The Woman Hidden

by Lucas Mattias

  “Are you coming or not?”

  Yes, he was. He would briefly stop at the precinct in order to get his briefcase and the computer, he’d say he nedded the day off with some lame excuse he would come up with and he was going to follow her, without a doubt. With a winning smile of a fulfilled man, he walked to the car and got in the cab, shutting the door and leaning for the driver as she also seemed to smile by his side.

  It was supposed to be just a coffee.

  IV

  As he opened the door, the music in his ears ended, almost in a coincidence. The wind was blowing, now harder and colder than before, already carrying in it the heavy flakes of snow.

  Marco closed the door behind himself, pleased by the moment of thermal shock and the warm and comfortable feeling inside the house, leaving his key on the accent table near the door. He took a moment; glanced thoroughly at the large living room around and the kitchen beyond, not finding any sign of life. If everything had occurred as he had expected, his father would be hunting again, just to pass the time and feed his writer’s block, while the stranger woman… he hoped she would be long gone by now.

  He took a few more steps towards the interior and left his backpack on the white sofa at the living room, ignoring his father’s warning about his “bringing the dirt from the outside inside in such messy ways”. There was a light scent in the air, something sweet and maybe citric, something unknown to him, though he could feel the tones of lemon hovering around. He sniffed a few times and sighed. Peace.

  “Oh”, a voice said, coming from the kitchen and breaking his meditation. “I thought it was your father.”

  That woman was still there. The smell was probably hers. He sighed, but this time it was heavy and rude, with a louder sound.

  “I thought you were gone”, and when he noticed her glare, he continued: “No offense.”

  She just smiled and nodded.

  “I apologize... I don’t mean to bother.”

  Marco sat on the sofa and took his phone from his pocket, pretending to be searching for some specific conversation or old e-mail, anything that could take her away and show that he was not up to conversations.

  “It’s cool. My dad thinks he’s redeeming himself by helping you, there’s nothing I can do about it. What’s that smell?”

  The woman, who stood a few feet away near the kitchen, smile and risked taking a few steps towards him.

  “Tea. Does it pleases you?”

  He laughed at the reply, trying to prevent any excessive mockery from escaping him.

  “Doesn’t remember own name, knows how to make tea?”

  “It happens. Somehow I knew precisely what I was doing and what I should do. Strange, isn’t it?”

  The voice sounded closer and closer, forcing Marco to go even faster through his apps and messages, trying to find something that could offer him a chance of pretending to be busy. Nothing.

  And there she was, the stranger, sitting by his side and offering a greeting hand.

  “Name’s Clarice.” She said, waiting for his answer.

  He didn’t know what to do and, although he wanted to ignore her and maybe just storm out, he lifted his hand, too, and shook hers.

  “Marco.”

  Her eyes lingered onto his hand, making him uncomfortable, and he knew the reason for that: the dark skin tone. Dad was a white male, light eyes, straight dark hair. He, on the other hand, was a little bulkier and almost his dad’s height, though only sixteen years old, with a dark skin, thicker and shorter hair.

  “My mother was black, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “No, I…” She stuttered trying to find a proper excuse, but Marco ignored it, he was used to those doubts and the famous idea that he was adopted, because that could be the only option for other people. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to let it show.”

  “You talk funny, are you a lawyer or something?”

  She shrugged, gently smiling in response.

  “That is a question to which I have no answers.”

  “Go figure.”

  “Right?”

  Marco didn’t know what else to say and he actually wanted the conversation to die over there so she could go back to whatever she was doing and leave him be, at least for a few minutes. However, that proximity and the strangeness of the situation left him so uncomfortable that he felt almost compelled to say something not to make things worse. What things? He had no idea.

  “Did my dad go out?”

  “He said he would take a walk, shoot stuff, take some air.” She looked like she wanted to say something else, but at the same time, she seemed like trying to control herself. “You seem to be very close, you and your father.”

  “We are.”

  He gave up on the phone. There was nothing there to save him from the conversation, so he simply let it happen. He didn’t want to be there, but he couldn’t leave either.

  “And do you like living here? I mean… me, on you age, would consider this a very remote place.”

  Marco took a deep breath and shifted positions on the sofa, pretending to face the cold fireplace across from the room.

  “It’s calm. But we normally stay here during vacation, like now. The city is close, like, thirty minutes by car, or less.”

  “And you prefer the city.”

  “Yeah, but my dad likes the camp on vacation, he thinks it’s better to relax and else. You really don’t remember a thing?”

  Her face, so far tranquil, shifted seamlessly, something he pretended to ignore.

  “A little. The memories are slowly coming back, but there’s almost nothing. I know it is hard for you to accept a stranger in your house, and I understand, but I wanted to thank you. Your father told me you were the one to find me on the outskirts of the woods.”

  “Whatever. It’s cool.”

  “I don’t want you to have the impression I’m trying to occupy your mother’s place.”

  The mention to his mother made Marco shiver inside. It’d been a long while since he had learned how to live without her, a long time since he had got over from the loss and moved on, a long time since he started seeing a therapist to help relieve the pain and all the stress after what happened to her. Still, her memory, especially coming from a person he barely knew, shook him up.

  “You are not.” His voice went out a little harsher than he had expected.

  Again, they fell in silence. He could hear the noises from the kitchen, the water that was starting to boil in the kettle, but besides that, only the wind outside and the sound of windows and trees being agitated by it.

  “Do you miss her?”

  Marco, for the first time, turned to her and faced her directly, his brows low and a disbelief glare. Was she serious?

  “I’m not talking about this with you.”

  “I don’t mean to offend, just…” She took a deep breath and lower her eyes to her own hands, which laid facing up on her lap. “I think I might have children. Maybe I do, or not. Right now, I don’t even know who I am and I ask myself... I ask myself if they miss me. So... do you miss her?”

  Marco thought about what she said for a few instants and, finally, nodded. He didn’t want to look directly at her, he didn’t want to be lured by her frailty. He didn’t want her there, right beside him.

  “I do. I miss her all the time, but I learned to ignore that.”

  Clarice’s eyes turned to him, and this time they were wet. He noticed what he had said and wished he could take the words back.

  “But, you know, it’s different, I guess. I know my mom is gone and there’s nothing I can do to help it. I could and I didn’t, so now there’s nothing else left.”

  “Marco…” She said, her hand touching his arm in a motherly way.

  In an abrupt reflex, he pulled his arm, creating safe distance from the woman. No, he didn’t want any contact, let alone that type of intimacy, mostly when they were talking about his mom.

  “Don’t touch me. I don’t need your comfort
.”

  “I’m not… You cannot blame yourself for her death.”

  “What if I can?” His voice was a few keys higher, contrasting with the kettle that was already screaming in the kitchen. “It’s not your business!”

  The woman seemed to try to put words together in her lips, while her eyes shifted from the kitchen to the boy. He didn’t know her intentions with that conversation, but intimacy was something she wouldn’t get that easily. She was not his mom and neither would she ever be.

  “I’m simply trying to help.”

  “If you really wanna help, you can just--”

  “Finish this sentence, Marco…” A third voice echoed like thunder through the room, surprising Marco and, apparently, the woman, too. “I swear I lock you up in that room until the end of the winter.”

  Dad was home. The profusion of noises made Marco oblivious to the noise of keys, doors and his heavy steps on the wooden floor.

  “So you defend her. Not your son, her!”

  Marco was now facing his father, who let his heavy backpack hit the ground in a thud, while putting his hunting rifle over the accent table, giving shit to the fact his boots were dirtying the floor.

  “I’m not defending anyone, Marco.”

  The woman, in the most appropriate way possible, put herself between them, leaving Marco even more uncomfortable.

  “I don’t want to bother, Jason. Marco, I’m sorry, I…”

  “Don’t apologize, Clarice. You are trying to be cordial, while Marco is acting like a child. For God, Marco, you’re a man already.”

  “I don’t need no lectures, dad.”

  Marco held back as he saw his father coming his way. He hadn’t seen that happen in a while now and, for a minute or two, he felt his body shake in apprehension.

  “And who are you to tell me what you need? A little brat, Marco, a little brat behaving like a child. We did not raise you that way. I did not raise you that way.”

  “Ah, so now you want to talk about how you raised me?”

  Marco saw, on the corner of his eyes, the woman take a few steps back and run to the kitchen. The kettle was sizzling, now louder than before, creating a bigger discomfort than the whole confusion itself with all the noise and steam spreading through the house.

  “You watch the way you talk to me, Marco. I’m still your father.”

  He tried to think on a quick response, but all he came up with was a sigh and a head shake, trying to control his words. For a long time, he hadn’t had an argument with his father, he would start it now.

  “I just want our space back.”

  “We have our space, Marco, for God’s sake!”

  The father’s deep and loud tone reverberated through the glass walls at the exact moment the stranger took the kettle from the fire, ceasing the annoying scream of it up to the moment it didn’t exist anymore. The scent of lemon exhaled, somehow comforting.

  “What did your mother teach you?”

  “It’s not the case, dad.”

  Marco tried to move away, but he felt his father’s hand around his shoulder, something that felt soothing and aggressive altogether. Perhaps there was some extra weight in that touch.

  “What did your mother teach you?”

  “Help who’s in need, no matter who it is.”

  “And?”

  Marco didn’t want to finish that sentence. It was something private of his and his mom, he knew the stranger would be listening to it and that that saying didn’t apply to that situation. The intensity of his father’s grip increased and he realized he had no other option.

  “Do not expect anything in return.”

  “Do not expect anything in return. What if it were me, Marco? What if it were me lost out there, no memories. And then a rebellious teenager decided to kick me out on the same day? Huh? What if it were me?”

  “That’s overboard.”

  “No, that’s not, Marco, it’s the truth. What if it were you? I’d like someone to help you the same way we’re helping, I--”

  “You’re only helping her because you didn’t want…”

  His dad’s infuriating gaze was enough for him not to go on. His freedom was hanging by a thread and Marco didn’t want to risk anything else.

  “Don’t argue over me. If my presence is causing so much harm, I…”

  “Clarice.”

  Finally, Marco could breathe once rid of his dad’s heavy grip on his shoulder. He discreetly massaged his shoulder while his father ran for the woman.

  “I apologize for him. I… we don’t want you to go, not now. The weather outside is ghastly and you have nowhere to go, you’re in danger...”

  “Danger?” Marco asked, suddenly interested in the conversation.

  “No, Jason.” The woman continued, ignoring Marco’s question. “You two are obviously in conflict and I don’t want to be the reason of further dismay. I just wish… I wish I could understand what happened so I can leave you alone, I swear, Marco, that’s my true intention.”

  Marco knew he shouldn’t, but it was already too late and the unexpected crying that followed the words made him feel bad about himself. He knew he was acting idiotic with no clear or deep reasons, but he had the right to. Seeing that woman in tears, trying to hold her pain back and apologizing, however, was too much for him.

  “I didn’t mean to…” He started by saying it, but his father’s warning eyes shut him.

  “Clarice, why don’t you sit?”

  “I’m fine, I just…” She wiped her face and tried to open a smile, one of the saddest scenes Marco had ever witnessed. “I don’t know, I don’t know who I am.”

  That sounded more as a realization to a condition than getting something off the chest. To Marco, that was despairing.

  “I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know where I am. I just…” She was melting into tears, with both hands on her face, trying to control her meltdown. The father got closer, not sure what to do, trying to calm her down. “And this is… is affecting you and you have nothing to do with it… and I don’t know anymore the little I thought I did, I…

  His father hugged her and Marco, afar and too close at the same time, crossed his arms, observing. Although he was still not comfortable with that situation, he had to confess he hadn’t seen his old man that open to someone or willing to help anyone that way in a long time and, since his mother’s departure, he felt as if he were seeing his real dad emerging once more. The stranger could not be his cup of tea, but what if that aid could bring some benefits to his man? If he needed to act more like a grown man, maybe realizing that was a step forward he had to take.

  “My mother was a doctor,” Marco said, causing the woman to calm down a little and try to stare him with eyes sparkling with salty water. “And I don’t know much about the job or anything, but she taught me many things and I know that if she were still here, she would do the same.”

  Marco saw his father’s eyes upon him, not sure to read that as a reprimand or support, but he went on.

  “I know my opinion doesn’t matter, but you can stay. That’s what mom thought to be the right thing to do.”

  “It is the right thing to do.” The father reaffirmed, while the woman seemed to get more and more controlled. She was not stable, far from it, but she was calmer.

  “Thank you, Marco.” She whispered, with a faint smile on the side.

  Marco briefly smiled back, got his backpack and made his way to the stairs. The woman was not completely alright, that was obvious, but at least he would have peace of mind again and quietude was all he needed and wanted.

  Before walking in his bedroom and close the door with no unnecessary sounds, Marco heard his father saying he had found something of hers on the snow and, although he had just said she was more than welcome in that house, the boy still felt warming up inside once more, hoping that her staying to be much shorter than what he was expecting.

  V

  It wasn’t much, but the large backp
ack, probably previously used in camping trips, had her name carved on a metallic pendant hanging from a zipper and, therefore, could contain pieces from Clarice’s past. He had found the bag by chance, perhaps not only by that, while wandering through the woods allegedly to hunt, but actually looking for anything around the spot she was found, anything that could bring her some light. As Clarice herself had said, personal items could bring memories to the surface and he wanted to help her find herself.

  In his core, the curiosity brought by the case the sheriff had just told him about increased even more Jason’s will on finding information on the unknown stranger. There was, also, the possibility to end up meeting a sadist husband, however Jason knew there was no better shot than his around there and that a single dry sound would be enough for him to turn around and point his weapon with no second thoughts. At some point throughout his journey through the snow, he got himself thinking about how his life, suddenly, had become a novel, somewhat like the thrillers and mysteries he used to write about when inspired. The idea of having a complex mystery in his hands excited him, allowing a thousand ideas, whether palpable or not, to flow across his mind and bumping into each other at times, creating innumerous possibilities while raising a handful of questions.

  Michelle, his departed wife, although a doctor and prominent on what she did, had faith. She used to believe that nothing in the world ever happened by chance and her Christian roots would always associate events that Jason considered merely random to divine providence. God has a plan for you. Could find Clarice on the woods and offer her pure and clear help be a divine entanglement, process for learning something? He had an author’s mind summarized on the belief that things happen because they have to, as in a book, in which everything is tied up and a simple trigger is all it takes. He used to tell his wife, sometimes, he felt like his books were histories about people living in a parallel world. What if he were in someone’s parallel world? What if all of that were something already planned and ordained, as his wife used to tell him over and over?

  All those feelings came back when the dense and something sweet fumes from the tea floated from the mug to his nostrils, causing in Jason a comfort sensation after the long snow walk. While he tasted the lemon and honey tea Clarice had made and calmed himself after the argument with his son, he observed her opening the backpack and go through the belongings inside there. A small wooden chest – locked – and, from what he had seen before, without keys; pieces of clothing and even a toothbrush; volumes that seemed to be books or notebooks now yellow and aged; and photographs, something Clarice found intriguing and, well, also meaningless.