by Sharon Potts
She prepared to step over Geezer, but he wasn’t lying in the front foyer as usual. She locked the door, dropped her backpack on the entranceway table, and looked up the stairs expecting to see the dog shaking sleepily as he roused himself to greet her. “Geezer?” she called.
She checked the family room sofa where Geezer would occasionally nap, even though he wasn’t allowed. She wished Flora had left the radio on, but she must have forgotten. Elise hated hearing only the sound of her sneakers padding over the marble floors. There was an indentation in one of the seat cushions and swirl marks from Geezer’s claws in the leather fabric that would have infuriated their mother. His scent hung in the air. “Geezer?” she called again.
The house was eerily still. Elise trotted up the steps. She went from her bedroom to Jeremy’s bedroom to their mother’s office, checking every corner, every closet. Sometimes if Geezer wasn’t feeling well, he’d hide in a small, dark space. “Hey, Geezer. Here, boy.” The beds were made and fresh towels were hanging in her and Jeremy’s bathrooms, but there was no sign of Geezer.
She stood in the hallway wondering where else to look for him. Then her breath caught in her chest. The door to her parent’s bedroom was open a few inches. She hadn’t been in their room since the murders. Elise trembled as she pushed open the door. The drapes were drawn and the room felt stale.
“Geezer?” she whispered. “Are you in here?”
Geezer’s dog tag clinked lightly against his collar. He was under the oversized skirted chair in the corner of the room. Elise used to hide there when she was a little girl and she and Jeremy played hide-and-seek.
“Come here, boy.” Elise slid to the floor and gently pulled him out by his front paws. He was panting, but her own heart was racing. She needed to get out of this room. She could feel her parents in here, but it was too intense, like staring directly into the sun. “Let’s go, Geezer.” She pulled on his collar, but he lay down on the floor, making himself into deadweight.
A key turned in the front door. Jeremy. She could hear him climbing the stairs. But something was wrong. The footsteps were wrong. Geezer began to bark.
The room was spinning. The murderer. She’d known he would be coming back for her.
A shadow stood in the doorway. Elise squeezed her eyes shut and began to scream and scream and scream. Geezer barked uncontrollably.
“Stop that,” the murderer said, shaking her. “Stop that screaming.”
“No,” she shouted. “No. No. No.”
“Elise.” He smacked her face hard. Back and forth. The pain took her breath away.
Stunned, she opened her eyes. Crouched in front of her was her uncle Dwight.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” he said, massaging his hand. A thick college ring protruded from his finger like a brass knuckle.
She wanted to cry, but something held her back. She pushed her hair out of her face. Her cheek was hot beneath her hand. It throbbed painfully and she could feel a lump rising. “You, you didn’t have to do that.”
“You were hysterical.”
“I would have stopped when I saw it was you.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe I overreacted.”
“How did you get in here?”
“With my key.”
“You have a key?” She stood up, uncomfortable about being alone in her parents’ room with him.
“Of course. I kept one when they changed the locks in case of an emergency.”
“But this wasn’t an emergency. Why didn’t you ring the doorbell?”
“I was worried about you.” He followed her out of the bedroom. Geezer sniffed Dwight’s leg, a low rumble coming from deep in his chest. “Can we put this damn dog outside?”
“Why were you worried?”
Dwight stepped back against the hallway wall, but Geezer continued growling.
“Because your brother didn’t come home last night. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“That doesn’t explain why you didn’t ring the doorbell. Were you trying to frighten me?”
“Of course not.” He moved a few inches along the wall toward the stairs. Geezer had him boxed in. “Can you get this damn dog away from me?”
“Geezer. It’s okay, boy. Let’s get a treat.”
The dog went down the stairs after her, looking back now and then at Dwight.
Elise found the dog biscuits in the pantry and gave one to Geezer. He circled the corner of the room and lay down, his eyes remaining fixed on Dwight.
“I see the housekeeper’s already gone,” Dwight said. “What’s the deal? Is she on banker’s hours?”
“Flora takes perfectly good care of us,” Elise said, opening the freezer door.
“Maybe she does a good job keeping the house clean, but a housekeeper’s no substitute for parental guidance. And, apparently, an older brother isn’t either.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Elise held a bag of frozen peas against her cheek, which was still smarting.
“Jeremy is completely irresponsible as a guardian. He doesn’t come home until early in the morning most nights, and last night he didn’t come home at all.”
“So? What business is it of yours?”
“Young lady, your parents expected me to take care of you if your brother wasn’t willing or able to. It’s clear to me he’s neither of those things.”
“Well I’m fine with how he’s taken care of me.”
“But I’m not. And a court of law would never permit this abuse of his guardianship.”
“I’ll call him,” she said. “Please, Dwight. I know he’ll be home soon. And I’ll make sure he comes home at night.”
“It’s too late for that. I’ve already filed papers to assume your guardianship. Selma and I will be moving in here with you.”
“No.” She threw the bag of peas on the floor.
“Behaving like a three-year-old won’t change things.”
“Show me the papers. Show me the court order or whatever papers you have. Because I don’t believe you can just come in here and do this.”
“You cocky girl. You should be grateful.”
“I don’t want you to be my guardian. And I’ll tell the judge that. I’ll tell the judge how you frightened me and hit me.”
“How dare you twist things?”
She took her cell phone from her pocket and snapped a picture of her cheek. “I’ll show him this.”
“You’re a stupid girl. You have a lot of your parents in you, Elise.”
She didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t control herself. “Well good. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be like. Certainly not you.”
Geezer dropped the biscuit and snarled at Dwight. Dwight pressed against the refrigerator. “Get this damn dog away from me.”
“No. You get away from me.” She was crying hard. “You get out of my house.”
Geezer growled. Dwight held his back against the wall as he inched his way out of the room. “Have your tantrum, Elise. But I’ll be back with the court order and then we’ll see about your tantrums and your disrespect.”
Chapter 30
The late afternoon sun scorched his face and chest as he lay on the coarse sand at the edge of the surf. Jeremy imagined it was a branding iron, searing his flesh, obliterating healthy skin tissue, permanently altering the person he had once been.
He reached like a blind man into the brown paper bag for another beer. He’d bought a six-pack and was on his fourth or fifth, he couldn’t remember which. This one was warm as piss, but he guzzled it anyway, not bothering to lift his head or open his eyes. It spilled out the side of his mouth and dripped down his neck.
He heard tittering laughter and smelled coconut oil. A couple of teenage girls walked past, too close, trying to be annoying as they kicked sand over him. The tide was rising. Cold, spreading waves lapped at his feet. Only a few hours before, he had been quite isolated on the vast expanse of beach. But now the world was closing in around him, and even the booz
y blur couldn’t protect him from this feeling of claustrophobia.
After Marina had left his house yesterday, Jeremy had been desperate for a confrontation. Anything to keep him from thinking about the betrayals. A bottle of Jack Daniels had loosened his natural restraint. He had driven to the MIU campus. It was sick, perverse, but he needed to see her again.
He had raced around the parking lots looking for her beat-up car, honking crazily as students and professors watched with expressions of curiosity or fear. But after circling several times, he realized she wasn’t there. That he was never going to see her again. That it was over.
Exhaustion overcame him and all he wanted to do was sleep. But he couldn’t go home. Home had become the place where bad things happened. He checked into one of the fleabag hotels off Washington Avenue and passed out on sheets that stank of sweat and liquor. He awoke to the squealing of brakes and clanking of a delivery truck and realized he’d slept through the night and the morning. He had a dozen voice mails and text messages— a few from Robbie, but most from Elise.
His sister was worried, but he didn’t know what to say to her. How could he explain what their father had done? What Marina had done? So he bought a six-pack of Corona, walked down to the beach, stripped down to his boxers, and lay down on the sand to let the sun burn him out.
His cell phone was vibrating against his leg. He shielded the brightness from his eyes as he read the caller ID. Elise. It was time he spoke with her.
“Jeremy?” She was crying.
“Are you okay, Ellie?” The blurriness in his head cleared. He sat up.
“Dwight. Dwight came to the house. He said he was filing papers against you for the guardianship. Please, Jeremy. Don’t let him do this.”
A flock of small black birds hovered in the air surrounding him like bats.
“Jeremy, do something. Stop him.”
“Do what?”
“Come home.”
“I can’t. I’m no good for you. Maybe it would be better if—”
“No. I won’t live with Dwight. I hate him.”
The wind shifted and the black birds settled around him in the sand.
“I’m no good, Elise. Don’t you understand? I’m all broken.”
“Come home and we’ll talk about it. Please, Jeremy. I’m so frightened staying here without you.”
He drank the dregs of the last warm beer. “Go to Grandpa’s. Take Geezer with you.”
She was crying hard. “But I want you. Please, Jeremy. Don’t leave me.”
The birds rose in the air, making a terrible squawk. He turned off the phone and lay back down in the searing sun.
Chapter 31
Robbie drove slowly up and down each street on South Beach looking for a red car. Jeremy’s father’s car. She’d seen it in the garage a couple of times and knew the beautiful old classic would be easy to spot.
After getting to Jeremy’s house and finding no cars in the driveway, she had driven to the beach to check out her hunch. After all, wasn’t South Beach a likely place for a twenty-something to play hooky?
Jeremy hadn’t shown up for work yesterday or today. Hadn’t called and hadn’t answered his phone. She didn’t know why she just couldn’t let it go. She pictured him leaning back on a conference room chair, running his fingers through his hair. So distracted. So intense. It wasn’t that she was attracted to him. No. Nothing like that. It was more that his presence comforted her. Almost like having Rachel back.
And then today, she was going through the Castillo Enterprise reports and she remembered something Rachel had said. But there was no one to talk to about it. No one she could trust. So she called Jeremy over and over, until finally she got in her car and came here.
She turned off Washington Avenue onto Seventh Street. A group of adolescent girls wearing bikinis with towels wrapped around their waists were laughing and pushing each other. Just ahead, a red car was poorly parked, its rear sticking into the street. Jeremy’s car. There were several papers shoved under the windshield wiper.
Robbie scooted her car around the block to a small parking lot, then hurried back to Jeremy’s car. He had gotten two parking tickets, one from yesterday and one from today. This was disturbing. Why had he left his car here?
She went down to the beach, looking at every tall, athletic man she passed. Most were shirtless, their bathing suits low on their hips. Robbie was wearing a blue silk dress and pearls. They must have thought she was crazy. And maybe she was. She took off her heels and walked barefoot in the sand.
The surf was in, narrowing the beach and creating a smaller area for her to search.
At Fifth Street, she saw him. He was lying directly on the sand in only his boxers. His clothes were crumpled up in a pile. There was a brown bag next to him and an empty beer bottle beside his outstretched hand. He was asleep— or dead.
How dare he do this? His mother’s murderer was free and he was lying here in a drunken stupor?
She rammed her foot against his leg.
“Hey,” he shouted, sitting up suddenly. “What the fu—” Then he recognized her.
“What are you doing, Jeremy?”
“Jesus. Did you honestly come out here to kick and yell at me?”
“You deserve a lot worse.”
He lay back down on the sand and closed his eyes. He was badly sunburned.
“I’m taking you home,” she said.
“No thanks, Mom.” He didn’t open his eyes.
“I’m not your mother. If you recall, your mother’s dead. You were trying to find her murderer.”
He opened his eyes and slowly sat up. “That was harsh.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to be. I can’t understand why you’re doing this to yourself.”
“Maybe it’s none of your business.”
“Please, Jeremy. I need to talk to you about something your mother told me. It’s important.”
“I’ve had my fill of good-looking women trying to help me find my parents’ murderer.”
Robbie sat down in the sand next to him. A breaking wave spread over the sand, wetting Jeremy’s feet. He didn’t move.
“I can see that something bad’s happened,” she said finally. “And I understand that you don’t want to talk about it. But even if you’ve given up, I want you to know I haven’t.” Robbie got up and wiped the sand from the back of her dress.
He let her pull him up. The hair on his legs and arms was golden against the reddish brown of his skin. She handed him his clothes. They stank of booze and sweat.
He dressed and followed her to her car without speaking. What could have happened to him in the last couple of days to bring him down so low?
Robbie drove up Washington Avenue.
“Where are you going?” he said, as though awakening from a stupor.
“To your house, so you can shower and change.”
“No,” he said.
“No?”
“Not my house. Anywhere but my house.”
Chapter 32
He hadn’t wanted to leave the beach, but now that he was here, Jeremy felt a sense of peace— a brief reprieve. Robbie lived on the other side of Coconut Grove from his grandfather, but he couldn’t recall ever being in this part of the Grove, nestled within a thick hammock. The inside of Robbie’s townhouse was mainly white. Not the stark, overwhelming white of the Castillos’ mansion, but a soft, floating whiteness like pillows and clouds.
He wanted to sink down into her sofa and go to sleep.
“The shower’s in here.” She held a door open. “There’s soap and clean towels. Let me know if you need anything else.”
The bathroom was mirrored and Jeremy’s reflection bounced around the room like a nightmare— the sunburnt nose, red eyes, the stubble on his chin and cheeks.
There was a light knock on the door. “Are you all right, Jeremy?”
“Yeah.”
The door opened a few inches and Robbie’s hand appeared. “Give me your clothes and I
’ll run them through the washer on the quick cycle.”
He stripped down and passed her his shirt, pants, and boxers. His eyes caught hers. “Thanks,” she said, and slammed the door closed.
Jeremy showered, then wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped into the living room. Everything was carefully arranged: magazines in a neat stack, a collection of blue vases in size order, unused red decorative candles on top of the glass coffee table. Stagnant. It felt stagnant.
He backed away into a small office. Unlike the living room, this room seemed alive in its disorder. There were more books than shelf space and they were stacked unevenly by subject, rather than size. He took a book off a shelf. Homer’s Odyssey. The pages were yellowed from age. He tried to remember, had Odysseus ever made it home after his odyssey? He put the book back.
On Robbie’s desk, which was covered with piles of papers, was a photo of a pretty dark-haired woman. “Your mom?” he asked, aware that Robbie had just come in the room.
“Yes.” Robbie was still wearing the blue dress and pearls she’d had on at the beach.
“You resemble her. Does she live down here or in Boston?”
She let him study the photo for a few seconds, then she put it back on her desk. “She doesn’t live anywhere. She died a few years ago.”
“Gee, Robbie. I’m sorry.” How little he knew about her— her family, friends, interests. And yet she had decided to help him.
“Let’s go out to the patio.” Clearly she didn’t want to talk about her mother. “I don’t actually cook, but I made you a cheese sandwich and some coffee. I figured that might absorb some of the alcohol in your system.”
Sometime between leaving the beach and now, it had gotten dark. A fat candle sputtered on the wrought iron table in the hedged-in patio.
The pattern of light triggered an unwelcome memory. Marina. “Would you mind putting that out?” He gestured toward the candle.
Robbie looked momentarily confused. “No problem.” She blew out the candle. It was still bright enough to see, the sky lightened by the downtown glow and a moon that appeared between the drifting clouds.
