by Steve Frech
“This one! This one! I want this one!” she cried as Nicole and I watched from the doorway.
“Why this one?” I asked.
“Because I’ll be like a princess in a castle!”
It was so damn cute, I almost had to sit down.
Afterwards, we drove back into Kingsbrook and had milkshakes at a place called ‘Murphy’s’. Well, Caitlyn and I had milkshakes. Nicole had hot chocolate. Murphy’s was like a soda shop out of the 1920s. The namesake was the owner’s black lab, who was sleeping in a bed on the floor by the register. The place was packed but we were lucky enough to grab a booth. Caitlyn watched people passing outside the window and began making up stories for them.
“That’s Mr. Teffelbottom. He’s a scientist that does experiments in his basement,” she said. “And there’s Mrs. Longshanks. People say she’s a witch.”
Nicole and I exchanged a glance. This had been a little bit of an issue with Caitlyn. She liked to tell stories. Most people would have said she had a problem with lying, but since she was our kid, we preferred to call them stories. She also tended to tell them when she was overexcited. We viewed it as mostly harmless. If pressed, she would usually admit that she was just making stuff up. Still, there had been problems at school. After the amazing day we had, neither one of us felt like correcting her. Instead, we tried to steer her back to conversations about the new house.
After our milkshakes and hot chocolate, we got back in the car for the drive back to Portsmouth. No one was anxious to return to the apartment.
We were halfway there when we pulled up to a red light.
“When we move in, can we play hide-and-seek?” Caitlyn asked. “At Sarah’s birthday party last year, we turned off all the lights in her house and played hide-and-seek.”
“You bet,” I said.
Caitlyn beamed.
Nicole twisted herself to look at Caitlyn in the back seat.
“A princess in a castle, huh?”
“Yep.”
Nicole gave me a wink. “Maybe we should get you a princess bed for your room.”
I watched in the rearview mirror as Caitlyn’s eyes widened.
The light turned green.
I pulled forward and smiled at Nicole.
Our eyes met.
That’s when I saw the blinding headlights in the window over her shoulder.
There was a sickening crunch and the sensation of every bone in my body flying apart.
Then, nothing.
*
Caitlyn lets go of my hand and I follow her as she walks through the living room and into the dining room.
When she stops, I can see the angry red scar on the back of her neck.
Her shoulders sag.
I feel it. I can feel Nicole’s absence starting to overwhelm Caitlyn. It’s starting to overwhelm me, too. It’s been overwhelming me for months but I have to be strong for Caitlyn. I can never let her see me like that.
“Hey, you know what?” I ask.
She turns to me. “What?”
“I think there’s something in your room.”
She cocks her head. “What is it?”
I playfully shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Then, how do you know th—”
“Pumpkin, you should go see your room.”
She gives me one more quizzical look and then starts slowly walking back to the stairs as I follow. The closer she gets, the faster she goes. By the time I reach the stairs, she’s reached the top and turns into her room. I take my time catching up.
Halfway up, I hear her squeal with delight from her bedroom.
I reach the top of the stairs. All the doors in the hallway are open. A steady, rhythmic sound emanates from Caitlyn’s room.
I round the corner into her room and find her bouncing on her new, four-poster canopy bed.
“My princess bed!” she happily sings.
“Hey! You’re gonna break it!” I warn her but not too sternly.
She falls onto her back, laughing hysterically.
“All right, enough of that, you little monster.” I point to the cardboard boxes in the corner. Each one has “Caitlyn” written in black marker on the side. “Start unpacking. Set up your room however you want. If you need me, I’ll be down the hall, okay?”
She nods.
I go to leave, but hear her hop off the bed and run towards me. I turn just in time as she throws her arms around me in the strongest hug her arms can manage.
“Thank you, Dad.”
I return her hug. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
“I love you,” she says.
“I love you, too.”
We hold each other, both missing Nicole.
I kiss the top of her head. “Okay. Get to work.”
She goes to the boxes as I turn and leave. I hear her ripping the tape to unpack as I walk down the hall to the master bedro—
Huh.
This door was open a moment ago.
There has to be a draft, somewhere. I can hear the wind battering the house.
Oh well.
I open the door and go inside.
April 7th, 1900
I love it. I simply love this journal.
I’ve never kept a journal, but I will try to do so, especially because of who gave it to me, but more on that in a little while.
The party was fine but I’m much too shy for public gatherings. Besides, while it was my seventeenth birthday, the party wasn’t really for me. It was Father’s way of “introducing” us to Kingsbrook before we open the pharmacy. I know Father is excited, but he’s been excited for every other business he’s put his hand to, like the grocer’s or the launderer, and they’ve all been disasters. This time, though, I heard him promise my stepmother, Carol, that it would be a success.
The party was held at the house we’re renting in town. We can’t afford to buy a house, but Father wanted us to appear successful because it will give people more confidence in the pharmacy. Father also wanted the party to be as elegant as possible but since we don’t have the means to buy a house, we certainly don’t have the money to hire caterers or planners. Everything fell to Carol and she was stretched to the limit. I felt horribly for her and tried to help as much as I could, but Father insisted that I was to be the centerpiece of the party.
As the party began and the guests arrived, I did my best to be cordial as Father introduced me, but after the introductions, he would forget all about me and go on and on about the pharmacy. It became so embarrassing that I had to step outside to get away, just for a moment.
I went to the backyard and hid out of sight behind one of the oak trees. I thought I was alone but there was someone else there, hiding from the party, as well.
He was tall with dark hair and striking blue eyes. Those eyes stopped me in my tracks. You can imagine my surprise when I saw that he was drinking from a flask. He was just as shocked to see me as I, him. He then got this little smile on his face and held out the flask. He was offering me a drink!
Unable to speak, I walked away, back to the party, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that vicious little smile and those piercing blue eyes.
Later, at dinner, while Father was giving an overlong toast, in which he thanked everyone for welcoming us to Kingsbrook, and extolled the virtues of the soon-to-open pharmacy, I saw the man seated next to a tired-looking blonde woman a few tables away. While everyone else was politely listening to Father ramble on, the man and I locked eyes. He still had that little smile.
Once dinner was over, we moved on to the presents.
It was so uncomfortable, people I didn’t know giving me presents, but I did my best to be truly appreciative. There were some pieces of jewelry, a book of poems, some things called ‘crayons’, and other knick-knacks.
When it came time, it was the blonde woman who stood and presented the gift, which was wrapped in tissue paper. She wished me a happy seventeenth birthday and handed it to me. I unwrapped the tissue paper and inside was this jo
urnal! The engraving on the front is so wonderful and the lock is so clever! The man, who I assumed was her husband, sat in his chair, and nodded in my direction. I nodded back.
After presents, I tried to keep my eye on the man as he mingled with other guests. He appeared charming and engaging. Those eyes sparkled every time he laughed. Everyone seemed to enjoy his company. I would say more than myself or Father’s attempts to promote the pharmacy, he was the center of attention at the party. I did find it odd that he rarely spoke to his wife and I began to feel as though he was deliberately avoiding me, even though we continued to exchange glances.
At one point, Father grew frustrated and tried to wrestle the attention away from the man to talk about the pharmacy. Again, I was so embarrassed that I had to escape to the kitchen. There, I found Carol desperately setting up a tray of desserts for the guests.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked.
“Father’s being unbearable about the pharmacy,” I replied.
She rolled her eyes in agreement. “Well, don’t stay away too long. It is technically your party.” She took the tray and went out into the living room. I stayed out of view as the door swung open, and waited for it to close.
It was hot in the kitchen. Carol had opened the window and I could hear voices outside.
I glanced out, and just below the window I saw two girls talking. I couldn’t make out their faces, only the tops of their heads.
“Can you believe they’re here?” one asked the other.
“Why not? From what I understand, it’s not the first time it’s happened,” the other replied.
“What have you heard?”
“Stories mostly. Except this last one. I know for a fact he was caught with a young woman.”
“Who told you?”
“Someone who knows their valet … Can you blame the young woman, though? He is handsome.”
“Patricia, stop it.”
“What? He is. There’s no denying it. Lots of women fancy him, and as I said, I’ve heard stories. He’s even told me that he fancies me.”
“You really are a terrible gossip.”
“It’s not gossip if you know.”
Just then, the door to the kitchen swung open and Father poked his head inside.
“Darling, you’re being rude. People are asking where you are.”
At the sound of Father’s voice, the girls below the window hurriedly walked away. The one named Patricia glanced back and our eyes briefly met before they rounded the corner of the house.
“Come on,” Father insisted.
I went to join ‘my’ party.
Once the party ended, Father and I waited at the end of the drive to see the guests off and individually thank them for coming. When I spotted the man towards the end of the line, I pretended as though I wasn’t anticipating our formal introduction and farewell. That blonde woman hung on his arm. I tried to concentrate on the people to whom I was saying ‘goodbye’, but my attention kept flicking back to him.
At last, they reached Father and me.
Father shook their hands and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Carrington, thank you so much for coming.”
The woman thanked him for the invitation to the party and again welcomed us to Kingsbrook.
Then, they turned to me.
I thanked them for coming and for the journal.
She took both my hands and said, “It was our pleasure.”
She let go and I offered my hand to Mr. Carrington. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Carrington. So nice to meet you.”
He locked me with those eyes and gently took my hand. “And you,” he said.
No one could see it, but when he said ‘you’, he applied the slightest pressure with his finger to the palm of my hand. It was distinct and deliberate. “You should come visit us some time at the Nightingale House.”
Unable to help himself, Father suddenly jumped in. “Well, if there is anything you need from the pharmacy, don’t hesitate to contact us. We’ll even make deliveries.”
His attempt to casually insert business into the conversation went over like a stone, but the Carringtons remained polite. I couldn’t prevent my eyes from rolling as Father rambled. Mr. Carrington shot me a sideways glance and gave me a sly wink. Afterwards, Father and I watched them ride off in their carriage, driven by a man I heard her address as ‘Theodore’. Then, we saw the rest of the guests off.
I’m in bed now, and I can’t stop thinking about him. This journal is such a perfect gift. Although I only shared a few words with him all night, I feel like he gave me the most attention. This town may not be all bad.
Good night.
2
Through the open door of the bedroom, I can hear Caitlyn singing to herself down the hall as she unpacks.
My unpacking is relatively easy. I hang my clothes in the closet and I tuck away the rest in the dresser. I’m not much of an interior designer, so the walls are going to remain bare. The only ‘decoration’ is a photo on the mantel over the fireplace of Nicole and I on our wedding day. Now, I’m sitting on the corner of the bed with the last thing that needs to be put away: a small cardboard box. I stare at it for a moment, then flip open the lid to reveal the small, snub-nosed pistol resting inside. I purchased it at a pawn shop a few months earlier, during what was my lowest point after Nicole’s death. It was an impulse buy that I immediately regretted, but I can’t bring myself to get rid of it. I keep the bullets in the drawer below the top drawer in a pretense of safety. Nicole would be furious if she knew I had a gun in the house.
“But Nicole’s not here, is she?” I mumble to myself and instantly feel ashamed.
I close the lid, go to the dresser, tuck the box into the back of the top drawer, bury it behind pairs and pairs of socks, and push the drawer closed.
The wind blasts across the top of the chimney, filling the room with a soft wail.
I take in my new bedroom.
It feels cold; like the room doesn’t want me here. The shadows on the walls don’t seem to match what’s around me.
It’s a ridiculous thought, of course. The room feels unwelcoming because this isn’t the same room as before. I was supposed to share this room with Nicole and now, she’s not here. That’s all. I’ll get used to it. I really don’t have a choice, do I?
The wind gusts again, causing a louder wail than before.
But not right now, I think, and head out the door.
*
A gust of wind rattles the window above the sink.
“Bowl,” Caitlyn announces.
She hands me the bowl and I place it on the shelf in the cabinet.
She takes another paper-enclosed item out of the box marked ‘kitchen’ and unwraps it.
“Little bowl,” she declares.
“Thank you,” I reply and place it next to the stack of other bowls in the cabinet.
After unpacking our rooms, Caitlyn wanted to help with the rest of the house. I wasn’t going to say no and figured that the kitchen would be the room with the most objects she could help with. At first, she delighted in unwrapping the items, like she was unwrapping Christmas presents. She would take them out of the box, tear away the paper, declare what they were, and hand them to me to put away in the cabinets she can’t reach. However, that was an hour ago and for her, it’s no longer like Christmas.
She lifts another item out of the box and unwraps it.
“Bowl,” she sighs, disappointed.
“Thank you,” I say, repeating our process.
“We have a lot of bowls,” she says.
“Well … maybe.”
I guess we do have a lot of bowls but the real problem is that she’s getting restless. The novelty has worn off.
Caitlyn looks at her hands and claps them together.
“Gloves,” she says.
“What’s that, pumpkin?”
“I need gloves. The movers had gloves. I should wear gloves.”
She abruptly turns and walks away into the dining roo
m, out of sight.
“Caitlyn?”
“Be right back!” she calls out, her voice heading upstairs.
I lightly laugh, bend down, take another object out of the box, and remove the heavy wrapping paper.
A bowl.
Caitlyn may have a point.
Another gust of wind rattles the window, drawing my attention, and I glance out across the lawn towards the lake.
Nicole is standing by the shore.
She’s staring right at me, unmoving, with a fearful, anxious expression. The wind whips her hair about her face.
The window continues trembling in the frame.
Behind her, the surface of the lake ripples from the wind.
She looks so worried, so scared. It’s as th—
“Okay! I’m ready.”
I drop the bowl. It crashes to the floor and shatters into countless shards of sharp, ceramic pieces.
Caitlyn is standing just inside the kitchen doorway, wearing her big, bulky, red snow gloves. She looks just as startled as I am.
“Pumpkin, you scared me.” I exhale, clutching my chest. “I’m sorry.”
We stare at the broken pieces.
“It’s okay, Dad. We have a lot of bowls.” She stares at the pieces a moment longer and then has an idea. “I’ll go find the broom!” she proclaims, like she’s going on a new adventure, and stomps away.
I turn back to the window.
Nicole is gone.
*
A few hours later, I’m in the living room, working on that most essential of projects: the entertainment center. Caitlyn is reading a book on the couch. I’ve already hooked up the television. It’s resting on the floor while broadcasting a Cubs game. They’ve brought in their “ace” relief pitcher who has promptly blown a two-run lead.
“Oh, you jerk!” I say as the runner crosses the plate.
Caitlyn raises her head to look at me, but goes back to reading.
The wind has died a little bit, but short gusts will occasionally rake across the house.
I’ve gotten over the shock of seeing Nicole. Honestly, it’s nothing new.
I’ve been having dreams about her. They started the day after the accident. Sometimes, they’re nightmares. Other times, they’re wonderful visions where we’re living our lives, like nothing had happened. I’ll wake up right in the middle of the dream and try to fall back asleep as quickly as possible, in the hopes that I can pick up right where I left off, but whenever I fall back asleep, we have really big heads and are watching sumo wrestling fish or something equally bizarre.
