Victorian era knickknacks and uncomfortable straight-back upholstery. But it would never fly at the open house. I had to portray a feeling of casual, carefree living. Victorian was definitely too stuffy.
The bad-mannered driver beeped again, and I realized I’d daydreamed well into the green light. I pushed on the gas and cruised toward my destination. A few lights later, I turned into the parking lot of Goodman’s Grocery.
I put Deucey in park and stepped onto the asphalt. To my annoyance, the red car pulled into a spot in the opposite row. Just my luck. I’d have to face my tormenter.
David, my oh-so-handsome neighbor, got out.
I was torn between the beauty of his face and the ugly of his attitude. Still, I waved when he looked my way.
“Tish!” He seemed overly pleased to see me. No doubt embarrassed to realize I’d been the slowster in the car ahead.
He walked toward Deucey. I clutched the open door like a shield between us.
“Did you see me waving?” he asked. “I tried getting your attention, but you were too wrapped up in the scenery.”
I remembered the sun’s glare on the windshield of his car. If he had been waving at me, I wouldn’t have seen it.
“When that didn’t work, I blew the horn.” He skirted the door and went to the trunk. “You’ve got a cord hanging out the boot, and I wasn’t sure it was rainproof.”
I closed my door and followed him. A black strip of fabric dangled out Deucey’s back end.
“It’s a good thing I wasn’t going to Flint today,” I said. “Would you have followed me all the way?”
“Whatever it took.”
I looked to see if there was a tease somewhere in those depths. But it seemed he was serious. I let down my guard. I couldn’t hold a grudge against a guy who’d go to such lengths to watch out for me.
I stuck in the key and opened the trunk. Inside were the remains of my nomadic life. I’d brought the necessities into the house the night before—personal care items, essential clothes, and sleep gear. But the rest would hole up in the car until needed.
A tapestry suitcase, containing the testimony of my existence, took up the back half of the cavernous trunk. Bills, old checkbooks, tax returns, and the clown I’d sewn for a junior high project were wedged in so tight, I’d broken the zipper trying to close it.
In front of me, tucked close to the bumper, was a backpack that just missed getting crushed the last time I’d slammed the trunk closed. Its adjustable strap hadn’t been so lucky.
I looked at the sky. Good thing nylon was waterproof. The cloudless morning was about to give birth to an overcast afternoon. A bank of storms piled high on the horizon. The sun had only a few short hours before it would be swallowed by the cranky newborn.
“You’re right.” I locked eyes with David. “We’re in for some rain.”
Tearing away from his gaze seemed impossible. I’d always appreciated blue eyes on a guy with a square chin and full lips. And standing tall in his knee-length woolen coat, he looked so important, so exceptional. I wished I could figure out how to dress to impress. But in my line of work, it was too much trouble to change out of my grungies every time I left the house.
I bent over the trunk, fumbling around trying to arrange things. With the strap tucked away, I went to close it.
“Allow me,” he said. He raised his arm to slam the lid. His fingers brushed mine, sending a jolt of electricity tingling up my arm. I couldn’t be sure if it was magnetic attraction or static cling.
“Would you like to share a buggy?” David asked. “I just have a few things to buy and I’d love the company. I won’t take much space, I promise.”
Share a shopping cart? I hardly knew the guy. But he was a neighbor, and I hated to be rude.
“I’d love to,” I said.
We wheeled down the produce aisle.
“So, where do you get your accent?” I slung a bag of Macintosh apples into the cart.
“I come by it naturally. I grew up a bit south of London.”
I smiled. “I love the way it sounds.”
“Most Americans do. It’s only fellow Brits that detect a hint of commoner.”
“Commoner?” My gaze swept across his face. “We don’t have any of those in America. We’re all royalty as far as we’re concerned.”
“That’s why I love it here.”
An enormous golden grapefruit caught my eye. I put it in a plastic baggie and set it in the cart. Next to it I dropped some grapes and my favorites—plums. I crossed over to the veggie aisle and loaded up on salad supplies.
“How long have you been in the U.S.?” I asked.
“Five years or so,” he said.
I reached for a bunch of celery to supplement my peanut butter craving. The red rubber band holding it together clung to the stalk beneath, and it stuck in place. I leaned forward to free it and got an eyeful of my hairdo in the mirror over the vegetable display. My brush-n-go styling had decided to hover like a halo around my face. I looked like I’d spent the morning plugged into a light socket.
Behind me, David scooped peanuts from a barrel into a paper bag. I leaned close to the mirror and tried to flatten my flyaways. Just then, the vegetable sprinkler system kicked on. I leaped back, but not before my face got sprayed. I wiped the drops off with my fingers and ran them through my hair. At least it would behave for the moment.
When I turned around, David was talking with a woman who looked like she’d spent the morning under her hair dryer. I’d never seen such a perfect flip-do. Even her lashes curled in the right direction, held in place by just the right amount of mascara. And while I couldn’t detect lipstick or blush on her cheeks, that was only because it was so cleverly applied. No woman could look that good without help.
I could feel those primordial female hackles rising. To the casual observer, it would seem I had no reason to stake a claim on David. But anyone with eyeballs could see we were sharing a shopping cart. Couldn’t she take a hint?
She smiled at David and gave a tacky giggle. David smiled back and said something that got an even bigger guffaw out of the petite blonde.
Come on.
Couldn’t he see that blatant flirtation for what it was? Maybe I’d given him too much credit.
I was just about to splat him with an avocado when the beguiling creature turned to me. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline.
“Oh!” Her hand froze in place over her mouth.
I guess my frizz rendered her speechless.
I was sure that somewhere behind her enlarged pupils, a brain churned. I decided to keep quiet to see if any thoughts rose to the surface. Finally, she lowered her fingers.
“I don’t mean to stare. It’s just that you look so much like someone who used to live around here.”
I was impressed. She spoke in complete sentences.
I gave a big, overzealous smile to match her own fakey attitude. “You are the second person that’s told me that today. Guess I’ve got that all-American look.”
She scrunched up her face. “No. It’s not that. You just remind me of someone who left town at least a year ago. I should have known you weren’t her. She’d have to have guts to show her face around here again.”
Great. I was the unsuspecting twin of some small-town pariah. I hadn’t thought anyone else’s face could be as featureless as mine.
“David said you’re new in town.” She extended a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Tammy Johnson. I own the Beauty Boutique on Maple Street. Stop in some day. I’d love to get to know you.”
Right. I squeezed politely and dropped my arm. What she really meant was that she’d love to get her hands on the overgrown haystack on my head. My stubborn streak vowed that her clippers and callus-free palms would never touch a strand.
“I’ll be sure to stop in. I’m Tish Amble. Nice to meet you.”
She’d done a great job keeping eye contact during our conversation, but now she gave me a fast once-over before turning back to David.
My insides tightened. Not everyone could be as put together as her little prima donna self. She could cut those of us with a fashion handicap a little slack.
“I meant to ask you, David,” she said in a silky-smooth voice, “any word from your wife?”
Air drained out of my lungs in a surprised gush. My eyes poked out and my cheeks sucked in. I felt like an astronaut who’d just lost atmosphere.
Wife? I was sharing a shopping cart with a married man? Gee, when had he planned on telling me that tidbit?
At least he had the good sense to look embarrassed.
He shifted his weight to the opposite leg as his fingers did a quick tattoo on the handle of the cart. “No. I haven’t heard from Rebecca lately.”
My eyebrow twitched. Another case of wayward wife. Must be an epidemic in Rawlings.
Tammy ducked her head in a show of repentance. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject. Got to run.”
She flashed me a parting glance as she walked up the aisle and out of view.
I leeched onto David’s eyeballs with a glare of accusation. But my anger fled when I saw the look on his face. His brow was furrowed in sadness and a cloud of emotion gathered in his gaze.
I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He obviously hadn’t gotten over the woman who’d left him. I was searching my Miss Manners data bank for an appropriate comment, when he saved me from uttering the inane words.
“Tammy means well. We all miss Rebecca.” His voice sounded thick. “It’s hard. Every time I open the mail, I expect to see divorce papers.”
He wheeled the cart into the next aisle and I followed mutely behind.
Ahead of me, David put a box of Sugar Puffs in the cart. My heart did a flip-flop. Here was a guy who needed a woman to watch out for him. No one should consume that nasty sweetened cardboard.
“Here, try this granola,” I said, passing him my brand. “You’ll love it. And it’s good for you.”
He took the box from me and set it in the cart. With a moment’s hesitation, he put the Sugar Puffs back on the shelf.
I admired the way the ligaments played along the back of his hands. I could picture how well-suited those long fingers were for a computer keyboard. I knew they would be soft, gentle . . .
I cleared my throat. It didn’t seem fair of Rebecca to just leave him hanging like this. If she didn’t want to patch things up, she ought to at least give him the dignity of setting him free. She could step aside and give someone else a chance to erase the sorrow from his features.
My mind slid back to Tammy’s perfect figure. Unless I was mistaken, I wasn’t the only candidate interested in taking on the job.
Maybe I’d stop by the Beauty Boutique after all.
7
A song rolled off my tongue as I grabbed my groceries from the backseat and headed toward the house. I had more fun shopping today than I could remember. David was ever the gentleman. He didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t talk too much about himself. We’d been content just pushing a cart together.
He’d helped me load my supplies into the car at the grocery store, then followed me home, giving a friendly beep of farewell as he headed down the street to his own driveway. I could hear the slam of his car door two garages over even now.
I smiled, breathing in the bitter scent of crushed autumn leaves. It felt good to dip my big toe back into the pool of human companionship.
I paused at the steps to the back porch and wrinkled my nose at the cedar growing out of control against the house. I made a mental note to replace it with a short, tame barberry and plenty of wood chips. Then buyers could better appreciate the beauty of the turned spindles that followed the length of the rail, especially once all the trim got a fresh coat of white paint come summer.
I continued up the steps, reaching for the keys while trying to keep hold of the paper bags in my arms. The ring jangled free of my pocket. At the same moment, my toe kicked something soft.
I jerked back, expecting to see the mangled corpse of a jack-o’-lantern, a prank in keeping with the season. Instead, a cloth sack filled to the brim with ripe, juicy tomatoes awaited discovery.
I glanced across the fence to Brad’s backyard. Obviously, he decided to follow through on his promised delivery despite my less-than-stellar behavior. How sweet.
As I put away my grocery items, I replayed my afternoon with David. He’d been so attentive, unloading the cart at the checkout lane. I found it hard to believe he’d been raised a “commoner,” as he put it. David was nothing if not well-bred. And it had been a good long time since a man went out of his way to treat me like a lady. I knew better than to get my hopes up, but it never hurt to dream.
I went to the porch and retrieved the gift tomatoes. I unloaded at least a dozen of them into the veggie bin. I’d probably look like a tomato by the time I got done eating them all. If Brad had mentioned this peace offering before I went shopping, I could have saved a buck eighty-nine.
I closed the fridge. Outside, rain began pelting the earth. The wind blew a sheet of water against the kitchen window.
A crash of thunder ripped through the house, shaking the floor beneath me. Lightning followed close on its heels, flashing a brilliant white against the door to the basement as I passed by. For a split second, the outline of a woman appeared on its painted surface.
I screamed and fell backward. My head bumped against the wall behind me. The lightning flashed again. The panels were bare.
I gave a laugh of relief. I’d been nearly knocked unconscious by my own shadow. I rubbed the back of my head.
“Pull it together, Tish,” I said to the empty room. I stood up and patted the dirt off my backside, hoping to brush off a little imagination with it.
It had been only my shadow on the door, not some specter beckoning to free her wronged spirit. With Officer Brad and Lloyd & Sons as my witnesses, there was no body in my basement.
From where I stood, I could see that the bolt still secured the door. Even the swamp monster couldn’t get up here. Still, I wasn’t feeling very brave. I inched my way past, never taking my eye off the doorknob, expect
ing to see it turn any second . . .
I made it to the bathroom and flipped the lock.
How had I gone all afternoon without thinking of the body that was not in my basement? Obviously, being in David’s company helped. I could only hope that I’d get to spend more time with him—I had to do something to keep my sanity. It would be pathetic if the neighbors found me one day, locked in my bathroom, rocking back and forth on the toilet seat and ranting about a body in my cistern, when of course there was no body in my cistern.
The flush of the toilet blended with the peal of a train whistle as an engine flew past. Funny, a sound I’d dreaded only last night was a comfort to me now. The blaring notes were rooted in reality. They strengthened me enough that I could open the door and walk back into the kitchen. There was no need to be nervous.
There was no body.
That night, after an evening topped off by a tomato salad and a romance novel minus the ghosts, I fell asleep to the sound of rain. I woke the next day to the coo of a mourning dove. Somewhere in between must have been more ear-splitting whistles, but my only conscious memory was of a dream that had me trapped in Deucey’s front seat, with Grandma driving.
“Your mother was always a good girl,” she said, smiling at me. Her white hair was arranged in perfect curls around her face. Red lipstick and drawn-on eyebrows made her seem younger than her years.
When I looked at her hands, wrinkled and old, gripping the steering wheel, that “something’s amiss” feeling came over me—the one you get when you meet someone in a dream, and all of a sudden you remember that in real life the person is dead. Suddenly I was scared. My legs and arms felt bolted to the bench seat. I watched, helpless, as Grandma’s face became an oozing mass of color, as if an artist had swirled his brush on the canvas to blot out a mistake.
The contorted mouth talked to me. “Why couldn’t you have been more like your mother?”
Then we were airborne, with the bottom of Mead Quarry racing up to meet us.
I was awake now, more so than after my usual two cups of coffee. And a good thing too. It was time to roll up my sleeves and get to work.
