The Show House

by Dan Lopez

  IF SHE CAN GET TO THE CAR SHE’LL BE ABLE TO HOIST herself up. It’s just a matter of perseverance, and that she has in abundance. Time is her limiting factor yet again. What if Thaddeus has gone and done something stupid? What if he’s allowed something to happen to that beautiful little girl? He can barely even swim. What if she’s fallen into the pool? The thought sends a shiver down her back. No, she can’t—she won’t—take that chance. The car is nearby, and she just has to crawl.

  She wastes no time pulling herself to her feet. A little worse for wear, but the knee is bruised, not broken. She massages it while catching her breath.

  A familiar voice rings out from the yard. She rubs her leg one final time and presses on. “It’s just a charley horse. Get it together, Cheryl.” With each step she feels her strength returning. By the time she reaches the side yard, the pain has dulled into a steady throbbing.

  A decade has passed since she was here two nights ago to set the pool controls, and there is a great deal to navigate quickly. Voices volley but the dense foliage strips away the words, leaving only tones and cadence, which makes it difficult to identify the speakers.

  Somewhere near the air conditioner, she runs into Steven. “You’re here!” She latches on to him and sways side to side. His clothes smell like ash and spice—pleasant at first, but then soon too sharp and she has to turn her head. Her nose stings and she tastes it in the back of her mouth. But her baby is here! He’s safe. It doesn’t matter that he’s been missing all day. He came back when he was needed, like he always does.

  “I’ve been trying you all day. Where’s your father?” He stiffens at the mention of Thaddeus, then squirms out of her grip. “Is Gertie with you?”

  “Everything’s fine. Peter has her.”

  As he pulls away, the air freshens, and because of that and because Gertie is safe, she breathes a sigh of relief. She closes her eyes and leans against the a/c, thankful to God or the universe or whatever that everything has worked out and that her family has made it through in one piece. “Come on, let’s go see her.”

  “No!” His hip twitches, and for a moment it seems as if he may bolt over the fence, but then he squares his back and fixes his face into something approximating a smile. “I’ll wait by the car. You go on ahead, if you want, and be with Peter.”

  “Alone? Why?” She stands up straight and swallows hard.

  Peter wouldn’t have told Steven what she said in the car, would he? No, it wouldn’t make sense. Not with Gertie in danger. But then again, maybe he would. He could want to hurt her, and isn’t that what she’s feared all along? After today Thaddeus is out of the picture for sure, and now Peter has the perfect excuse to cut her out as well.

  She studies Steven’s face for any indication, but he betrays nothing. Under scrutiny, he hardly even blinks. The only motion is the curling and uncurling of his fists, which come in rhythm with his slow breath and of which he seems unaware.

  “Did Peter say something to you? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on,” he says, his voice pitching up and sounding a thousand miles away like it did when he was a child and had done something wrong but knew she couldn’t prove it.

  She presses him. “Where have you been all day?”

  “My phone was on do not disturb. I came as soon as I realized—”

  “Where’s your father? I need to talk to him.” This time he flinches. She sees it clearly even in the low light of the side yard. “Why are you doing that every time I mention your father?”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Steven Bloom. I know you too well. Every time I mention your father you flinch. And you’re telling me you don’t know where he is but his car is out front and yours isn’t. Did you take Gertie out of day care? Have you been with him all day?”

  “No!” He slaps the side of the tent. The vinyl emits a hollow groan. “I told you everything I can.”

  “Jesus Christ, Steven! What is going on? What are you not telling me? Where is your father?”

  “Sorry. Look, it’s been an emotional day for all of us with Gertie missing—”

  “But you didn’t know that because of your phone.”

  “What?”

  “You couldn’t have known Gertie was missing all day unless you checked your phone. Or if you were with your father—”

  “No. What? That’s not what I meant...”

  He attempts an explanation, but she knows not to listen. Instead, she watches his face. It will betray him sooner or later; it always does. His eyes dart and his lips twitch. His posture slumps the longer he speaks. He bites at his nails, but immediately snorts and pulls them away. Practiced desperation creeps into his voice, but it passes quickly, as she knew it would. He lacks shame, and true desperation can’t endure without shame. This is what she’s always known about her son, what she’s always been afraid to admit to others, even to Thaddeus: Steven doesn’t feel things like other boys. His eyes water and she doesn’t know why she didn’t notice that earlier. Hives have formed along his forearms and the insides of his elbows are red as if from struggling with a great weight. The wind shifts and the tent quivers. She catches the sharp scent of ash and spice, the same she detected on him earlier—

  Her voice catching, she interrupts him. “Where’s your father, Steven?”

  His expression hardens. A dark smile plays at the corners of his eyes. “I couldn’t tell you.”

  BROWN CLOUDS SWIRL AROUND A YELLOW MOON IN A purple sky. Stevie dragged him into the tent. He remembers that. But instead of waking up inside, Thaddeus finds himself floating high above the house. Down below, Stevie plays with Gertie. He alights on the patio next to them. All his pains are gone.

  “Good to see you, Pop.” A faint aura obscures Stevie’s features. “Have a good flight?”

  “Sure, sure. Listen, I don’t want to waste any more time. I’ve got a surprise for you.” With one hand he scoops Gertie up and with the other he pulls Stevie toward the planter where Cheryl hides his pipe and weed. “Come on, our little secret. We won’t tell your mother.”

  “Well, all right. I don’t see any harm in that.”

  “Look at us all together at last. The Three Amigos. Ha!”

  The world creeps forward at a sluggish pace, but he doesn’t mind. He’s a man who can appreciate the moment, and this is one hell of a moment. His granddaughter curls up in his arms, a giant smile plastered on her slumbering face. His son sits beside him, and they’re dipping their feet in the cool waters of the pool while passing the pipe back and forth. “Do you remember when you gave me this pipe?” he asks, taking a toke.

  Stevie claps a hand on his shoulder and kisses him on the cheek. “This guy,” he says. “I love this guy.”

  “Right back at you!”

  Together, they stretch out on the patio and gaze up at the heavens. The clouds part to reveal a universe in motion. Stars blink. Galaxies swirl. A neon meteor shower passes overhead, coaxing the damn termites out of the house. They funnel into the sky where they form a bold, arcing rainbow.

  “Will you look at that?” Thaddeus says. He wants to wake Gertie to show her, but she’s had such a long day already. It’s better to let her rest, and, anyway, there will be more nights like this, many more opportunities now. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”

  “Once or twice.”

  Serenity washes over Thaddeus’s face. What a wondrous life his son must live if he’s seen something like this sky before.

  “But I’m glad we’re seeing it together, Pop.”

  “I’m a lucky man to have a son like you. I’m proud of you, Stevie.”

  Stevie’s eyes are half closed from the pot and his lips are a happy wobble. He thanks Thaddeus, then chuckles. It’s contagious, and before long they both erupt in giggles. He tries to stop for fear of waking Gertie, but he can’t, and his inability to control himself only goads Stevie. They laugh so hard that tears begin to form.

  Stevie manages to quiet
down first. He sits up and reaches for Gertie. Thaddeus slips her into his arms. His son and granddaughter: the picture of happiness under that gorgeous swirling sky. “I hope you’re not mad,” he says, “about today. I just wanted to take her on a little adventure.”

  Stevie snorts, waves away the words. “Please. We’re family. I couldn’t stay mad at you.”

  “Speaking of family, what do you say you, Peter, and Gertie come back in a few months when it’s a little bit warmer and we have a big pool party? It’ll mean the world to your mother.”

  “Gertie’ll love it.”

  Thaddeus smiles, but it quickly turns to uncontrollable sobbing. “I’m sorry, Stevie. Whatever it was I did, I don’t remember. I know it must’ve been bad, but I just don’t remember. Honestly, Stevie, I don’t. I have trouble remembering a lot of things these days. But I’m sorry anyway. It’s not worth all the time we’ve wasted.”

  “No sweat, Pop.” He shakes it off like it’s nothing, dries his father’s tears, and then stands. “Water under the bridge.” Reaching out a hand, he helps Thaddeus to his feet. “And speaking of water. What do you say to a little dip?”

  “I’d say we’re getting along swimmingly!”

  “Good one.” Stevie turns to Gertie: “Your old dad still has a lot to learn, gorgeous. Guess you could say I’m a little wet behind the ears!”

  “Ha!”

  A tall, thin boy enters from the side yard. Scars cover his body, but his tranquil smile and serene demeanor put Thaddeus at ease. Peter and Cheryl follow close behind.

  “Oh, good,” Stevie says. “Right on time.”

  The boy and Stevie hug while Peter and Cheryl stand off to the side.

  “I couldn’t leave without saying good-bye,” the boy says. “You have such a lovely family.”

  Thaddeus wrinkles his brow as the stranger approaches.

  “Just a friend of mine, Pop,” Stevie says, placing Gertie in the boy’s arms. “He’s going to watch her while we swim.”

  “Does Peter know about this?”

  Peter grins. “It’s all right, Thaddeus. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Yeah, Mr. Bloom,” the boy says. “Relax.”

  Peter whispers something to Stevie and they exchange smiles. “Enjoy your swim, Thaddeus.”

  Cheryl will join him. She bends over and unlaces her shoes.

  “Ready?” Stevie asks, helping to unbutton his collar, which has suddenly become very tight.

  Sluggishly, Thaddeus nods.

  The boy bounces Gertie in his arms. “Say bye to Grandpa,” he says.

  Yawning, she claps one hand at Thaddeus. He returns the gesture. Everything suddenly feels heavy. Then Peter touches him on the chest and gives him a small push. “Don’t worry about a thing,” he says. “I’ll take good care of her.”

  Thaddeus doesn’t fight. He lets himself fall into the cool splash of the pool, which is refreshing on such a warm night.

  A BANK OF DULL GRAY CLOUDS OVERTAKES THE STARS. He hears a splash and feels himself bob in the wake, and then she’s beside him, holding his head above the agitated surface. Her hand is warm—so, too, her lips on his forehead.

  “It’s okay.” Her voice trembles. “It’s going to be okay.” She calls for someone to bring her an aspirin, then she pulls him to the shallow end of the pool. He attempts to help by pushing along the bottom. “Just relax,” she says. “I got you.” So he does, and the transit goes much smoother. His arm aches, and he winces when she accidentally knocks it against the railing while attempting to drag him up the steps. “It’s okay,” she says, cradling him. She coughs. “We’ll just wait here.”

  “Gertie?” he asks.

  “She’s fine. Peter has her.” She strokes his head, kisses his forehead, then spits. “Save your energy. Help is on the way.”

  “I’m not worried.” Despite the pain in his arm, he rolls onto his side and gives her the mischievous eyebrow. “No big deal.”

  She stifles a whimper. “What were you thinking, huh?”

  He lacks the strength to explain about Disney World, so he settles for a wink.

  “Oh, God, Thaddeus.” She hugs him tighter, and he feels like a hot-air balloon freed of all its ballast. He’s soaring.

  “Best high of my life,” he says, pressing into her breasts.

  “What was that?”

  But he doesn’t repeat himself; instead, he gives her a closed-eye smile.

  “Stay with me, okay? Help will be here any minute.”

  Her hand moves away for a moment and he hears some hurried talk over the gurgle of the filter, then her hand returns and she’s tilting his head back.

  “Here.” She places something chalky in his mouth. “Swallow this. Good. Okay. Now, you just relax, okay? Just relax; I’m right here.”

  The pill sits on his tongue, the flavor mildly unpleasant as it dissolves. It’s the best he can manage, but then, it should be enough. It’s just a little pain. “Cheryl,” he says, wheezing. “You saved my life.”

  “Shh,” she says. “Just relax and think happy thoughts.” She kisses him and he can feel that she’s crying. He wants to make a joke about getting her wet, but it’s amazing how much it hurts to speak. “Remember,” she says, “how much fun we had—the three of us—that first summer in this house?” She shakes him a bit, keeping him focused on her voice. “We bought Stevie that badminton set and the two of you spent the whole day out here hitting that... that—oh, what’s it called?”

  Shuttlecock, he thinks, but she’s already moved on.

  “You and Stevie stayed out here all day hitting it back and forth to each other. I had to drag you both inside when the mosquitoes started up. I was so afraid you’d get encephalitis...”

  Her voice trails off. The heater’s really humming now, he thinks. He can’t even feel the water. There’s a new sound, a low-frequency drone building in pitch. He wants to ask Cheryl about it, if it’s the ambulance approaching, but when he opens his mouth to speak he finds the words absent. Well, not exactly absent, just too difficult to dislodge. He shuts his mouth. That’s something, he thinks. She saw that. That’s something.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “Just relax. I’m right here.”

  No problem. Easy as pie. He sits still, allowing the water to bear his weight. It’s much easier to keep his eyes closed now. Good, good. Cheryl is here. The ambulance is on the way. Gertie is safe. That’s the important thing, that Gertie is safe. And Peter is taken care of. And Stevie... He smiles. Right here—right by this pool—they shared the pipe. The drone is louder now. The drone is everywhere. Out from the depths of his memory rises something that he can’t quite grasp, but the drone overpowers it. Something he had to do. Or maybe something he wanted to do. He’s having trouble remembering. What’s the difference anyway? Oh, well. And then it’s gone. That’s the important thing. The paramedics must’ve arrived and put a respirator on him because his face feels boxed in. But they haven’t turned on the oxygen yet because he’s having difficulty breathing, drawing only on every other breath. “Just a little bit longer,” she says. “Stay with me.” And they must be carrying him by his clothes because he feels tightness everywhere. Soon they’ll turn the oxygen on and the air will start flowing. Soon. Not yet, apparently, but soon. No problem. He’s waited a hell of a lot longer for more important things. No big deal.

  CONVENTIONAL WISDOM FORBIDS RETURNING TO THE scene of a crime, but you find it necessary to flout convention. Eddie was a mistake and now he’s a loose end. The risk was minimal with the others. But Eddie leads straight back to Alex, and you must protect him.

  An empty stillness clings to the parking lot at this hour. Later people will drive here from nearby offices to enjoy a solitary lunch overlooking the lake. For now the sun only pinks the horizon, suggesting the bustle still a few hours off. Still, it’s brighter than you prefer. The risk of detection has increased. As a precaution you pull a hoodie over your head. Moving quickly, with purpose, you retrieve the body from the bathroom. Even with
the stiffness that comes with death, it’s a simple matter to shove it into the backseat. A blanket softens the silhouette. You could be transporting a crate of LPs or plush carnival prizes.

  Before you slip behind the wheel, you empty Eddie’s pockets. House keys, wallet, phone. A hemp bracelet adorns his wrist. This you remove and place on your wrist as a memento. Like the scrubs from the first one, the bracelet will serve as a reminder to be more careful in the future. The wallet and keys are irrelevant. You will part with them when the time is right. The phone, though, presents a logistical problem, one you turn over in your head as you shift the car in gear and drive east. A message from an unknown number glows on the screen:

  You owe me $20 for the beer last night, dude. Where u at?

  You feared this would happen. Already his disappearance has attracted attention. Like all devices, this phone can be tracked. Sooner or later the police will trace it, so it’s imperative to dispose of it with all deliberate speed. It must never lead back to the body because the body must never be found. With the others you preceded cautiously, planned things so that even if you lost yourself in the moment contingencies were accounted for. None of that happened last night. You were eager, and now this body contains DNA that leads directly back to Alex. The phone poses a threat, but it represents potential as well. Perhaps it can save Alex. Salvation has come in stranger packages.

  Scrolling through recent messages, you absorb Eddie’s style. Does he favor emojis? (He does not.) Does he abbreviate? (He does.) What is his preference in terms of capitalization? (He defers to auto-correct.) When you feel comfortable impersonating his prose style, you fire off a response:

  Met up with some ppl. Hitching a ride to the beach. Get you back later

  The response is instantaneous: No worries. What’d u get up to last night?

  Nothing. Just drinks. Pretty chill night

  Did you hook up?

  Your thumb hovers over the screen, primed for a response—you’re channeling this boy now, feeling his life as your own, tasting the drinks consumed last night, reliving the sex—but you stop yourself.