The Door to January

by Gillian French

“Christ, Natalie. I didn’t hate you. Or Teddy. I didn’t even really know you. All I wanted was to look cool and keep my friends. So what if they were assholes. So was I.”

  “But not anymore?” Her tone hardened. “Because you’re different now. A whole new person.”

  His gaze was challenging. “Yeah.”

  “So why the sudden change?”

  “It wasn’t sudden. It took work.” She hadn’t expected that, and he pressed on through the silence: “Seeing Peter get buried in a plot up at Oak Hill had plenty to do with it. Seeing his mom screaming and freaking out when the service ended, trying to go to the coffin. Peter’s little brother and sister seemed like they didn’t even know where they were.”

  “I didn’t go. I’m surprised you did.”

  “Probably would’ve been smarter of me to stay away. Nobody was happy to see me there. But I felt like if I blew it off—if I couldn’t even show my face—that’d be the end for me. I’d have to start believing what everybody said. That I was guilty. Maybe I didn’t pull the trigger, but I might as well have.” He spun the spoon on the tabletop. “Nobody would have minded if you and Teddy went. You were never really suspects.”

  “No.”

  He went on. “Then there was probation, court-mandated therapy, community service. Should’ve sucked, but it gave me a reason to get up in the morning other than skipping school and seeing how much weed I could smoke. Got me thinking that maybe I could make a plan, you know, for my life. In a couple years, I’m applying to the diesel, truck, and heavy equipment program they’ve got up at EMCC.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated, finished her coffee. “Well, good for you.” She thought it would sound lame, but it didn’t. She meant it. “Tell me why you think I should leave Bernier.”

  “That shell was a threat. You know who Jason blames for the year he spent in juvie? You and Teddy.”

  “He seriously didn’t expect our parents to press charges?”

  “You’re thinking like a person who takes responsibility for what they do. We’re talking Jason here. Every single thing he’s ever done wrong is because of somebody else. You should hear him. If you and Teddy hadn’t testified, if you hadn’t run away from us that day—on and on. He’s talked about doing crap to Teddy before, getting even, but he hasn’t followed through. I figured he never would.”

  He watched her take this in, her grip tightening on her mug.

  “Jason might act like a real badass, but compared to the guys in the state home, he was soft. Grace told me that four of them cornered him in a stairwell once. When they were done beating him, they threw him down two flights.”

  “God.” The waitress came by to check on them, and there was another thunderclap. The lights flickered. “I didn’t know. Does Grace blame us, too?”

  Lowell shrugged. “Doubt it. She’s not really like that. You know that when Jason was locked up, Grace used to take a bus down there every weekend to visit him, all by herself? He still treats her like crap. Cheats on her. She won’t break it off. I dunno, maybe she thinks she’s in love.”

  “Wonderful.” The coffee was staging a revolt in her stomach. “And Jason has the gun. Either he shot Peter that day, or took the gun and walked away from him while he was dying on the ground. Why would anybody do that?” Her temper snapped. “Why are you still hanging around with him?”

  “I’m not, really. Not anymore. What do you want me to say, Natalie? That I should’ve ditched him after everything went down? Sure I should’ve. I didn’t. I was fourteen and gutless, and now I’m almost seventeen and Jason and I fight more than we get along. It’s like he thinks we’ve got to stick together or something. Like we got away with murder and need to have each other’s backs.”

  “What do you think really happened to Peter?” She saw how his body stiffened, but his gaze remained direct. “You must have a theory. I’d like to hear it.”

  “None of us had any reason to want him dead. That’s all I know.”

  Silence settled between them. Natalie bit her thumbnail, picturing Teddy’s reaction to this news. Jason planning, Jason bragging about how he was going to get him. Get them.

  “You okay?” Lowell said. Was it her imagination or had his hand moved, as if he was thinking about laying it over hers?

  “No.” She pulled her gaze away from his fingers, from the bones of his wrist and the smudge on his skin, a trace of oil or dirt. “I’m scared.”

  Drenched with rain, Natalie came through the front door and found Teddy waiting for her.

  The stained-glass lamp over the kitchen table was on. Otherwise, the downstairs was dark, Cilla no doubt having retired to her bedroom with the latest Nora Roberts.

  Teddy was reading at the table, a glass of soda at his elbow with all the fizz gone out of it. He took in her soaked appearance, unsmiling. “You should’ve worn a jacket.” Headlights played across the far wall and were gone. “There he goes, huh.”

  “Cilla told you.”

  “Obviously.” He sat back, chewing his lip briefly, watching her. “Have fun? Talk about old times? You know, if you two crazy kids ever want to tour Bernier Middle and visit all the places where he slammed my face into the pavement, I’d be happy to—”

  “Stop it.”

  “You stop it, Nat.” His voice was sharp, his face strained. “You can’t possibly be this stupid. Think about it for two seconds. You come back to town, and all of a sudden, after two and a half years of acting like Peter never happened, like I don’t even exist, Lowell Emerick’s falling all over himself to ‘apologize’ and make things right.”

  “He’s sorry for what he did. The way he treated us.” She faltered. “I believe him.”

  “Don’t you think it’s more likely that he saw the possibility of getting laid in his future, and decided to invest in a little ass-kissing?”

  She stared at him, the only sound that of rain on the roof. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “Yeah. Well. Believe it.” Teddy was slightly out of breath. “You don’t get it. They always shit on me, and they’re still shitting on me. Every time they pass me in the hall and look through me, like it never happened, like middle school doesn’t count or something. You destroy somebody’s life for three years, never pay for it, and then they’re just supposed to move on? No. I’m sorry, that’s bull.” He shoved back from the table, crossing his arms. “That’s total bullshit.”

  After a long pause, Natalie sat in the chair across from him. “Yeah. It is.” She waited for him to look at her. “I think . . . for Lowell, anyway, he’s ashamed of who he was. He doesn’t like to think of himself as somebody who did those things, and when he sees you . . .” She lifted her shoulder. “Maybe it’s easier to look away.”

  “Of course it’s easier to look away. But people with consciences can’t do that, Nat.”

  She exhaled slowly, shutting her eyes for a moment.

  “Look. Lowell wanted to talk with me for a good reason. Somebody left something else for me in the bird hotel. I didn’t tell you about it.”

  When she’d finished explaining about the shell casing and all that Lowell had shared with her that night, Teddy sat stiff and straight, his face drained of color.

  “See? This is why I didn’t tell you at first.”

  His voice was shaking. “Did you ever think that maybe the warning wasn’t only for you? That maybe me and Mom could be in danger, too?”

  “I didn’t want to scare you. I thought I could handle it myself.”

  “Yeah. How’s that working out for you?” He watched her wince. “We could’ve called the police. That shell might’ve gotten them to look into Peter’s case again. Jason could be arrested right now.”

  “You don’t know that. Look, I’m sorry, okay? Maybe there’s some other way we can get the police to look into it—”

  “Like what? Letting Jason blow one of us awa
y?” His anger seemed to go out of him all at once, leaving him drained. “Whenever I see that scumbag, something inside me just—clenches up. And I’m right there, in those woods again.”

  She bowed her head, knowing exactly what he meant. A drop of rain slid from the ends of her hair to her knee.

  “Why do you think I’m working so hard at getting into MIT, Nat?”

  She met his gaze.

  “Because it’ll get me out of here. I want to go someplace where nothing makes my heart pound like I’m being chased. Where maybe I really can pretend that all of this crap happened to somebody else.”

  There was a long pause. She said softly, “Should we tell your mom?”

  He deliberated. “Not until we have proof. Since we don’t have the shell, I don’t think a barrette will be enough to make the cops believe that you’re being stalked. But”—he held up a finger as she stood—“you have to move into the guest room tonight. No more sleeping out back by yourself.”

  “I was planning on it.”

  Natalie headed toward the hallway, and then turned back, not entirely sure of what she was about to say; Lowell’s remark about the day of the hearing had shaken something loose.

  “You know what? I think that barrette might’ve been mine after all. A long time ago.”

  “Really?” Teddy shook his head. “Why would Jason have your barrette?”

  CHAPTER 19

  They went to the house so early the next morning that mist hung around the overgrown yard, gave everything a dreamy, surreal look. Teddy let her go in alone this time, Natalie wandering through the frigid rooms until the light came, and washed everything away.

  #

  Autumn 1948

  Irene lay in a forgotten place where the eaves met the floor.

  The crawl space was about seven feet long and three feet wide, a shaft barely big enough for her to lie down on a pile of old quilts, the stink of the bucket a short distance from her head. He hadn’t even given her toilet tissue. There was a small window set into the far wall, covered with a panel. Dim light crept in around the edges, enough to hint at the transition from day to night. She pounded her foot against the door until she grew tired of it and rolled over.

  Wait. She held still, listening, eyes on the door. No. There hadn’t been a footstep in the room beyond. He wasn’t coming.

  She breathed painfully through her damaged throat. She drew the name “Ma” on the floorboards with her fingertip again and again. It made her feel a little better. She sensed her mother with her all the time; sometimes, a faint touch on her shoulder before she slipped into a waking doze. It must be Ma, reaching out somehow, worried and scared out of her mind.

  A mouse scuttled through the wall to her left, making a sound like water gurgling through rocks. Her home at 132 Elm Road was where she belonged, and she was sure she’d said the address clearly to the man that night after the dance: 132, right there on the left, the yellow house, repeating it when he still didn’t slow down. The man’s profile had been lit by the dashboard glow. Suddenly he didn’t look so young, or so handsome, and he was trying to hide a smile, as if this evening, this car ride, were all part of some swell joke. He’d touched flame to a second cigarette between his teeth and held it out for her in an abrupt gesture, making her flinch.

  You want a smoke? I thought all sophisticated ladies smoked. Aren’t you grown? He was laughing at her and she felt sick—oh, she felt so sick. Aren’t you all grown up?

  “Ma?” If Irene concentrated, she could feel her again. There it was, the faintest touch, but this time Irene smelled something, too. Someone else’s body, not rank, but like a girl who was due for her Saturday-night hair washing. Not a hint of Ma’s White Shoulders perfume at all.

  #

  Natalie threw up in the bushes below the kitchen windows. When the nausea passed, she sat down heavily in the grass, gasping, wiping her face.

  “You okay?” Teddy’s voice drifted over from the steps.

  She stood and walked back around the house toward him, stumbling over the frame of a bulkhead wildly overgrown with weeds. Cellar doors. Natalie lifted her gaze to the attic windows. Sunlight gleamed there, blade-like.

  Teddy stood on the steps in half shadow, half light. “Did he kill her?”

  “No.” Natalie sank onto the bottom step. “He’s taking his time. She’s alive.” She told Teddy what she’d seen.

  They were both silent. The whip-poor-will called from the fields.

  “I’ve never felt anything so . . .”

  She raked her fingers through her hair, staring at the path they’d beaten around the house. Yellow rattlesnake weed had sprouted there, as if marking their footsteps.

  “It felt like it was me trapped in there with him. Nobody ever knew. That’s the worst thing. Nobody ever knew what that sonofabitch did.” Behind them, the house’s doorway felt like an arctic cave. “Raisa’s spirit—whatever you want to call it—was there with Irene. Like she was trying to comfort her.” At once, she was crying, the fields blurring into green and gold. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I didn’t ask for this. If I’d known, I never—”

  “You never would’ve come?” When Natalie lowered her head, Teddy rested his bony elbow on her shoulder. “You had to. The dream was making you crazy.”

  “But what’s the point if I can’t change anything?” She let her hands dangle between her knees, her stomach hollow and aching. “I can’t help her.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Teddy was shuddering. His face was waxen and chapped from the cold, his nose bloody where Jason had cuffed him. Jason’s smile had vanished. His eyes, deceptively cornflower-blue like some wholesome farm boy’s, held nothing.

  “My stepdad showed me how to shoot, you know. I beat his ass in target practice now.”

  Peter snickered, the sound uncertain, his grip on Teddy’s arm loosening, as if expecting to be told to let go at any moment.

  Jason slid the muzzle down Teddy’s jawline.

  “You got a big mouth. Bet I could fit the barrel”—he pushed Teddy’s chin up—“right in there.”

  “Stop!” Natalie lunged forward, but Grace pulled her back.

  “Nah. Let’s make it a contest.”

  Jason swung his arm out and leveled the gun on Natalie’s face. The hole in the barrel seemed incredibly black, a spot of oblivion hovering before her. He pulled the hammer back. She could see something like detached disbelief in his expression, as if he was watching himself from afar.

  “Jase.” Grace spoke near Natalie’s ear. “What—”

  “Shut up.” His gaze went from Natalie to Teddy. His voice wavered. “I’m gonna count to ten. And then I want to see how fast you two can run.”

  The house phone rang early. Sleeping in the first-floor guest room, Natalie groaned and flopped onto her stomach, shaking the dream away. Behind her eyelids, those scorched spots of light danced again.

  The phone rang twice more and stopped. Natalie checked the clock. Five-fifteen. Not even Cilla was up yet. With a groan, she went into the kitchen and searched the fridge for breakfast.

  The phone rang again. Hearing it this time, wide awake with her bare feet planted on the linoleum, sent ice water through her. Bad news came this early in the morning, and not much else. She went into the living room and answered.

  No one responded to her hello. It was the same as last time—a bad connection, a human presence on the other end.

  “Who’s there?” She pressed her lips together, waiting. “Say something.”

  There was a soft intake of breath, followed by a clatter as the person put the receiver down hard.

  Natalie was distracted at work all morning. She was distantly aware of Delia kidding with Teddy as they passed each other in the dining room, him smiling at the floor and shaking his head. Coffee, bacon, pancakes and waffles; the shift passed by in a blur unti
l the moment Natalie glanced out the window facing Main Street and saw her sitting on the curb. Time ground to a halt.

  Grace was hunched forward, swaying slightly, as if rocking herself for comfort. She was watching the Grill.

  Natalie went through the motions of work, never turning her back on the window for more than a second. Grace stayed at the curb, burying her face in her folded arms and then peering up again at people walking by. Finally, she stood and crossed the parking lot toward the entrance.

  Natalie put down the tray she was holding. “Cilla?”

  Her aunt looked up from the register, watching as Grace came through the door and walked unsteadily to a back booth, where she sat, facing away from the counter.

  Delia came over to Cilla and Natalie. “Again?”

  Cilla sighed. “See how far gone she is.” She poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Delia, who grimaced and took it with her.

  Natalie watched as Delia leaned in close to Grace to understand what she was saying.

  “She’s drunk,” Natalie said, a little amazed. Cilla frowned in acknowledgment. “She comes in like this a lot?”

  “Every few months.” Cilla ran her finger down the phone-number list on the wall and began dialing. “Her folks have cut her off. Her grandmother will pick her up. Put in an order for some dry toast.”

  Teddy passed by on his way to the kitchen, looking back at Grace. “Really? It’s ten o’clock in the morning, Mom.”

  “I can tell time, thank you very much.”

  Grace hunched over the booth in a sort of black stupor, staring into her mug. Someone played a tune on the jukebox, something twangy and full of small-town pride. The people who were sitting across from Grace paid and left, and, steeling herself, Natalie went to retrieve their tip.

  She kept her eyes down as she scooped the bill into her apron pocket, but she felt Grace’s stare on her like a physical thing. Finally, she returned it.

  Grace’s strange eyes were swollen and cat-like. One of her knees was badly scraped, and her Converses were muddy, as if she’d been walking through damp, shadowy places. Intimidating as she was, Natalie remembered the truth: how Grace was always the kid without lunch money unless she took it from someone else, who never had her homework done, who you’d see waiting for rides on any given corner, her expression making it clear that whoever she was waiting for, they probably weren’t coming.