by Diane Hoh
Vince’s roommate, Philip Zanuck, arrived right behind him, drinks in hand. Philip was slightly shorter than Vince, but as stocky, with darker hair and a long, serious face. He’d been a big help to Tanner when she first arrived on campus. Philip had taken a summer class at Salem, and knew his way around. She might have dated him eventually, if she hadn’t met Charlie Cochran right away.
Philip grinned at Tanner as he slid into the booth. “So, free at last, free at last, eh?”
“You heard.”
“Everyone has. The buzz on campus is, Tanner’s having a bash. That true?”
Tanner shifted uncomfortably. “Well, sure. Sooner or later.”
Philip laughed. “Man, I’d give a lot to see your old man’s face if he came home and found that house rocking on its foundation.”
“Oh, yeah, me, too,” Tanner said drily. “That’d be a real treat. Of course, I wouldn’t be one of the survivors.”
Philip was no fan of Dr. Leo’s, either. Philip was smart, even brilliant, but her father, who had him in class, told Tanner that Philip’s mind was “out in left-field somewhere. That boy’s never going to amount to anything if he doesn’t get his head out of the clouds and get his act together.”
It was true. Philip often seemed distracted, and was constantly losing his keys, his wallet, a paper he’d written. But he was paying his own way through school, working part-time in a garage in Twin Falls, and Tanner thought that should count for something with her father. It didn’t seem to.
Tanner never lost her wallet or keys, but, like Philip, she did her share of daydreaming, including fantasizing about having her own room on campus.
They were discussing party plans when a good-looking, expensively dressed boy carrying a plastic bag from a record shop at the mall approached their table. Sloane Currier leaned on the table and said heartily, “Invite me, and my newest CD’s are yours for the night.”
Tanner didn’t laugh. Sloane Currier was not one of her favorite people. He had far too much money for his own good and made sure that everyone knew he had it, Sloane was a show-off. He had started school a semester late because he’d been “touring Europe,” and loved to brag about it.
Jodie said Sloane was “overcompensating” because he wasn’t that great a student. Tanner said that Jodie had taken Psych 101 far too seriously, and that Sloane wasn’t overcompensating, he was just conceited.
“I don’t even know when I’m having a party,” she said coolly in answer to Sloane’s offer.
“Man, I can’t believe the eminent psychiatrist Dr. Milton Frederick Leo finally blew town,” Sloane said, looking directly at Tanner, who felt his gaze on her but refused to meet his eyes. She focused on the white Formica tabletop instead. “I thought Tyrannosaurus rex would never leave. Everyone hear that big sigh of relief on campus?”
Tanner was quickly wearying of hearing her father put down. It was one thing for her to complain about him. She had to live with him. But she felt disloyal listening to everyone else make fun of him. He was her father, after all. “My father’s no tyrant,” she snapped. “He just has high standards.”
Sloane hooted derisively.
“We were just discussing party plans,” Sandy said, smiling at Sloane, “and we’ve been ordered to ease off Tanner by her keeper, Charlie Cochran.”
“Charlie is not my keeper,” Tanner said stiffly. She disengaged her fingers from Charlie’s. “I don’t have a keeper. And I make all my decisions, thank you very much. I’ll party when I’m good and ready.” She grinned as she stood up and slid out of the booth. “Could be any minute now. But first, I have to run over to the library for some quick research and then I have to get home and do some minor rearranging.”
“Don’t make us wait too long,” Sloane said, sliding into the place she’d vacated. “It’s been at least a week since my last party and I’m beginning to suffer party withdrawal pangs. So hurry it up, okay, Tanner?”
Tanner dismissed him with a wave of her hand. If she had a party, it would be because she wanted to, not because Sloane Currier demanded it.
Charlie walked her to the library. Campus was beautiful at night, Tanner decided, especially in early spring when the trees were bearing newborn leaves of bright green lace. The old-fashioned round globes topping the black iron lamp posts cast a lemon-yellow glow over the rolling lawns, thick and lush now with new growth.
Tanner loved Salem. She loved its wide brick and stone buildings, the carillon at the top of the Tower, the music building, and the library, its shelves overflowing with books. She loved her classes, the parties, the clubs, the dances, the football and basketball games, and the track meets. She loved all of it.
But she never walked across campus without yearning to live in one of the dorms, although none of them was half as impressive-looking as her father’s house on Faculty Row. She’d been in some of the dorms. They were noisy and messy and some were very worn, their walls faded, their hardwood floors scuffed. They smelled of basement cafeterias or dining halls, of laundry soap and bleach, of varnish and floor wax. Tanner loved them. They were wonderfully chaotic, with people racing into and out of doors, rushing for the elevator, shouting to one another, playing rock or rap at full volume, borrowing hair dryers and shampoo and towels and sweaters from one another. Messy, noisy, just like her life with her mother. She missed that.
Living with her father was calm and well-ordered and … the word that came to mind was “chilly.” It was chilly in that house, no matter what the temperature. But it was free, and the dorms weren’t, not even for children of faculty. So, no choice there.
Charlie had a fraternity meeting to attend, so he left her on the steps of the library, saying he’d call her later. He kissed her good-bye, although people were running up and down the steps. Shouts of “All right, go to it!” filled the air around them. Charlie and Tanner ignored them and made the kiss a long, meaningful one.
When Charlie turned and loped away, Tanner watched him go. He was one of the good guys. She had dated in high school, including one semi-serious romance, but she’d never met anyone like Charlie. He was funny and sweet, doing old-fashioned things like opening the car door for her and sometimes bringing her a flower when they weren’t even going to a dance, just a movie on campus, and calling her every night to tell her to sleep tight. Once, shortly after they’d met, he’d whipped off his windbreaker and tossed it across a puddle at her feet, outside the science building, so she could walk across it without getting wet. People passing by had hooted in derision, and Tanner, laughing, had quickly scooped up the jacket before it was ruined. “It’s the thought that counts,” she’d said, kissing him on the cheek. “Nice to know that chivalry isn’t completely dead.”
In spite of his old-fashioned way of treating her, which Charlie said his mother had hammered into him from the time he was born and lay in a crib next to a baby girl, he gave her all the space and freedom she needed. Charlie never tried to make decisions for her, never interfered with her very busy schedule at school, never talked down to her like some guys did to girls. He gave his mother credit for that, too. “Treat a woman well,” Charlie quoted, “but if you have to baby her, she’s not intelligent enough for you.”
Tanner couldn’t wait to meet Charlie’s mother.
When she had finished at the library, she headed for home. She loved walking alone on campus, and was never nervous. Things happened on campus, she knew that. She’d heard stories. The most frightening had to do with Nightingale Hall, a huge, gloomy, old off-campus dorm down the highway a short distance. Everyone called it “Nightmare Hall.” It sat atop a hill overlooking the road, surrounded by creepy-looking giant trees that cast dark shadows over the worn brick house. Tanner and Jodie couldn’t understand why anyone would want to live there, and had decided the cost must be practically nil.
Still, she thought as she approached her father’s house on Faculty Row, which was worse? Living in an ugly house like Nightmare Hall with noise and friends and probably a lot of
chaos, or living in a beautiful house in chilly silence?
The house really was pretty, she had to admit that. The prettiest house on the street. Situated on a wooded, corner lot on Faculty Row, Dr. Leo’s home was a medium-sized, two-story structure built of mellowed antique red brick and trimmed in pristine white. Shiny black shutters framed the windows. The stone walkway leading to the front door was lined with carefully tended beds of early spring flowers. A fat wreath of dried flowers adorned the door and a large red mailbox hung on the wall over the front stoop. Although the upstairs was dark, lights shown from the living room and kitchen windows.
The streetlight on the corner cast a soft, pale glow over the house and its surrounding, perfectly manicured grounds, making the property look warm and welcoming. The surveillance cameras installed to continually scan the front yard were at each end of the roofline, unobtrusively placed so they were barely noticeable.
Perfect, Tanner thought, hesitating at the front gate of the white picket fence surrounding the yard. It just looks so very, very perfect.
So why, she wondered, don’t I want to go inside? Why, she wondered, would I rather be anywhere else but here?
Because that was how she felt, standing at the gate. A pulse at her temple had begun to throb, the muscles between her shoulder blades suddenly felt drawn as tightly as her violin strings, and her stomach felt hollow, as if it had a huge, gaping hole in it.
She did not want to go inside.
Chapter 3
“WHAT AM I DOING?” Tanner murmured, pulling the gate open. “He’s not there! I should be excited about going inside when I know he’s miles away. What’s wrong with me?” She laughed softly to herself. “Maybe I need a shrink.”
Silly would be inside. She didn’t leave on Tuesdays until eight, because Dr. Leo had late appointments on that day.
Of course, Tanner thought to herself as she opened the front door, maybe now that the good doctor has taken off for exotic islands, Silly will decide to leave early on Tuesdays. That would be disappointing. It was a lot more fun entering the house to the sound of the housekeeper’s voice booming, “Well, hello there, Missy, how was your day? Break any hearts? Got cookies in the oven, out in a minute, you can have a handful and spoil your supper. Then the Doc’ll give me that look, the one that’s supposed to petrify these old bones. Takes more than a look to scare me, I’ll tell you. Go ahead, eat up, put some meat on those bones.” Then she’d laugh in that raucous, gutsy way that reminded Tanner, with a pang, of her mother’s lusty laughter.
But a moment later, as she closed the door behind her, Tanner grimaced in disappointment as she entered a house so still, so quiet, it couldn’t possibly have Silly in it. Even if the housekeeper hadn’t called out a greeting, there would have been the sound of pans rattling or cookie sheets sliding out of the oven or the clanking of silverware being loaded into the dishwasher. Something, some sound.
There was nothing.
Tanner dropped her pile of books on a small telephone table in the paisley-wallpapered foyer and moved on down the shiny hardwood floor in the hall toward the staircase. Maybe Silly was upstairs, changing the linens, wearing headphones as she listened to her music, forgetting that she could now blast her radio as loud as she wanted to. The master of the house hadn’t been gone long enough for Silly to realize how free they were.
Tanner ran lightly up the carpeted stairs, calling, “Silly? Silly, are you here?”
There was no answer.
And although Tanner checked each of the three spacious bedrooms, all immaculate, the beds neatly made as always, no speck of dust anywhere, she saw no sign of the housekeeper.
Tanner stood in the center of her own pale apricot and white bedroom, feeling vaguely disoriented. Also unsettled because she suddenly felt very much alone. She had been so eager for her father to leave, couldn’t wait to see his plane take off into the wide blue yonder. Now, here she was, alone at last, and instead of rejoicing, she was feeling blue. What was that from? If her father walked in the front door right this very minute, would her heart leap with joy?
Hardly.
It wasn’t that he was gone. It was that Silly was, too. Tanner had been looking forward to a nice, cozy dinner at the small, round, wooden table in the kitchen, just the two of them, talking and laughing. She could tell Silly things, things about Charlie and about school, without getting a frown or a clucking of the tongue in response. But so far, there hadn’t been much of an opportunity, because her father was usually there. Nobody dampened conversation like he did.
Now, just when they were finally alone and could relax and have a good time, Silly hadn’t waited.
Tanner sank down on the white eyelet bedspread. She hadn’t expected to have to rattle around in this good-sized house all by herself, not just yet. Not right off the bat like this. In fact, she had thought seriously of asking Silly to stay overnight. Just for a night or two. It wasn’t as if Silly had family of her own. She didn’t. Her husband had fallen off the railroad bridge behind campus in a drunken stupor years ago, and Silly’s two children, she had told Tanner matter-of-factly, lived far away and were ashamed of what their mother did for a living. They never called or wrote except for Christmas cards.
“Course,” Silly had added drily, “what I do for a living is what put them two through college so’s they can hold their heads up, but there’s no sense fightin’ about it. I’ve got my friends and my church and a nice, fine life. No complainin’ here.”
Tanner thought Silly was one of the bravest women she’d ever known. Silly had to be lonely sometimes, whether she was willing to admit it or not, so wouldn’t she love to stay here in this nice, big house with someone who liked her and wouldn’t give her that look designed to petrify her old bones?
But she’d already left, so she wouldn’t be staying on this, the first night of freedom in the Leo house.
Maybe tomorrow night.
Tanner thought briefly about calling the housekeeper to invite her back that night. Her number was on the cork bulletin board beside the refrigerator.
But that would mean another long bus ride. Didn’t seem fair.
I could go pick her up, Tanner thought, standing up. Wasn’t that why I insisted on taking him to the airport, so that I could have the car while he was gone?
Making up her mind, Tanner ran back down the stairs and into the kitchen. A chocolate layer cake, thickly frosted with more chocolate, slick and shiny as glass, sat on a plate in the center of the wooden table. At least a quarter of it was missing.
That was weird. Silly never ate sweets. She had too much trouble with her teeth. “A few minutes of pleasure,” she said, “ain’t worth the hours of pain. Or the money. Hardly anything’s more costly than a visit to the dentist these days.”
Maybe this one time she’d decided the few minutes of pleasure would be worth it. Tanner didn’t blame her. Silly’s chocolate cakes were out of this world.
Then she saw the note, propped up against the cake plate. Of course. Silly wouldn’t take off early without leaving a message of some kind. Usually her notes told what was for dinner and which chores she’d left for Tanner to do. Dr. Leo believed in young adults having responsibility. He said it built character. Then I must have lots of it, Tanner had thought in response. Her mother hadn’t been really big on housekeeping and if Tanner hadn’t done it, it wouldn’t have been done at all.
She did her chores, such as they were, without complaint. The one thing she had insisted upon was that she wasn’t dusting the music room. “Afraid I’ll break something valuable,” she’d confided to Silly, and Silly had grinned and said, “Me, too. But I get paid and you don’t, so I’ll take the risk. You can unload the dishwasher instead.”
I should have looked here in the kitchen first, Tanner told herself, instead of scouring the house for Silly. This kitchen practically belongs to her. Where else would she leave a message?
The note, neatly printed in pencil, read: Ice cream in freezer. Help yourself. Mavis.
/>
Tanner frowned. Also weird. Nothing about dinner, nothing about leaving early, nothing about baking the cake to celebrate their freedom. They had joked about it, Silly doing a little dance around the kitchen, waving a wooden spoon in the air like a magic wand, saying, “Oh, aren’t we just going to have the grandest time, just the two of us, when His Majesty is gone?”
As for the ice cream, Tanner did understand why it was mentioned in the note. Dr. Leo absolutely forbade the confection in his house, saying it was nothing but sugar and air and he expected a “decent” dessert at the end of a meal; that was one of the reasons he paid a cook. Tanner loved ice cream. Silly knew that, and must have made a special trip to the store to buy some, probably the minute Tanner and her father had left the house that morning. What a nice thing to do! She hadn’t had ice cream after a meal since she’d left Ashtabula.
That explained Silly telling her about the ice cream. But, the note still seemed unusually cryptic. Tanner sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, studying the piece of paper. Weird that it didn’t say what was for dinner.
And Silly had signed the note “Mavis”? Tanner never called her that.
Still, glancing at the cake again, Tanner guessed what must have happened. Silly had given in to temptation, chowed down on chocolate cake, and before you could say, “Big mistake!” that back tooth that gave her so much trouble had started throbbing and she’d had to rush to get to the dentist before he left for the day. Hadn’t even had time to write down tonight’s menu.
It didn’t matter. There was probably a casserole or some chicken in the oven, and there were always salad fixings in the vegetable drawer of the fridge.
The ice cream in the freezer beckoned, but Tanner decided to be the responsible adult her father was so convinced she wasn’t, and eat a decent meal first. Anyway, Silly had made it; it shouldn’t go to waste.
When she pocketed the note and stood up, she moved to the refrigerator, anticipating a chilled pasta salad or thick sandwiches on a plate.
