Why Now?

by Carey Heywood

  It’s covered with holes and graffiti.

  “No, no. I’m sure they didn’t. A member of our office did a walk through with them before they turned in their key. There was no damage reported.”

  Moving through the house, the damage only increases. Towards the back of the house is evidence of a party. There are beer cans and even pipes on the floor.

  Rich stops me before I head upstairs. “I think we should call the police.”

  “What are they going to do?” I boom. “Are they going to dust for prints and find the punks who trashed my house? I doubt it.”

  Turning my back on him, I move upstairs.

  Fuck.

  It’s even worse up here.

  All of the bathrooms are trashed. It looks like some asshole took a baseball bat to the tile and mirrors. Mentally, I start doing the math. Even if I wanted to sell it, there’s no way I could break even with it in this condition and the amount of money it would take to repair everything.

  At the top of the stairs, it hits me and I sit down right there. The destruction I’m sitting in does not reconcile in my mind with the place I grew up in.

  It’s a good thing Gram is dead. Seeing her home like this would have killed her. Lord knows what Reilly will think if she sees it. If?

  There’s a lot of shit to do with the house that I’ve kept from her, but there will be no way I can hide this.

  Will I ever be free?

  When I came out here, I thought I was so close. Seems like a few more years have been added to my sentence.

  Getting back to my feet, I make my way down the stairs. Rich was right, I need to at least file a police report. More than likely, they’ll never be caught, but there’s insurance on this house. Hopefully, vandalism is covered. If it’s not, I’m screwed.

  Rich takes one look at me and says, “I’ll call them.”

  Not long after, two uniforms come to take the report. The four of us walk the perimeter and find what we guess was the point of entry—the busted backdoor.

  Since none of the vandals were helpful enough to leave a form of ID amongst the debris, the officers confirm my suspicion that there’s little chance we’ll find out who did this.

  “There has been a rise in cases like this,” One of them says. “They’ll find a vacant house, throw a party, and tear it apart.”

  Rich shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into the kids nowadays.”

  The officer agrees. “My partner and I are going to go see if we can interview any of your neighbors. If anything turns up,” he lifts the notebook he used to take down my contact info, “we’ll be in touch. Here’s my card,” he passes it to me, “in case you need to get a hold of me.”

  After I thank them both for their time, Rich takes me back to his office leaving the key for the house with me.

  He can’t do anything with the house, whether it is rent it out or try to sell it, until it’s fixed up. Sympathetically, he squeezes my shoulder before he heads off to meet his next appointment.

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I call Reilly, not looking forward to ruining her day.

  “It doesn’t seem possible this much destruction could happen in one night,” I murmur, turning to take in the mess.

  “It’s total fucking bullshit,” Reilly fumes, kicking a beer can across the room.

  Turning to look at Jake I ask, “And there’s nothing the police can do?”

  “Nope, but got word from the insurance company that vandalism is covered as long as the house wasn’t vacant for over a certain amount of time. We’re good since our last tenants moved out not long ago. An adjustor is coming out to inspect the damage. We’ll still need to pay our deductible but we would have shelled out that much just replacing the hot water heater.”

  Reilly’s brows come together. “Why do we need to replace the hot water heater?”

  Resigned, Jake replies, “Whoever had the party decided it’d make a good parting favor.”

  Reilly lifts her hand, her index finger pointing straight up. “Let me get this straight. They not only trashed the place, they robbed us as well?”

  “Pretty much,” Jake mutters.

  After Jake called Reilly to tell her about what went down at their old place, she called me. She sounded so upset I left work early so I could drive her over myself. Part of me couldn’t believe it until I saw it.

  Granted, I never lived in this house, but after my mom died, it felt more like home than my own house.

  It sucks that some asshole-thieving vandals had to mess with my memories of this place. Another thing that sucked was my inner neat freak was going nuts.

  I wanted to walk across the street to my dad’s house and ask if I could borrow his broom.

  It wasn’t my place to start cleaning and Jake probably needed the insurance agent to see it at its worst. Grrr.

  “Did they steal anything else?” Reilly asks.

  Jake shrugs. “Maybe.”

  Reilly’s head snapped back. “What do you mean, maybe?”

  Brave man that he is, Jake tugs her into a hug. “There may have been lawn equipment in the shed and random shit in the attic. Everything we wanted is in storage, so if something was left behind by the tenants or us I’m not stressing over it. The air conditioning unit is still there, though, knowing the insurance is going to cover everything, I wish they took it.”

  Reilly and I both laugh. Sensing Reilly is no longer about to spontaneously combust, Jake releases her.

  “Everything is going to be okay.”

  She takes in a deep breath and slowly exhales before nodding. “Okay, Jake.”

  “Do you want us to wait with you for the insurance guy?” I ask.

  He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “Any chance you could run and get me something to eat? I haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

  “I don’t need your money,” I reply, waving off the bills he pulled out.

  “I’m hungry, too,” Reilly says.

  “Okay, what do you guys want?” I ask.

  Reilly decides to ride with.

  Once we’re in the car, I elbow her. “How are you doing?”

  She stares straight out the windshield shaking her head. “Who does something like that for fun?”

  “I don’t know, honey,” I answer.

  “Absolute worst thing about being a reporter is learning about all the awful shit that happens to people. I thought, somehow, I was shielded from shit.” Her head turns toward mine. “I know that sounds crazy but sometimes it doesn’t seem real. The news seems like made up stories I read on camera. Sure, I get to report a lot of cool things too, but seriously, there seems to be more fucking bad than good these days.”

  “Babe,” I say, reaching out to squeeze her arm.

  “Don’t be shocked when you hear my order. I’m planning to eat my feelings today.”

  Laughing I reply, “Deal.”

  It’s not until we’re on our way back to their house, with enough food to feed a small army, that Reilly smacks my arm.

  “Hey,” I cry. “What was that for?”

  “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner,” she mumbles, rooting around her purse for something.

  “Why’d you hit me?” I press.

  She pulls her phone out and looks at me. “The fact that these incidents are happening in vacant houses is a great story. I’m going to call my producer and see if I can run with this.”

  Already lifting her phone to her ear, she doesn’t wait for my response. By the time she hung up, she convinced him to send a cameraman out.

  “Shouldn’t you clear this with Jake first?” I ask.

  She flips the visor down and starts messing with her hair. “He’ll be cool with it.”

  He was not cool with it.

  “You did what?”

  Reilly cringes. “Come on, Jake. People need to know stuff like this is happening. Plus, it’ll make a great story.”

  Jake shuffles to the other side of the
room before going back. “The insurance guy is going to be here any minute. Last thing I need is a film crew here.”

  “Oh,” she murmurs to herself, ignoring Jake. “I wonder if I can interview the insurance agent while he’s here.”

  Jake’s eyes widen and he reaches up to pull at his short hair. Reilly is lucky he loves her; it might be the only reason why he isn’t strangling her right now.

  “Reilly,” I start but she isn’t paying attention.

  She’s pulling a notebook out from her purse and talking to herself as she jots down notes.

  After I watch her walk out of the room, I turn to Jake. “I told her to check with you first.”

  Resignedly, he stops punishing his hair and stares after her. “She’s impossible to argue with.”

  “Do you want me to go after her?”

  Shaking his head, he moves over to the counter. We cleared a portion of it off to pile the takeout bags there.

  Grabbing a couple of them, he motions for me to follow him into the backyard. It’s probably a good thing there wasn’t any patio furniture since it most likely would have been stolen or destroyed.

  He sits on the top step of the brick patio and pats the spot next to him, inviting me to join him. Since I had lunch and no desire to eat my feelings, I didn’t get anything for myself. That doesn’t stop me from taking the fry Jake offers me.

  There’s nothing at all weird in sitting here . . . alone . . . with the guy I was in love with for more than half of my life. Nope, I can handle this. It’s no big deal at all.

  The teenage me would have had heart palpitations over eating something Jake touched. Obviously, since my heart only stuttered once when he offered it to me, I’ve come a long way since then.

  In fact, his nearness is doing nothing to me at all. He could be anyone sitting next to me, a perfect stranger even. Except, why does he have to smell so good? Turning my head away from him, I look out into their backyard. Thankfully, there is little damage out here for Jake and Reilly to worry about.

  Sitting here, next to Jake of all people, my vision blurs as heat hits my cheeks. God, why was I such an idiot?

  My vision clears; a French fry enters my view, making me smile. Reaching up, I pluck it from Jake’s fingers and eat it. If he offers me another one, I’ll say no thank you and tell him I’m not hungry. There’s no reason to keep—

  Another fry comes my way and I take it. You are such a dork, Kacey. Do not take another fry. Make a stand. Be strong.

  I take the next fry he offers, and the five after it. If I get a stomach ache, it’s my own darn fault.

  “Jake, the insurance guy is here,” Reilly says, sticking her head out the door.

  He gets up and she takes his seat, carrying her own takeout bag.

  When she sees me chewing, she says, “I thought you weren’t hungry.”

  “Don’t ask,” I grumble.

  “Want another fry?” She asks and I consider smacking her.

  Instead, I shake my head. Why couldn’t I have done that when Jake asked? Ugh. Reilly eats quickly, expecting the cameraman at any minute. Before she got Jake, she talked his insurance adjustor into an on camera interview.

  “What are you going to ask him?”

  She finishes her bite. “Nothing too specific. When I get back to the station, I’ll call the police to see if they can provide any statistics. It’d be helpful to know if this is an isolated incident in our viewing area. I’m just going to ask this insurance guy if he’s seen this before and if there are any helpful tips our viewers should be aware of if something like this happens to them.”

  Reilly was a communications major in college. Before that, she was the editor of our high school paper and she did our morning announcements.

  This isn’t the first time I’ve witnessed her in the midst of an idea. Reilly is a force of nature when it comes to this stuff. The first time one of her segments aired, I cried like a baby. She didn’t; she watched herself with a critical eye and used it, and every piece she’s done since, to learn from so the next one she did would be even better.

  Once she’s done eating, she takes her trash and goes back into the house to freshen up.

  Not sure what to do, and not wanting to be underfoot, I stay where I am. My back is to the door and when it opens again, I assume it’s Reilly coming to hang out with me until she needs to film her story.

  So, it’s a surprise when Jake sits back down next to me.

  “The camera guy is here and there’s no way I’m letting Reilly interview me.”

  Pressing my lips together to keep from laughing, I turn to look at him. He’s so handsome, especially with a mischievous glint in his eye since he managed to dodge airtime.

  Just looking at him makes my stomach feel funny, or, it could be the French fries I shouldn’t have eaten.

  “Has she interviewed you recently?” He asks, pulling me from my thoughts and making me realize I’ve been staring at him like an idiot.

  Okay, he asked a simple question. Try to answer it without making a fool of yourself girl.

  “It’s been a long time.”

  When Reilly first started out, she would practice her interview techniques on me, even recording some of them. It was all in the name of improving her craft.

  “She’s emailed me a few of them over the years,” he laughs.

  Turning back out to face the yard, blood drains from my face as I wonder which ones she sent.

  I never would . . .

  I can’t believe she . . .

  Which ones?

  Most of them were silly, but there were a couple that I would die of embarrassment over knowing he saw.

  Good gracious! I am going to murder my best friend. This sucks because I’ll go to jail and I’ve watched Orange is the New Black and I don’t think I’m made out for prison life.

  “You okay?”

  I blink and suck in a calming breath. “Huh?”

  I know, eloquent.

  “You went all quiet there. Everything okay?”

  Feigning a smile, I nod. “I didn’t know she sent them to anyone.”

  His face softens. “They were really funny. There was one where Reilly had you move from chair to chair to pretend like you were three different people she needed to interview on a panel. The looks you gave her. I laughed so hard.”

  Okay, that one wasn’t that bad.

  He surprises me by putting his hand on my knee, my bare knee.

  All of my awareness seems to focus on that one part of my body. The rest of me is goo, insubstantial and unimportant. His index, middle, ring, and pinkie fingers cover my kneecap and then some. His thumb rests above them. The unlucky patch of skin between his thumb and index finger pulses in need. The skin he does touch is frozen; dreading the moment he pulls away.

  “Are you upset I saw them?”

  Yes, I am. Or, maybe it’s more that I’m upset that I don’t know which ones he saw. I shouldn’t be freaking out. The one he mentioned wasn’t that bad. All I need to do is look at him and tell him it’s no big deal, I’m okay.

  But my mind won’t stop focusing on the ones I wouldn’t have wanted him to see. My heart starts pounding and my brain is whirling with the worst possible scenarios. Unable to stop them, my eyes fill with tears. In horror I watch, close up, him see me like this.

  Closing my eyes, I pretend this isn’t happening, that he isn’t here, and that I’m not a gigantic dork. Reilly is filming inside so that escape route is a big fat hell no.

  “Killer.”

  I need to get out of here. I can’t think around him. Jumping up, his hand slips from my knee as I make my way down the steps to the back pathway that leads to their side gate.

  “Kacey, stop!”

  Shit. He followed me. Why on earth would he follow me? Rule number one in the what-to-do-when-witnessing-a-dork-freak-out is to not impede the escape of said dork.

  Shaking my head, I try to ignore him. Once the gate is in sight I quicken my pace, breathing a sigh of relie
f when my hand grips the latch. Giving it a pull, my heart stops when it does not budge. What the? My eyes slide over the latch and then freeze. Since when did this gate have a lock on it?

  Craning my neck, I gasp when I see Jake coming toward me.

  Undaunted, I turn back to the gate and scramble over it, lifting my head to look at Jake once I’m halfway over. He’s rooted to the spot, his mouth hanging open as he stares at me.

  That didn’t happen.

  That didn’t happen.

  That didn’t happen.

  No matter how many times I say this to myself, I do not believe it. What the hell was I thinking? It was just my friggin luck to completely screw up an escape.

  Real mature, Kacey. Exactly the type of behavior a balanced twenty-eight-year-old woman would show. God, I climbed over their gate, scratching the crap out of my arm and probably flashing Jake my ass as I did it.

  Moving far, far, away is an option at this point. Along with dying my hair and maybe undergoing some serious plastic surgery.

  When I get home, I head straight for my bathroom to wash the angry scratch on the inside of my arm and smooth some antibiotic cream on it.

  Once all threat of death via scary flesh eating virus is abated, I steel my nerves and check my phone. Not long after my getaway, it started dinging in my purse.

  Unlocking my screen, I’m not surprised to see a handful of texts and missed calls from Reilly. What did surprise me was the text and missed called from Heath.

  Shit.

  Quickly, my eyes scan Reilly’s texts first. The first one asked me what happened, the second why I left, the third told me to come back, the forth said she didn’t know I’d be upset over Jake seeing the clips, and the fifth said she was sorry.

  Apparently, Jake filled her in between the first and fifth texts as to why I freaked out.

  Why did I freak out? Is it really so bad Jake saw those videos?

  Now, standing in my bathroom with a gunked up arm, I realize I may have overreacted a bit.

  There were only a few videos I’d die of embarrassment over Jake seeing and there’s no way Reilly would have sent him any of those. Inhaling a long, calming breath, I hoped that she wouldn’t anyways.