by Ann Roberts
I knew it was her, somewhere near the flames. I followed the sound of her voice, wincing at its agony, knowing the cause. Mac.Kiah.She was locked between Mr. Munoz’s strong arms. Her legs dangled in the air as she writhed to break free, just as I had done only minutes before. I fell to the ground, not caring that the fire’s heat was burning my face. I couldn’t get any closer, but I wouldn’t move back. A group of neighbors huddled together in a corner of the yard, their backs to the fire. What was so interesting?
More sirens.Ambulances. Mama’s cry.
A man with a satchel pushed his way through the crowd. When it parted for a split second against the angry light of the flames, I saw the familiar pattern of roses—Kiah’s nightgown.
I ran into the crowd, pushing to the front until I finally reached her. She was unconscious, and the man was tending to her wounds. Her left leg and arm were badly burned, and he was applying a salve. The crowd was telling a tale I didn’t understand.
The ambulance forced us back and gently lifted her onto a stretcher. I rushed to her side, walking with her as they took her to the ambulance.
“Kiah,” I cried, not knowing if she could hear me. “I’m here.”
I said a prayer as they snaked out of the driveway, tears streaming down my face. Only then did I realize that Mama wasn’t screaming anymore. She wasn’t with Mr. Munoz or near the fire trucks. I tripped over the hoses and slipped in the muddy grass searching for her.
The sun porch glowed behind me. She sat on the divan watching the fire, as if it were a television show. She didn’t look at me when I flung open the screen door. An unlit cigarette shook in her hand, as if it were alive, and a guttural sound escaped her lips.
I stared toward the fire. Kiah. Mr. Munoz. Mr. Benson. But where was Mac? A hand touched my shoulder, and I stared up into Mr. Rubenstein’s kind, watery eyes. He went past me and knelt before her. When he touched her shoulder, she burst into tears and threw her arms around him.
Amid the thick smoke I still could smell Mrs. Rubenstein’s perfume, so I wasn’t surprised when she slid next to me and pulled me into an embrace.
“Where’s Mac?” I whispered.
“He’s gone, sweetie. He managed to get Kiah out through the back window, but then the fire was too much.”
She squeezed me tighter before the first sob pushed through my throat.
****
I spent most of that night lying on the fancy sofa in the living room, Mrs. Rubenstein at my side. The firefighters and policemen came in and out of the house for a few hours, interviewing Mama and Mr. Rubenstein, trying to understand what happened. Pieces of their conversation floated into my brain—names, times and details. At one point they started to discuss Mac’s family and my eyes opened wide, but then the conversation dissolved, and I knew Mr. Rubenstein had led them to the sun porch.
Mama remained at the kitchen table, the bottle of vodka next to her. She didn’t cry and her strength was tremendously comforting. All of the unfamiliar people eventually left and only the whispered exchanges between Mama and the Rubensteins remained. At one point she started to whimper, and Mrs. Rubenstein pulled her against her chest. I got up and went to the doorway.
“Mama? When can I go see Kiah?”
At the sound of my voice all three adults stopped talking, and Mama rubbed her eyes with a tissue. “Honey, I don’t know,” she said, searching for her strong voice. “She’s in the black part of the hospital. We’ll just have to wait and see. Mac’s family…”
Her voice trailed off and she stared at the table, fighting back the tears. I retreated to the living room and stared out the front window. The yard looked no different than it had the night before. Yet I knew that if I followed the brick path around the house, the picture would show the end of our quiet life with Mac and Kiah.
My feet were moving before I could stop them—until I reached the end of the driveway. The cabins were a tangle of smoking, charred remains, rising up from the foundations. Black and gray debris had suffocated the lush grass that connected our house with the cabins, leaving only a muddy bog and the burned cross.
Mac and Kiah had explained its origins from the Middle Ages and what it meant now. I kicked it and a clump of charred wood disintegrated. So I kicked it again and again, pulverizing the remains under the force of my sneaker. I didn’t realize I was screaming until I had to catch my breath. When I glanced toward the sun porch, I saw Mama and the Rubensteins watching me.
I gave one final kick and said, “Mr. Rubenstein, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Chapter Sixteen
June, 2010
“Um, well, this personal ad is…personal.”
Penn stared at the screen, and CC knew she wasn’t focused on the words.
“Can you delete it or figure out the password, or something?”
“Maybe. This website has a low level of security, so I’m hoping my cracking program can hack it.” She clicked through several screens expertly, and the computer started to whir. “So, I think this entitles me to three more questions.”
“I don’t think so,” CC argued. Penn pushed away from the keyboard, and CC collapsed onto the sofa. “Okay, what do you want to know?”
Penn returned to her work. “How did your ex get you to pose for these pictures?”
“With a lot of tequila.Next question.”
“If she’s so mean and manipulative, why were you ever with her, and why would you ever want to subject yourself to her twice?”
She groaned loudly. “We don’t have time for that answer. I’m sure it’s all rooted in my childhood. One more question.”
“There,” Penn said, hitting a few keys. “Done.”
She sat up. “You got it? That was quick. What was it?”
“Just a series of five meaningless letters and symbols.”
She sighed. “Thanks.”
“I still get one more question. Why would a smart, gorgeous woman ever take out a personal ad?”
There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in her voice and the cobalt blue eyes showed sincerity—and opportunity. The question lingered in the silent cottage, a world away from the ringing phones, clicking keyboards and endless negotiations that defined CC’s responsibilities. She abandoned her suit jacket on the couch and went to Penn, whose hands were folded in her lap. When CC unbuttoned her shirt and revealed the leopard skin bra from the photos, Penn’s eyes fluttered and CC worried she might run away. They needed to forge a connection that would conquer her fear of the past.
She took Penn’s shaking hand and placed it on her breast, stroking her fingers until they came to life.
“I…I haven’t…It’s been two years.” She looked embarrassed, as if she couldn’t believe what she was saying.
CC closed her eyes and enjoyed Penn’s caress. “That’s too long,” she murmured. “It’s time to end the drought.” She unbuttoned her suit pants so Penn could peek at the matching panties. “Touch me.”
CC felt her piercing gaze, knew she was deciding whether to take another chance. The chair squeaked, and she sensed her nearness before warm lips kissed her belly.
****
She woke up alone. The luxurious sheets kissed her skin, but Penn was gone. The clock on the nightstand read four p.m., and she realized she’d taken a nap. She never napped. Her brain was always cluttered with work. But after a few hours with Penn she’d contracted professional amnesia, and she couldn’t think of a single thing to worry about except where Penn was.
Her cell phone vibrated and she looked around the room, realizing Penn had draped her clothes over a chair along with the Droid. It was Blanca. While she didn’t want to speak to her boss naked, she loathed the idea of listening to the terse message that would obviously be left if she didn’t.
“This is CC,” she said.
“Where are you?”
“Um, I’m standing outside of a garage, actually. My car died on my way back from the law library right in the middle of an intersection. Fortunately, a few g
uys helped me move it off the street, but then I had to wait for the tow truck.”
“I’ve left four messages,” was her curt reply.
She sighed. “I was just about to call you. I accidentally left my phone on the passenger’s seat of the car, so I was separated from it all the way back from Tempe. They’re working on it now.” When Blanca didn’t answer she said, “Are you still there?”
“I am. And quite frankly, CC, you’re living up to the abysmal employment statistics associated with your age group. When will you be returning to the office?”
She glanced up. Penn stood in the doorway. “I’m sure it won’t be too long,” she said hopefully, knowing that Blanca would send a secretary to pick her up if necessary. “Probably within the hour.”
“I’m setting my alarm,” Blanca said before she hung up.
“You’re not a very good liar,” Penn observed. “Don’t ever go to court naked.”
“I’ll write that down,” she said. She turned off her phone and started to dress. “Do you have anything I can wear in case we find ourselves in the attic?”
She wanted to climb back into bed, but Penn’s body language suggested she was incredibly uncomfortable. Penn barely looked at her as she picked through a drawer and found her a Gumby T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts.
“I’m not sure these will fit you. We’re not exactly the same body type.”
She handed the clothes to her and disappeared into the kitchen while CC dressed. The shorts were two sizes too large, but they managed to stay around her hips.
“Are you okay?” she asked, sliding onto a stool.
Penn poured them each a cup of tea. “I got scared after you fell asleep. I’m thinking we made a mistake. I mean it was great,” she quickly added, “but I just don’t know if it was the right thing to do. I don’t know if I was ready.”
She glanced at CC, waiting for her reaction. CC took a sip of tea and said, “I think it was a great experiment.”
“An experiment?”
“Well, you wouldn’t buy a bicycle without taking it for a test ride, would you?”
Penn chuckled. “Are you comparing yourself to a Huffy?”
She leaned across the counter. “Kiss me.” Penn obliged, and she said, “We can take it slow. I’m fine with that. We’ve determined that we have excellent chemistry, but if you want me to leave, I will. What do you choose?” she asked.
“Maybe we could get to know each other better,” Penn said.
“I agree. I think it’s time for me to ask you some questions.”
“Okay, what do you want to know?”
“What kind of a name is Penn?”
She sighed. “My last name is Pennington…and my first name is Posey.”
She bit her lip to ward off a burst of laughter. “Like the flower? Your name is Posey Pennington?”
“Yes, Cleopatra, it is.”
“Good point. How did you come to live here? Siobhan and Lynette said they were handpicked, and they don’t pay rent. Is that true?”
She nodded slowly. “Viv chose us, me included.”
“Why? How? I guess I just don’t understand that level of generosity. I mean, Viv’s heart is clearly enormous, but she’s got to survive.”
“And she does. She’s very wealthy. Chloe the Chameleon has made sure of that. But money isn’t a big factor in her life. It never has been. After her mother died she didn’t want to run a B and B, and she also didn’t want to deal with landlord laws, which in a rental situation would have been the case. She just wanted friends, and Kiah.”
“What happened to her?”
Penn stopped to think. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “When Viv speaks of her she confuses the present and the past, and I’m not sure what happened after their childhood. I know that Viv had a lover for about fifteen years. That might’ve been Kiah. I do know that woman died of breast cancer.”
“Has there been anyone else?”
“No,” she said without any sadness. “Viv is content to surround herself with good friends and her passion. I’m sure, though, that if Ms. Right strolled up the driveway she’d resume her skinny-dipping ways.”
CC’s eyes widened. “Skinny-dipping?”
Penn shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
“So there’s been a long list of members at the enclave.”
“A few dozen.”
“How did she find you?”
“I guess we saved each other,” she said. “I kept her from going to jail, and she gave me a place to live.”
“What happened?”
“It was about four years ago. I’d quit my job, had my heart broken and my bank account emptied by an unscrupulous girlfriend—and that’s another story I won’t tell now,” she added quickly. “You’re way past three questions with this one.”
“So noted,” she said. “Continue.”
“I was destitute and standing in Walgreens debating whether to spend the extra twenty cents for a toothbrush with an angled head, when I heard the alarm sound at the front of the store. I peered down the main aisle and saw Viv arguing with a young guy I guessed was the store manager.
“She’s yelling that she’s being assaulted, and the guy accuses her of shoplifting a bag of medication. Apparently she’d told the pharmacy clerk that she had some more shopping to do, and the girl allowed her to keep the bag while she hunted for her other things. But she didn’t see what she was looking for so she decided to leave—”
“But she hadn’t paid for the medication.”
“She forgot. So I help Viv try to explain to the guy, who wasn’t the manager but the assistant manager, and who obviously wished he was the manager. He wouldn’t let it go. That’s when I took the bag from Viv and hurled it across the store.”
She choked on her tea. “You did what?”
“I chucked it as far as I could. They were completely dumbfounded. I told him that since it was clearly somewhere in his store, he had no case and no reason to detain my client. I identified myself as her attorney and asked him how much money he had in the bank because when Walgreen’s found out how he treated a customer, he was going to lose his job and never be manager of anything. That’s when he went and found the bag, let her pay for it and told her to have a nice day as she left.”
“That took a lot of guts,” CC said.
Penn waved it off. “Not really. I had nothing to lose. I wasn’t employed, and I didn’t answer to anyone. So she offered me some money, which I refused, and then I thought we’d part ways. She saw my car packed with my stuff and asked me if I wanted some lunch. I never left.”
“She’s so generous,” CC mused.
“Yeah, it’s her way. Her life is the enclave.”
CC squeezed her hand. “Then we’ve got to do everything we can to help her keep it, even if it’s difficult to discuss the past.”
“That’s not so easy since there are so many bad memories, particularly the fire.”
“Viv mentioned it once. What happened?”
“The KKK burned down the cabins around the farmhouse and left a huge burning cross.”
“What year was that?”
Penn shrugged. “I’m not sure. In the fifties. Why?”
“I’m wondering if the note is related.”
“How?”
“Seth Rubenstein told me that his father got out of the housing industry in fifty-six, and the note he found from Chet Battle is dated August of fifty-five. If the cabins burned down then…”
“It’s awfully coincidental. There could be a connection.” She curled a finger through CC’s hair. “Are you sure you want to help? I mean this could hurt your career if we find something to save the enclave.”
Like a kaleidoscope spinning, she saw the colors and responsibilities of her life—the monstrous student loan she owed, her parents’ pride every time they announced their daughter was a lawyer, and the thousands of hours she’d spent studying for the bar. All she had to do was hop in the Honda and hurry b
ack to H and B.
And then she thought of Chloe. And her sketchbook.
“I can do this,” she said finally. “I choose.”
****
Penn called Maya, Lynette and Siobhan and explained the situation. Once they’d gathered in the common area, they marched through the hedge and confronted Viv, just as she was carrying out a sweet potato pie for their weekly barbecue.
“Where are you going?” she asked suspiciously. She looked at Penn. “You need to start the grill.”
“Viv, let us help,” Siobhan said.
“Please,” Lynette pleaded. “No apartment would let me keep all the dogs.”
“There might be an answer, a way,” Maya added. “Finding out the truth might help.”
Viv’s gaze landed on Maya, and she stared at her intently as if she’d said something wrong. “That’s not always the case,” she said cryptically. Eventually she sighed and turned to Penn. “I’m not going up there. You’re on your own.”
****
The upstairs hallways were antiquated and dreary. CC noticed that the wainscoting needed some paint, and the yellowing wallpaper was peeling away. While Viv had modernized the downstairs, it was obvious she’d neglected the second floor.
Penn grabbed a cord attached to a pull-down ladder, and they all climbed up into the musty air. CC realized that whoever had built the farmhouse valued storage space, and while visitors needed to hunker down to avoid smacking their foreheads against the low-angled ceilings, there was plenty of room to preserve a lifetime of memories. And that was exactly what Viv had done.
“My God,” Lynette said. “I’ve seen thrift stores with less stuff.”
“This will take forever,” Siobhan said, marveling at the endless stacks of boxes, trunks and crates amid the various miscellaneous items such as a canoe, sporting equipment, an ancient bicycle and a sewing mannequin.
Penn put her hands on her hips. “Okay, we know we’re looking for papers or documents—”
“And photos, too,” CC said. “We might be able to piece some of this together if we see some photos.”
