Money Back Guarantee

by Hunter Shea

  “You gonna get that?” Gavin said, nudging her.

  “Whu?”

  “The phone.” The octave of his voice was at hangover depth.

  Rosemary opened an eye and saw it was just after one in the morning. She fumbled for the phone, her brain trying desperately to wipe away the grade-school nightmare. A phone call this late could only be bad news.

  She grabbed the received and cleared her throat. “Hello.”

  There was silence, but she thought she heard something humming in the background.

  “Hello? Who’s calling?”

  “Fuck you, whore.”

  The man’s voice was rough, scratchy, as if he’d gargled a handful of thumbtacks before dialing.

  In her sleepy state, she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

  Why would someone call me a whore?

  “Excuse me, what did you say?”

  The line went dead, the steady hum of the disconnect hurting her ear, just like the fire alarm in her dream.

  “Who was it?” Gavin mumbled.

  She had trouble getting the handset back onto the cradle. “Just a prank caller. Go back to sleep.” She nestled the side of her face into the pillow, whispered, “Asshole,” to the phone, and drifted off.

  Chapter Five

  Rosemary and Gavin nursed hangovers and Dwight mercifully slept in. Gavin ate half a slice of toast before taking his coffee to go, hoping fresh air from the car ride would make him feel human before his meeting.

  Rosemary drank two glasses of water from the tap and went outside, soaking up the morning sun before it got too hot. She sat in a lawn chair, dozing, when Dwight woke her up.

  “Do we have any waffles?”

  She yawned, stretched, and cupped his face in her hand. “We always have waffles. How many you want?”

  “Two. With butter and syrup.”

  She grunted getting out of the chair. “Coming right up.”

  What almost came up was last night’s pizza but she forced it down and by noon, she was back to normal. Dwight moped around the house. There was plenty of stuff to do around the place, so she drafted him into service. Asking him to help her move a few boxes in the garage was a mistake. When he saw the cleared spot where his submarine had been, he started to tear up again.

  “I know I did something stupid, but can I get another submarine?”

  Rosemary did her best to contain her shock. The damn thing had nearly killed him twenty-four hours ago and he already wanted another.

  “I don’t think so, honey. The place that makes them is a bad company. We’re not going to buy anything from them again.”

  “But if they gave you your money back, you could use it to buy a replacement. You wouldn’t lose anything. You already spent the five dollars.”

  She pushed a box of books along the floor. “That’s not the point.”

  “Am I being punished?”

  “Because I’m not buying you another submarine?”

  He nodded, lip quivering.

  The truth was, she had toyed with the idea of punishing him for what he had done, but she’d been too grateful to have him home and unharmed to go through with it. Plus, she’d been obsessed with finding those AdventureCo bastards.

  “No, you’re not punished. But I’m also not getting you another sub.”

  He dropped the box by her feet. “I hate you!”

  Before she could respond, he was out the open garage door, heading for Jimmy’s house. She watched him ring the bell and, after a few seconds, go inside without once looking back.

  “What the hell was that all about?”

  Unlike a lot of kids his age, Dwight had never been big on tantrums or back talk. He’d only told her he hated her once before, when she grounded him for riding his bike where she’d told him not to go, a passing neighbor alerting her as to how far he’d strayed.

  Rosemary picked up the box and shoved it onto a shelf. “Fucking cheap sub. Wish I never ordered it.”

  That only reignited the flame to find someone, anyone, at AdventureCo and let them have it. Any chance of having peace of mind was nil until she had her say. She wished they were rich enough to afford a lawyer who could track AdventureCo down with ease and sue the mother-loving crap out of them.

  The only lawyer they knew was Gavin’s second cousin, and he did tax law out in Kansas. That wasn’t going to do her any good. And knowing Ken, he’d probably charge them the full going rate.

  She’d set this morning aside to write out invitations to her next Tupperware party, with an afternoon trip to the post office. They’d have to wait. Grabbing her pad and pen, she picked up where she’d left off and dialed.

  This time, she called the office for the mayor of Tegan’s Mill. She had no idea who the mayor was, but she’d gotten the number from the chamber of commerce. The mayor should be made aware that he…or she…was home to a shifty company that preyed on the dreams of children, only to hurt them, literally and figuratively.

  “Mayor Gillespie’s office,” the young woman said, answering on the first ring. Rosemary sputtered at first, unprepared for such a rapid, and friendly, response.

  “Um, hello, my name is Rosemary Lanchester. I’m, uh, not from Tegan’s Mill. In fact, I live in New Hampshire.”

  Without hesitation, the woman said, “Not a problem. How can I help y’all?”

  “I’ve been trying to find a company that says it’s headquartered in Tegan’s Mill. So far, I’ve gotten nowhere. I was hoping the mayor’s office would know.”

  “I’m sure I can help. May I ask what this is in regards to?”

  “Basically, I’d like to report them. They manufacture and sell dangerous toys to children. My son nearly drowned in one of their cheap products yesterday.”

  “Oh my! That’s terrible. Is your son okay?”

  “Yes, he’s fine. He was shaken up, but now he’s just upset that his toy is broken.”

  “Spoken like a true child. Bless his heart. How old is he?”

  “He’s nine.”

  Rosemary smiled, feeling some of the teakettle pressure bleed off. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask you your name.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I should have told you right off the bat. I’m Patty Runyon, Mayor Gillespie’s secretary.”

  “It’s so nice to hear a pleasant voice. I was like a dog chasing his tail yesterday, and no one was as nice as you.”

  “Why thank you. So, what’s the name of this company? If they’re operating out of our town, I’ll either know them or be able to find them for you. And I’m sure Mayor Gillespie will have something to say to them as well.”

  Leaning against the kitchen counter, Rosemary couldn’t help but smile. Everything she’d heard about southern hospitality was right. She made a mental note to send Patty some complimentary Tupperware to thank her for everything.

  “Great. The company is called AdventureCo. They advertise in the back of comic books. They sell all kinds of junk, like those sea serpents that look like people, as well as X-ray glasses and the submarine that nearly cost my son his life.”

  There was a moment of silence. She thought she heard the scratching of pencil on paper. “Is AdventureCo all one word?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell. You said they sold your son a submarine?”

  “It was just a long piece of cardboard with some paint. My son, thinking it was the real thing, took it into the pool with his friend.”

  “That’s not good at all. I’ll look into this for you and tell the mayor. What number can I call you back at, dear?”

  Rosemary gave her number, thanking Patty again for being so nice and helpful.

  She spent the rest of the morning waiting by the phone, drinking cup after cup of Sanka while nibbling on Stella Doro cookies. At noon, she called Edith and asked how the boys we
re doing. Despite the heat, the pool was off limits today. Edith’s house had central air, so they were happy up in Jimmy’s room reading comics and playing with his G.I. Joe figures. She was just about to make them grilled cheese sandwiches.

  Thanking Edith again for saving Dwight, Rosemary turned on the tabletop fan and tried to read to take her mind off things.

  “A watched phone never rings,” she said, finding where she’d left off in Sidney Sheldon’s Master of the Game. The four-hundred-page hardcover felt heavier than usual, the fan doing little to cool her off. It would be smart to read outside under the shade of the dogwood tree, but she didn’t want to miss the call when it came.

  She wasn’t aware she had fallen asleep until the book thumped to the linoleum floor. She looked up at the clock. It was almost three.

  “No more drinking on school nights,” she said, massaging her temples. It felt as if the hangover was coming back, but that was impossible. She was just overheated.

  After a quick trip upstairs to check the answering machine and finding she hadn’t gone into a mini coma and slept through the call, she peed, washed her face and neck with cool water, and changed. During her nap in the kitchen chair, she’d soaked through her clothes. Her back ached from dozing in an odd position.

  Not wanting to waste the entire day, she got some chicken out of the refrigerator and prepared breaded cutlets in the Shake ’n Bake bag. She also made a salad and cut up some potatoes so she could sauté them in butter later.

  Food prep complete, she decided to tackle those invitations. She had over thirty to fill out. At least she could make a dent in them today.

  She was writing one out to Mrs. Cranfield when the phone rang. She dropped her pen, scooted across the kitchen, and grabbed the phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Is this Rosemary Lanchester?” the man said. He sounded old, his voice as brittle as an anthill.

  “Yes, this is Rosemary.”

  “I’m Bob Gillespie. You spoke to my secretary earlier today.”

  “Oh, yes, thank you so much for calling me back.”

  “There is no AdventureCo in Tegan’s Mill.”

  Rosemary’s initial enthusiasm waned.

  “Are you sure? That’s the address they list in their ad.”

  “There is no AdventureCo in Tegan’s Mill,” he repeated, his voice flat and without emotion. It was like talking to a recording.

  “Could they have been there in the recent past? I’m sure a place like that has to move around a lot, keep one step ahead of the complaints, or even the law. They have ads in all the comic books, so they have to be somewhere, spending good money to rip people off.”

  “They’re not in my town, nor have they ever been in my town.”

  “I understand. I was just hoping—”

  “Don’t call my office again.”

  Rosemary stared at the phone as if she could look Mayor Gillespie in the eye and see if he was for real.

  “Hello?”

  The line was dead.

  “Maybe I was wrong about southern hospitality.”

  She hung up and looked to her pad for the Better Business Bureau. This time, she called to file an official complaint, not just ask for information on AdventureCo. The person she spoke to took her information and complaint with cold efficiency. She was peppered with questions, which she answered, then thanked for taking the time to call before she was hung up on for the second time that day.

  No, make that three times, she thought. She’d forgotten about the prank caller in the middle of the night.

  Gavin came home, with Dwight not far behind, saving her from spiraling into her own angry thoughts. She made dinner and Dwight talked to her as if he hadn’t yelled that he hated her and left in a huff earlier. That was fine by her. She needed some normalcy.

  They ate and later watched Happy Days and Laverne and Shirley before Dwight had to head up to bed.

  She never did tell Gavin about her calls or Dwight’s outburst. No sense picking at the wound.

  Chapter Six

  The box arrived a week later, addressed to Dwight. The postman didn’t stay long enough for water this time. Rosemary looked at the return address.

  AdventureCo, Tegan’s Mill, South Carolina.

  No street address. Not even a crummy PO box.

  Dwight was across the street in Jimmy’s pool. Using a pair of scissors, she opened the box and, after much struggling, extracted a new cardboard submarine. A sealed envelope was clipped to the instructions. She slid a nail under the flap and took out the handwritten note.

  “We’re sorry to hear that your son experienced difficulties with his nuclear submarine. Please accept this replacement submarine as our way of showing our commitment to fun and quality.”

  That was it. No signature. No acknowledgment that the difficulties had in fact been her son almost drowning in that cardboard joke.

  “Commitment to fun and quality”? Were they fucking kidding?

  If Rosemary’s head wasn’t screwed on tight, it would have spun off and rolled right out the door.

  “I can’t let Dwight see this.”

  There was no way in hell she would let her son play in this submarine or anything else from AdventureCo. She knew he’d never take it in the water again, but it was the damn principle. These scumbags didn’t care that their product had nearly killed her son. This was just their lame way of saving some face. They most likely got wind of her complaint to the Better Business Bureau. So what was their solution? Send the same dangerous contraption to finish the job?

  They didn’t even refund her money, the very least they could have done, and what they vowed to do in their ad. Not that she held any credence in anything they put in print.

  She went to the garage and rummaged around Gavin’s battered toolbox until she found the box cutter. Easing the blade out with her thumb, she went back to the foyer and got to work slicing the sub and the box it came in into manageable rectangles. After arranging it into a small tower, she tied it all up with twine and dragged it outside, laying it next to the garbage cans on the side of the house.

  Dwight returned wearing his flip-flops, a wet towel over his shoulder, just as she stepped into the front yard.

  “Were you jogging?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  “You look the way you do when you jog.”

  She wiped at her forehead, slathering salty sweat down her face and into her eyes. She’d been so focused on destroying the sub that she hadn’t even noticed the heat.

  “I was just busy doing some cleaning. You have fun at Jimmy’s?”

  “Yeah. He has to go with his mom to the allergist, but he said I can come over later, if that’s okay with you.”

  As much as she wanted her son with her, their house was no match for central air and a pool.

  “Okay, but only if Jimmy lets us repay him by taking you both to see Superman III.”

  Dwight’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  She hugged him and kissed his chlorinated hair. “Really. We can catch the matinee at the Katonah tomorrow.”

  He squeezed her as hard as he could. “You’re the best.”

  She watched him practically skip inside.

  Would he say that if he knew what she’d just done to his new submarine?

  No matter. She had done the right thing.

  Besides, she wanted to see Superman III, too. That Christopher Reeve wasn’t bad to look at, especially in those tights.

  * * * *

  They went to the movies the next day, and because she was feeling guilty, she let Dwight buy anything he wanted at the concession counter. That meant she sprung for the large buttered popcorn, Junior Mints, Twizzlers, and some off-brand peanut butter cups. The boys tore into the snacks like starved wolverines. It didn’t take any special mommy senses to see that she’d be
consoling a son sick to his stomach all night long.

  Just something else to feel guilty about.

  And to make matters worse, the movie was terrible. Gavin had taken her to the drive-in to see the first two Superman movies and even though they were cheesy, she liked them all the same. This latest installment was an eye-rolling disaster. But Dwight and Jimmy loved it and in the end, that was all that mattered.

  Plus, the air conditioning was set on arctic blast, which felt wonderful. It had been a sweltering summer. She didn’t mind shivering midway through the movie.

  “Can I be Superman for Halloween?” Dwight asked after they dropped Jimmy off at his house.

  “Isn’t it a little early to be thinking about Halloween?”

  “Yeah, maybe, but the second they put out the costumes at Woolworth’s, we have to get one.”

  When she opened the front door, the trapped heat in the closed-up house punched them in the face.

  “You got it,” she said, fanning herself as she dropped her keys on the little table in the foyer. By the time Halloween rolled around, Dwight would have changed his mind about what he wanted to be at least a dozen times.

  “I’m going outside,” Dwight said, heading for the yard. She heard the water turn on and the spritz of the sprinkler by the patio. She looked out the back window. Dwight stood over the sprinkler, getting soaked in his clothes. At least he’d had the good sense to take his sneakers off.

  Rosemary was tempted to get in her bathing suit and join him. The varicose veins that had come along with her pregnancy nine years ago had only gotten worse. She rarely wore anything that revealed her legs, even though there were just a few starbursts of spider veins on her calves. She was even self-conscious about them in the privacy of her own yard.

  But it looked so cool and inviting.

  When she was a kid, she didn’t know anyone who had a pool. A sprinkler or the occasional fire hydrant that was opened by the fire department were the only ways to cool off on hot days, other than taking a cold shower.