Whispering, Idaho

by Nancy Canyon

  “Maybe he hasn’t called because he already has a chick,” Alice said.

  Christie jumped to her feet. “Gotta go!” she said, darting from the room.

  “Too bad, naked man frightened her off,” Gena said, running a finger down the page. “Should have known, your sister’s a prude like you.”

  “Christie’s weird is all. She’s always running off. You never know what she’s up to.”

  “So—what should I do?”

  “Pack up my night stand? There's an empty box right behind you.”

  Gena pulled open the bottom drawer and peered inside. “I mean about Rod? I can't get him out of my mind.” She sniffed her arm and reached it out to Alice. “Can you still smell it? The British Sterling?”

  Alice shook her head. “Washed away in the river.”

  “How’d your mom know we were at the river?”

  “Sand on my flip-flops. She’s like a detective.”

  “All I want is a date with Rod. Is that too much to ask?”

  “He asked you to the celebration. Isn’t that enough?"

  “I guess.”

  All Alice wanted was to not be pregnant. She groaned, shifting her weight onto her opposite hip.

  “Your stomach again?”

  “My leg fell asleep. I’m okay. It'll probably take two trips to move all this stuff, don’t you think?"

  “You could borrow Stephen's truck. Make quick work of it.”

  “And put him out? No thanks. We can get my easel in the back of your car. Just let it stick out the back window.”

  “Every time I see Rod, he's alone,” Gena said, dumping the contents of the drawer into the box.

  “Hey, careful." Alice pulled the box toward her and dug through the contents: pens, combs, hair clips, single earrings, tangled chains, eye shadow. She reached a hand to the cleft of her throat.

  “What’s so special about a piece of junk jewelry you found in the river mud?”

  Alice shrugged. “When I wear it, I’m not so afraid. It’s like I’m being watched over by angels, or something.” “Great. Now, she’s a Jesus Freak.”

  “It’s not like that at all.” Alice looked up to see her mother maneuvering an oversized box through the doorway. She set it down next to the closet. “Here are some household items. Better call it a night. Dark circles,” she slurred, drawing her fingers beneath her eyes.

  “But I’m not done. I’m moving tomorrow, you know.”

  “You’ll make yourself sick.”

  “Mother!”

  Alice’s mother grabbed hold of the door to steady herself. “By the way, I threw in a butcher knife.”

  “What for?”

  “Chopping, what else, Miss Susie Homemaker,” Gena said, laughing. She cocked her head suddenly, leaned forward and grabbed the silk nightgown out from under the bed.

  “What's this?”

  Alice snatched it out of Gena’s hands and hid it behind her back.

  “Give it here,” her mother slurred.

  Alice heard herself sigh. She handed her mother the gown.

  “Where’d you get this?”

  “It’s a surprise. Dad asked me to wrap it for you.”

  Her mother smiled, pulled a curl of hair from the nape of her neck, twisting it around her finger. “What for?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She touched the material to her cheek. “Soft. It’s our little secret.”

  “Oh yeah! Our little secret.”

  She handed the gown back. “I put in a cookie sheet. She’ll bake you oatmeal cookies, Gena,” she said, winking.

  “Better yet, a new paint pallet,” Gena said.

  “Yeah, I can be like Van Gogh. He poisoned himself using his dinner plate for his oil paints. The lead made him go mad.”

  “Interesting.” Alice’s mother staggered out of the room.

  Gena leaned forward and grabbed the nightgown, holding it up to her torso.

  Alice whispered, “Dad gave it to me.”

  “I know, to surprise your mom with. It’s pretty.”

  “Not for Mom. For me, get it?”

  “What I don’t get is why you said it was for her?”

  “It’s creepy. I’m throwing it out. She’ll never remember anyway.” Alice tossed the garment back under the bed and dusted imaginary dirt off her hands.

  It was close to midnight when the rumble of Gena's Mustang faded into the hot blackness. Alice walked past the stack of packed boxes hovering along the entranceway wall. As she climbed the stairs to her empty room, her stomach jittered. The sounds of the night seeped through the window, getting trapped by the echoing walls. Alice’s heart wrenched with loneliness, as she curled onto the bed to keep from bawling.

  In her dream, Alice set out to ride her bike to Italy. An old woman opened a map across the floor. Her gnarled fingers traced four high peaks and a river running below them. She advised Alice to take the easy way, to take the river. Alice thanked her, mounting her bike and pedaling off alongside the rushing water.

  Stephen rode up beside her, his blue eyes blazing like the noon sky. Her heart opened as she reached for his hand. He smiled at her, hit a rock and plunged into the foaming current.

  “No,” she shouted, watching the rushing water sweep him away.

  Alice sobbed in her sleep, feeling the pinch of her heaving breath replaced by a hand yanking on her arm. As quickly as the rapids took her Stephen downstream, her father righted her to standing.

  He shouted in her ear, “Give me the key.”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  “You’re going nowhere,” he slurred. “Where is it?”

  He smelled of sour sweat, liquor and smoke. His fingers pinched like a pair of vice grips along her already bruised arm.

  “Mom!” she shouted.

  “Shut up, bitch,” he slurred, jamming his hand down the front of Alice’s tank-top.

  “What’s going on here?” her mother said, eyes widening.

  Alice watched her mother’s blinking eyes, her hand grabbing for the dressing table.

  “Vi, the goddamned key,” he said, weaving against Alice.

  “Quiet,” her mother hissed, composing herself, crossing the room, “before you wake—”

  “What's the matter?” Christie asked, wandering through the door, rubbing her eyes against the bright light.

  Alice focused on her sister’s face, a sleepy island to tether herself to.

  “Back to bed, Christie! Come with me, Jim. The key’s downstairs.”

  “No, it’s—”

  “To bed, Christie,” her mother ordered. She pulled at her husband’s arm. “The key’s in the junk drawer.”

  Alice’s father pulled his hand away, staggering toward his wife. “Crazy . . . crazy loon,” he said, tapping his head as he eyed Alice. “That’s my Vi," he said, taking her face between his hands. “Stick together. Give me . . . a little smooch.”

  She pushed him away. “First the key. Then you shower, call it a night.”

  Alice slammed the door behind her dangerous father, her fuming mother. She felt giddy with relief. Her mother had caught him red-handed. She’d have to believe her now. Running a palm over her pocket, she felt the outline of the apartment key.

  The next morning, Alice showered and dressed. She stopped at the top of the stairs, listening carefully for her father. The house was quiet. He’d probably left early to do inventory. But what if he came home while she was packing and tried to stop her? Alarmed, she recalled holding him off with a sharp knife. Fear turned her stomach. Reaching for her cross, she felt only the empty dip at the base of her neck. She prayed desperately for him to stay away until they’d finished.

  In the kitchen, the coffee was already hot. Her mother must be fixing her hair. She poured a cup of brew, dropped a piece of bread into the toaster. The sun poured through the kitchen window—another scorcher on the way.

  At the same time her toast popped up, the rumble of Gena’s Mustang scraped into the driveway. “She’
s here, thank goodness.” She grabbed the toast, rushing out the front door.

  At the curb, Gena stood speaking to a man leaning out the window of a white truck. Taking a bite of toast, Alice crossed the yard to her friend’s side. “Hey, Gena. What’s up?”

  “Locksmith’s here to change your locks.”

  “Is this Jim Sharp’s residence?” the man bellowed out the window.

  “Locks work fine,” Alice said.

  He tapped his work order. “Jim said some undesirable made off with your key, miss. Order says, change all outside locks.”

  “I don’t know of any break in.” Alice imagined a burglar breaking into her apartment. Her stomach grew queasy.

  “Knowing Mr. Sharp, he’s just taking an extra precaution to keep his little family safe.” The man stepped out of the truck and busied himself with the tool boxes in the back.

  “You were burglarized?” Gena whispered.

  “No. Dad tried to take my apartment key last night. Mom said it was in the junk drawer.”

  Gena whispered, “Maybe he’s locking you out.”

  The man handed Alice a clipboard. “Sign here. Better get at it, another job’s waiting.”

  “Mom better sign this,” Alice said. “Be right back.”

  Alice tossed the rest of her toast into the bushes. The sting was almost gone and the bruises on her arm had begun to fade. Soon there’d be no outer physical evidence to prove that anything bad had taken place. But inside, her stomach jittered like sparklers spitting, her inner terror burning close. Hurrying up the stairs, she banged on the closed door.

  “Someone’s here to change the locks.”

  When Alice’s mother opened the bedroom door, Alice saw her eyes were red-rimmed, curlers falling out, shoulders slumped.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Trip wore me out I guess. What do you want, Alice?”

  “There’s a locksmith outside. Says Dad wants him to change the locks. Did someone steal our house key?”

  Her mother sighed. “Your father thinks you’ll break in when we’re away—-something to do with that hippy friend of yours.”

  “You’re letting him lock me out? But I’m your daughter.”

  “You’re on your own now, Alice.”

  Alice balled up her quaking hands, shouting, “I hate you! You never protect me!”

  “What can I do? He’s made up his mind.”

  “Tell him no! You have a say in this too.” Alice felt hot tears stream down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly. “Make him stop. Please, make him stop.”

  “Someday you’ll have a husband to keep happy too. You’ll see what it’s like. Go on now, Alice. Tell the locksmith it’s what your father wants.”

  Later that afternoon, Alice leaned over the balcony railing, beating the dust from lumpy and frayed couch cushions. “Hachoo!” Covering her nose with her hand, she watched the gray cloud float off toward the river and growing storm clouds.

  “Bless you,” Gena said. “Think your lights will go out your first night alone?”

  “If they do, I got candles.” Alice bit her lip, then smiled at Gena as she lugged the cushions past her friend and threw them onto the davenport.

  “I just don’t understand. Your dad changing the locks seems pretty crazy to me. I mean, what the hell could you do? Steal their booze.”

  “Remember those African tribes Mr. Trickle told us about in history class. The worse punishment was to treat someone as if they were dead.” She took a choppy breath, plopping down.

  “Alice, you okay?”

  “He’s treating me as if I’m dead. It’s just another way to hurt me. I’m all alone, Gena.” Alice folded onto her side, curling into a fetal position. “I’m so scared.”

  “You’re still their daughter.”

  “I’m nothing.”

  “They’ll let you in. They have too. But why would you want to be around that asshole?”

  Alice closed her eyes. “I can’t think about it now. I’m too exhausted.”

  “We still have the bed to make.”

  “I’m tired. There’re Cokes in the fridge. Would you mind?”

  “Sounds good. Be right back.”

  Alice was nearly asleep when an icy surface touched the bottom of her bare foot. She jerked her legs away. “You scared me.”

  Gena handed Alice a Coke. “Couch hog,” she said, bouncing down at Alice’s feet. “After we make the bed, I’m going home to take a bath. I’m disgustingly filthy.”

  Alice sat up. “Stay the night. You can bathe here. If you want, that is. It’ll be fun.”

  “It smells like lightning out there already. I’d be too scared to bathe later.”

  “I remember putting candles in the sheet-box. I’ll set them on the radiator. We can share the bed.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “I made the right decision, didn’t I? Now that I’m here, it all seems so weird and lonely; looking out strange windows, hearing that nutty lady banging on the wall next door.” She guzzled the pop, then held the cold bottle to her forehead, sighing.

  “I got an idea. Let’s celebrate tonight with a pizza, my treat. Forget the lightning, it probably won’t come anyway. I’ll stay over.”

  “I could eat a whole one myself; better buy two.” Alice dragged herself off the davenport, grabbing the set of blue-flowered sheets.

  “Look at this.” She clasped the handle of a shiny butcher knife and waved it around in the air. “I’m keeping this beside the bed.”

  “Remind me not to sneak up on you in the night,” Gena said, wrestling the squeaking metal bed-frame to the floor. “Your bed needs oiling. Imagine all the couples who’ve done it on this squeaky old thing.”

  “I’d rather not. And here are the candles, just like I thought.”

  “Maybe that’s why Miss Green went nuts. You know, lovers squeaking the springs all night long, doing it night after night after night. Must have pushed her right over the edge.”

  “Knock it off, Gena.”

  “What’d I say?”

  Alice’s stomach flipped. She snapped out the bottom sheet, swallowing down the rising bile. “You’re always talking about sex. You sound like a slut. Is that what you want?”

  “Lay off. I was joking, jeez.”

  “Whatever!” Alice jammed the sheet around the corner of the mattress. “What’s this? There’s something’s twisted up in the corner of the sheet.” She turned the material inside out and broke down sobbing. “Oh my God! It’s my cross.”

  Alice untangled the chain from the fabric, hastily fastening it around her neck. She collapsed onto the bed, weeping. “Thank goodness, I have it back.”

  “You’re such a freak. You overreact to everything.”

  “Don’t say that,” Alice wailed. “It was violent. I’m still in shock. And what if I’m pregnant?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Alice remembered Gena finding her in the basement, her cheek reddened from the flat of his hand. “It was more than a slap,” she said, sobbing harder, crumpling onto her side. “He raped me,” she cried.

  “He what?”

  “Raped,” Alice hiccupped. “How soon can you take a pregnancy test?”

  “That goddamned son-of-a-bitch, I’m gonna kill him!” Gena slammed the wall with her fist.

  Miss Green answered back with a series of loud thuds and muffled shouts.

  Gena shouted back, “Shut up, you crazy bitch.”

  “Don’t yell, Gena.”

  Gena screamed. “Asshole hurts you, and then locks you out of the house? He’s fucking nuts.”

  Alice sobbed harder, drew her knees up to her chest, covering her head with her arms. “Stop yelling!”

  She felt Gena’s weight beside her on the bed, her warm hand resting on her back. “I’m sorry. I’m just so pissed at him. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I thought your mom did.”

  “She didn’t. God, I’m so stupid. All that stuff I said about do
ing it. I’m sorry, Alice. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

  “Don’t tell anyone, please don’t.”

  “Promise, I won’t say a word. When’s your period due?”

  “The Fourth,” Alice said. “You’re mother said to tell mine. I can’t, I just can’t.”

  “It’ll make you crazy if you don’t. Just tell her, get it out in the open. The quicker you get through this shit, the better. This is bad shit, really bad shit.”

  Alice sat up, dried her face with her filthy T-shirt. “She won’t believe me. She’s on his side.”

  “She’s your mother. She loves you.”

  “She loves him more.”

  Gena sighed. “She does what he says because she’s scared too. She wouldn’t dog you, not when she knows what’s happened. You’ll get through this, trust me. You’re the bravest person I know.”

  Alice shook her head. “Not really. I’m a chicken.”

  “Trust me, you’re brave. Look what you’ve done here. You have freedom.”

  Alice looked over at the painting she’d hung above the davenport. Her blood mixing with the bright colors of oil paint all but shouted emancipation.

  “Not your painting. I’m talking about being on your own now. You can do whatever you want, go wherever whenever. You’re inspiring. I’ve decided to follow your example.”

  “You’re moving out, too?” Alice hiccupped.

  “Sort of. I’ve decided to go away to college this fall.”

  Alice burst into tears again. “You can’t leave me in Whispering. This town is like a whirlpool sucking me under.”

  “Come with me then. It’ll be fun.”

  Alice felt the heaviness of her puffy eyes as she took in her friend’s smiling face. No use trying to convince Gena to stay in Whispering. Maybe she should go with her, but at the thought of leaving Stephen, her heart cinched up like a slipknot.

  “Rats,” Alice said, flopping onto her back, staring up at the bare bulb.

  “Don’t say rats in this dump,” Gena said, laughing.

  “There you go again, joking around.”

  “Things have gotten way too heavy,” Gena said, joining Alice on the bed. “I joke when things suck. It makes it better. You should try it.”