The Woman Hidden

by Lucas Mattias

  “Women talk too much.” She said and the sentence hit Jason like an ice stake on the chest.

  “I’m… sorry… What d-- sorry. I… I don’t understand.”

  “This is what he said to me before I ended up in the hospital. Came out of nowhere and I was trying to place it somewhere in my life, so…”

  Their eyes shocked against each other and Clarice noticed he was distraught by what she had said. He hoped strongly she wouldn’t ask about it and forced a grin, even though the ice stake was still deep in his chest, sinking in slowly and spinning at times.

  “I’m sorry, Jason, I didn’t mean to cut our conversation short, I…”

  “It’s alright. Just think about what I said and we talk later. I need to hit the grocery store; do you mind staying here on your own?”

  His voice was shaky, trembling. The anxiety could be at its highest, but he wouldn’t allow a conversation to start from that subject. He had finished his meal, so he gathered all his dishes and took them to the sink, bumping into Clarice when she tried to help him.

  “Leave it to me,” she suggested, with such a cool smile that Jason’s nerves calmed down a little. “and I’ll be fine, maybe some other memories come back.”

  He didn’t answer. Jason only nodded and disappeared from the kitchen in a gust, leaving some of his concerns right there, alone again.

  As Jason reached the staircase and started to move upwards, he felt as if all strength in his body abandoned him for a split second and he just realized his legs had failed him when he almost saw his face hit the wooden steps from the stairs.

  “Are you okay?” Clarice’s voice asked, coming from the kitchen after the noise he caused by falling.

  Jason sat on the steps and took a deep breath, shaking his head for a few moments in an attempt to get rid of those blurry eyes. He didn’t know what was going on, but the cold blow he felt on the back of his neck was enough to leave him even more uneasy.

  “Jason.”

  He looked around. Clarice seemed busy at the kitchen, he could listen to the sound of water falling onto the dishes. There was no one else at home and that voice sounded familiar… too familiar, but impossible to be real.

  He put himself up again and returned to his previous path.

  “I’m fine.” He yelled back at Clarice, finally getting to the chalet’s upper floor.

  He was not fine and he knew it. Clarice’s sentence had been a trigger when it shouldn’t have been, once he was just trying to convince her on staying with them even after her recovery. For unknown reasons, that ache in his chest lingered, as if a buried memory had just resurfaced, damaging everything in its way. When such thing had never happened before, why was it happening now? Why with Clarice?

  He shook it off and moved to his bedroom. He needed to tidy that place urgently, but that was something for later. For now, all he needed was to find his heavier coat to superimpose his flannel shirt, because he knew it wouldn’t be enough to protect him from the temperature outside. He also needed his wallet and cards, the small shopping list he had sketched the night before and his keys… and he had no idea where it could possibly be.

  It was a big room, the largest in the house and, often enough, Jason regretted it and considered trading rooms with his son, because he knew larger spaces supported larger messes and he knew himself a little too well to know he wasn’t as neat as he was supposed to be, something that hadn’t changed it almost forty years.

  Glancing towards the opposite wall, the one entirely made of glass and that offered him an overall view from the surroundings, he saw the desk he used when in need of inspiration, his small work desk that faced the mountains and the distant lake, the most incredible of the landscapes. And there they were, his damn car keys.

  Jason crossed his room, neglecting the already neglected and scattered pieces of clothing and shows all around on the floor and reached for the table, getting his keys lost amid papers and notes from his new freshly sketched novel. He was still roughly organizing his stuff, just to gather up the excess clutter, when he felt his heart freeze again and his whole body jump backwards as his eyes ran from the desk to the movement he captured right outside his cabin.

  She was standing there, still, staring at him.

  He felt his forehead burn, while small sweat drops spread through his skin surface, trying to keep stable despite the shuddering in which his body was. He was gasping, almost unable to breathe.

  She was there. So real he could touch her.

  The same dark skin tone, the same curls in her hair, the same peace in her eyes…

  Not quite peaceful.

  And she smiled.

  Jason moved away, scared, and fell when he stumbled backwards on the scattered clothes. His heart was faster than before, that imaginary ice stake no longer seemed imaginary now that he felt the pain cross through his body in something that felt an endless fall into nowhere.

  It was not real. Michelle was not real. That was not real.

  He hit his own face and stood up, running again towards the glass panel.

  She wasn’t there anymore.

  Good, it had all been just an illusion.

  “Jason.”

  The prolonged whisper hit his nape again and he abruptly turned around, but there was nothing there, nor anyone… besides a small golden locket hanging on the door knob. The motionless necklace was there, a necklace he knew maybe too well, that same old locket he had given her when they first met…

  The same necklace she had around her neck the night she died and he had never seen again.

  Jason took a deep breath and shove his keys and wallet into his pockets. His limbs were so hot and trembling he almost forgot his parka when he threw himself outside the room and disappeared, climbing down the stairs in long jumps until his feet touched the ground floor.

  The house was oddly silent and, for a second, he doubted his own sanity. Was it all real? Before he could obtain an answer that could lead him to an even more disturbed path, he ran to the outside, without even calling for Clarice who, at that point in time, could not even be real as well.

  II

  She put the last plate away in a cabinet and sat at the counter again. It was all done. It was weird being alone in that house; however, for the past few days, it had happened almost too frequently, especially when Marco would never stay more than three hours at the same place his father was and Jason, well, she knew deep down that Jason had been avoiding a deep contact with her for reasons untold. She knew about his apprehension, but rather kept it out of mind, one less problem to think about.

  She didn’t know exactly what to do from then on. Jason had just left and there weren’t many options to get occupied with, except from the hunting gear or the frozen pool outside; the first was options was not something that really interested her for now and, the second, well, she was also trying to avoid outside contact as much as possible. The best option for her was to retire and offer her own thoughts some time, something that could clear some points and improve her perspective on those matters. So far, so good.

  As she reached for the stairs, ready to waste time on the upper floor, she captured an unexpected movement outside the house on the corner of her eyes. Clarice considered running upstairs, thought about returning to the kitchen – the wall would hide her well enough -, but she simply cursed Jason’s architectural choices when she heard someone knocking on the front door’s glass, waving vehemently at her while a muffled voice trying to draw her attention.

  Clarice couldn’t tell why, but her body froze, preventing her from move up or back as if nothing had happened. There was no time for that anymore. She took a deep breath and turned herself to the house’s main entrance.

  A lady, perhaps a little beyond her mid-fifties, waved at her, huddled inside layers and layers of coats and scarves, topped with a wool hat stuck in her head, nothing combining with anything, an unexpected profusion of colors and waves she’d rather have avoided. She refrained, observing her unknown g
uest for some seconds, trying to calculate her next steps. If she opened the door and said hello, she’d have to be polite and listen to the lady, who seemed to have some sort of gift in her hands. If she ignored her and ran, that could create a fuss and alarm other folks, bringing her and Jason some unpleasant consequences. She, then, decided to say hello, it wouldn’t hurt and, besides, it could even bring some interesting outcome.

  Clarice slid to the door with slow moves and grinned, already welcoming the visitor.

  “Morning.” She said as the door moved, offering her guest space.

  “You I don’t think I know. New friend of Flyce’s?”

  The question had a dubious tone, probably because it was paired to the interested glance the woman gave her. Clarice figured she was probably a long-tongued neighbor.

  “Yes. Spending the season in good company.” Clarice replied, already noticing the way the woman measured her from head to toe and tried to see beyond Clarice’s shoulder. “Would you like to come in?”

  “That would be great, dear.” The woman said, basically already inside the house without even waiting for a decision. “Martha Allembert,” she continued, offering her hand “and you are?”

  Clarice shut the pivot door and turned to the woman with an even more forced and reinforced smile.

  “Clarice.” She said drily. “Are you also a friend of Jason’s?”

  The woman narrowed her lips in a suspicious smile, stretching her neck a little.

  “Long time neighbor. I held Marco as a baby. Where’s that boy? He’s a man already.”

  The woman seemed to be as comfortable as Clarice in the cabin, already stretching her neck up and sideward, trying to find indications of any other inhabitants just as a bored ostrich.

  “Studying. He’s gone to Derby. If you want to I could give him…”

  “No, don’t mind, dear. I’ve just returned from a trip, went south, my daughter has just been through a divorce… a tragedy. I returned yesterday and decided to bring this pie, because I know it’s Jason’s favorite.”

  She wouldn’t stop talking. Clarice already felt her head starting to hurt when the woman offered her a rectangular baking sheet covered by a tablecloth. She took it with a gentle smile, pointing the kitchen’s way with a movement from the head.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Jason,” She went on, while following Clarice. “He moved away for a while, I even thought he had sold the cottage… Which would be such a pity, I saw him build his place… I find it beautiful. Clarice, you said, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And where do you know Jason from? Are you also a writer? I have most of his books.”

  Martha was quite an accessible person, but didn’t raise much of Clarice’s interest. However, knowing the woman knew so well her hosts for such a long time was not at all useless, it could even help her.

  “We’re… old friends. It’s been a while since we last saw each other and he offered me the stay during the winter season.”

  Clarice put the pie over the kitchen island and removed the cloth from it. Indeed, it looked tasty and it was still warm, probably freshly removed from the oven and cooled down so she could take it to her neighbors.

  “So, you live nearby.”

  It was not a question, was more of a realization from Clarice.

  “Yes, for over than thirty years. My late husband bought this little space of land so we could have a place to rest. My children visit sometimes, but my oldest son lives in France and my youngest girl, in the south with her husband… this is my resort, I normally say. I live just right there, going down the side road, near the lake.”

  “It must be quite a view.”

  “You have no idea. This year it’s all too cold, I don’t like when it is too cold, because people don’t come that often, but I love to see the children having fun around there. I’m their Aunt Martha.”

  Clarice pretended to accompany her laughter while grabbing two plates from the cabinets. It would maybe be a good idea to prepare some tea, as well.

  “It’s funny how Jason has never mentioned any Clarice before…” and then she widened her eyes, as if realizing something else. “I suppose you were not friends with Michelle, am I right?”

  Great, Clarice thought, now I’m the mistress.

  “I didn’t meet her. She was a doctor, I heard.”

  “One of the best! Oh, thanks, dear.” She sat as Clarice offered her a piece of her own pie. Blueberries. “Michelle was fantastic. When she and Jason moved over here, she had just been named for a high rank position at Derby’s hospital. She took care of me for a long time after we discovered my cancer.”

  Clarice let her face show a smile affected by that piece of information.

  “Oh, don’t worry, dear. It was an early diagnosis of hers and soon after I was fine. It’s been ten years, give it or take. It never returned. Ovary cancer. Not that I had plans on using those again, huh?”

  The woman giggled, startling Clarice with the echo of her laughter.

  “That’s amazing. I mean it.”

  “That’s something you do not desire, dear. But Michelle… she was not only attentive, she was loved by the townsfolk. Until that… well… life happens.”

  That got Clarice’s attention. She filled the teapot and left it at the stove, to boil.

  “What do you mean?”

  “No one really knows why, but she started to withdraw. She quit her job at the hospital and focused on the private services… though, she was not the same anymore. Jason also had a tough phase himself, but that poor woman… it hit her much harder.”

  “Marriages are complicated.”

  “Yes, but they don’t have to be. There were rumors things were not going well between them. Four years ago, sometime before the… what happened, you know, they sent Marco to his grandparent’s and disappeared. Between us girls,” she leaned over the counter and lowered her voice. “I think they were abusing the old Berkley’s a little bit. The scotch. I don’t even know I should comment on that, but I even heard some huge fights back then.”

  Clarice chuckled to herself. She didn’t know if she should comment, but she was doing it already.

  “You’re friends with Jason, you must know the story better than I do.”

  “A little.” Clarice lied. “But you were saying the marriage was going south?”

  “No. When Michelle died in that accident, at the funeral I heard her mother saying it had been the best thing to happen in Michelle’s life. I thought it to be a little inelegant, but I could comprehend it, as a mother.”

  Clarice put two cups on the counter and served herself with pie, too, while the teapot didn’t screech. The herbs where exhaling already in that torturously delayed infusion, but the smell already indicated the woman would soon enough have something else to occupy her mouth with.

  “Michelle even ended up twice at the hospital due to ‘domestic accidents’. I’m not trying to imply anything, apart from anything else I consider Jason to be a lovely man, but nobody ever knows what happens between a couple.”

  Clarice remained quiet, considering the woman’s words. The doubt on the accuracy of her knowledge remained, not sure if everything had been actually ascertained. Another bothering her was the woman’s presence in there, creating a nice chit-chat and, probably, trying to find something out about her. She could open her mouth in the future and endanger Clarice’s position. There was a lot at stake.

  “You seem to know quite a lot, Martha.”

  “Women always know these stuff, Clarice. We share each other’s pains because, in the end, who’s gonna feel it for us? I’ve never been one of those feminist ladies who burn bras and try to massacre men on the street,” Clarice turned around to remove the teapot from the fire and took the moment to roll her eyes after the absurdities she had just heard. “but I always believed women need to be more united. A lot more. I even considered that Jason had another lady on the side back then. You know how men are, with their des
ires.”

  Clarice served the tea on both cups and focused on perfecting Martha’s, sprinkling a little more of cinnamon here and a little more of the herbs she had already put on it there. Maybe if it got stronger, the woman wouldn’t talk so much.

  “Then the accident came and I saw how Jason suffered on his own. It was his worst. Marco returned to his grandparents for a while, while his father sank into his scotch and his regrets… it was heartbreaking. But what matters is the present. You two are together, aren’t you?”

  Clarice put the cup in front of the woman, holding onto a smile.

  “Sugar?”

  “No, I prefer it natural. The other day I saw this article on how sugar kills us slowly and I have no age anymore to be playing with osteoporosis.”

  “You were talking about the accident.”

  “Yes, God, was it terrible! No one really knows what happened, but she was driving to Derby, an emergency, lost control of the car and the road, back then, had no rails… a tragedy. Car went downhill.”

  “Fatal.”

  “We wished, dear. Michelle survived. By a silk’s thread, but she did. She stayed at the hospital for a few weeks, there was some random complication and she passed. You have no idea how destroyed Marco was.”

  Clarice tried to control her trembling hand while holding her mug, the information had turned out excessively unnecessary for her. Too detailed, too intimate, too strong. She took a deep breath and a little sip from the tea, noticing it was maybe a little tasteless.

  For a moment, there was nothing but silence, maybe because Martha noticed Clarice’s discomfort to that part of the conversation. The pie was wonderful and the tea had slightly complimented that, proving itself to be enough on bringing peace to the room.

  “If you could keep my presence her to yourself.” Clarice requested, trying to be reasonable and calm.

  “But why, dear?”

  Clarice took a deep breath and let her eyes water a little.

  “Jason is offering me shelter. Marital crisis.”