by Thea Thomas
When I came up beside him, Mitch trained the light of his flashlight on the billboard. “Millie’s Millinery,” it said over a faint sepia drawing of a Victorian woman wearing a huge, billowing hat. Curiously, she appeared to be looking right up the stairs at the night stars.
“She’s beautiful,” I whispered.
“Isn’t she?” We stood reverently contemplating Miss Millie from a bygone era for a few moments, then Mitch took my hand and we silently headed down the sidewalk. We came to the front porch of a house, and he took me up onto it.
“I’ve been thinking about bringing a chair or something to put on the porch here, but it’d have to be a real antique from the time before the fire. I saw a wicker sort of fainting couch in an antique store, but it’s way too expensive.” He led me through the front door into the house. “All that’s left of the house is this foyer and the living room, but isn’t the woodwork fabulous? Even after all these years, and in this humid environment, it’s still perfectly good.”
I peered around at the scrollwork of the dark wooden Victorian doorways and archways and window moldings, the scent of wood and earth mingling into a musty, lonely aroma. “It’s fabulous. I don’t understand how it’s still in such fantastic condition.”
Mitch nodded. “I know. I don’t understand it either. Sometimes I think it’s a pity to let that beautiful woodwork rot and go to waste, and sometimes I feel that’s exactly what it should do, to pass on in time in the house it’s a part of. Should we sit on the porch?”
“Okay.” I felt oddly out of time and even kind of out of body. The heavy presence of that other time in this undisturbed place seemed to quietly steal into me. I felt like I wasn’t exactly myself. A bit dazed and overwhelmed, I followed Mitch back onto the porch and sat on the steps. “I suppose it’s always dark here.”
“Pretty much. But light filters down on a sunny day, and if you stay for awhile with the flashlight turned off, your eyes adjust. You can make things out surprisingly clearly after awhile. There is some phosphorescence in the walls that adds a hazy light. You can really begin to imagine what it was like to have lived here. The city takes on a kind of life, like in a dream.”
Mitch had been standing over me, gesturing down the sidewalk into the darkness, but now he came and sat behind me, putting his arms around my shoulders and held me close, without saying a word. I suddenly became aware of why Dad was so concerned about Mitch. Without even trying to get me to do anything like some silly boys tried to do, Mitch had taken me to a place down deep in myself where, if he asked more of me, I had no idea if I’d be able to say no.
But he didn’t. I could sense he wanted my friendship more than anything. But, at the same time, I was not adverse to sharing a first kiss. As if I’d said something out loud, Mitch leaned down and gently kissed my cheek, my lips.
Could any moment be more perfect, I wondered as I fell into the maelstrom of his warm fragrance. I leaned into him, and experienced the strangest sensation of familiarity, as if I had been here, in the safety and strength of his arms many, many times before, while at the same time, the thrill of his embrace was entirely new. I felt I could have stayed there forever. I felt as if this was where I was meant to be, as if all my life had been about coming to this moment. I heard Mitch’s heart beating, I felt my pulse racing. I knew I would lock away this moment forever, for the rest of m life.
I also knew that I had better pull away, because all of these thoughts and feelings were more than I could handle at the moment. It was as if I had telegraphed my thought as Mitch, ever so slightly, ever so gently pulled back from me and gazed into my eyes.
“Your eyes, dear Nikki, I will never be able to leave them, as long as you will let me be a part of your life.”
Overwhelmed, on the verge of tears I didn’t understand, I nodded, and moved out of his embrace. Not because I wanted to, but because, at that moment I had to.
“I... I cannot imagine anything that would make me not want to have you in my life.” I looked over at Millie, gazing up at the stars, forever and forever. “But I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never had any experience like this. At all. In any way. So I don’t... I don’t.”
Mitch reached out and took my hand, stood beside me and looked at Millie too. “I understand what you’re trying to say, Nikki. I know I’m a bit older than you, but it’s the same for me. Or maybe even more so. I’ve been completely sheltered, not even in public school. Not even with a friend of any sort. Not even a guy to climb trees with.” He leaned his cheek against my hair. “I guess we’re in the same little raft, more or less.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “The same little raft in a calm lake.”
“I’d better be getting you back home.”
“Um,” I nodded, reluctant to change anything, reluctant to leave. I looked back over my shoulder into the depths of the quiet, vintage Seattle, sleeping peacefully here underground with her dreams of memories. “I suppose you’re right.” Even as I said the words, a dark feeling stole over me. Something was waiting in my near future to disturb this perfect happiness. But if I never left this spot, it – whatever “it” was – could not reach me.
Still holding my hand, Mitch let me to the earthen stairs that Millie watched over, and I followed, trying to set aside the unclear-yet-unpleasant premonition. But the foreboding grew with each step. I kept it to myself and resolved to protect the precious feelings of being with Mitch, safe, familiar and exciting, all at once.
When we emerged back into the night from our subterranean exploration, the clouds had gathered into a solid mass, and a delicate rain began to fall. By the time we got home, a deluge opened up the sky that we could hardly see through. “I’m glad you don’t have to drive somewhere else to get home now,” I said as he drove into the parking structure. I’d pulled off the sweats, high tops and sox on the way home. I slipped on my pumps.
“It is nice to be home, both of us at the same time.” He took my hand and kissed my fingers, looking into my eyes. Then he leaned over and whispered, “one wonders, when one imagines the future, what it would be like to always come home together.” He pulled back from me as if he was afraid he’d said too much and looked out the windshield, where there was nothing but a cinder block wall.
Changing the mood completely he said, “You know what? I’m starving. I completely forgot about eating. Shall we brave the elements and find something?”
“Let’s just go up and order a pizza,” I suggested. I felt quiet and private.
“That sounds like a very cozy plan,” Mitch agreed.
“Then let’s do it!”
We ran around the building, giggling, and dashing through the door, thanking the Homer-clone who let us in. My heart raced the elevator to the seventh floor – I felt so elated with Mitch, while still being troubled by the foreboding sensation that had not abated. The elevator doors shushed open and we tip-toed down the hall. I unlocked the door and let us in.
All was still and quiet.
In fact, the rooms were strangely silent. I could tell my parents were not there. I looked around for a note, but no note. I went down the hall to their room, pushed the door open a crack – no one was there, although the pink sweat suit Mom had on earlier was thrown across the bed and the closet door was partly open, which was very unusual for them, even when they were in a hurry.
I came back into the living room. “Something’s strange. Like they left in a hurry.”
“Are you worried?”
“Ahm, yes.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No. Oh, please, no. I want you here, of course. Let’s order that pizza. I suppose they just went out to get some ice cream or some-such. Anyway,” I said, more for myself than Mitch, “they didn’t expect me back until eleven, so they’ll be back by then. Let’s take advantage of the privac
y and order that pizza so we can have it all to ourselves, he, he.”
“Diabolical plan,” Mitch agreed, getting out his phone.
Twenty minutes later we were elbow deep in hot, fresh pizza.
I couldn’t help myself, I looked at Mitch wondering, Did he know he was so beautiful? Didn’t he know he could be with the most beautiful girl he could find?
“What are you thinking so loudly that I can’t eat?” he finally asked.
“Oh, sorry. Well, I’m, ahm, like, that is, you know....”
“Can’t know if you don’t tell me.”
“I’m thinking, you could have the most beautiful girl you could find.” An image of Stephanie popped into my mind. An unbidden and depressing picture. The two of them would look fantastic together. “And you’re so incredibly intelligent.”
“You’re beautiful, Nikki. But that’s not what’s most important. I like who you are, the way you express your emotions, the way you smell, the way you look, I mean, your facial expressions. They’re very endearing. I just like everything about you. I’ve found that, for myself, what other people call beautiful is often sort of boring, while someone who is open and curious, with a kind of innocence... that’s beautiful to me. You are my definition of beautiful. And as far as intelligence goes, well, my dear friend, you can certainly hold your own.”
“Thanks,” I said feeling both happy and self-conscious. I really wasn’t used to getting such a barrage of compliments. “I don’t know if I feel confident enough to accept it, but I appreciate it.” I finished my half-eaten slice of pizza before asking a daring question. “But don’t you know you have that kind of perfect beauty? Straight nose, full lips, huge, beautiful eyes, incredible skin, lean body. Would you say your beauty is boring?”
“Yes, I would, if I look like you say. I’d love to have a nose that has some character, with a bump in it, or something.”
“You could break it,” I teased.
“I could. But my uncle has broken his nose half-a-dozen times in his life, and all a broken nose does for you is make it hard to breathe, and hard to smell smells. I don’t want that either. I hope the way I look isn’t boring to you.”
“Oh, no! Not in any way, not in the least.” How could he even say such a thing?
Right then, I heard a key in the front door. Mom and Dad came into the living room, wet and looking anxious. I was frightened by their twin looks of anxiety – I’d never seen quite that expression before. And I knew that they were about to put meaning to the dark premonition that had poked at me all evening.
Chapter XII
“What’s wrong?” I perched myself on the edge of the sofa, not wanting to hear what they were going to say.
“We’ve just come from the police station,” Mom said.
“They have most of the rest of the furniture and paintings,” Dad went on. “We had to go down to identify them. And, apparently, the antique dealer was able to identify the person who sold the things to him.”
Mitch stood up. I saw he was trembling. “My uncle.”
“Yes,” Mom said. “They’re on their way now to arrest him.”
Mitch moved towards the door.
“It won’t serve to try to warn him, son. Isn’t it better to let justice take its course?” Dad said.
“I’m not going to warn him. I can’t wait to see them cart him off. But my mother will need me. Excuse me, please,” he passed by Mom and Dad. I found myself hoping Dad would grab him, not let him go. But he didn’t and Mitch disappeared quietly through the door, closing it firmly behind him.
I looked from Mom to Dad, hoping one of them would start to laugh, and say it was all a joke, that they’d planned it with Mitch. Hoping that he’d come back through the door with a big grin on his face. But I saw in both their faces that it was just as real and awful as it seemed. I could see they felt terrible. But I couldn’t accept that my perfect evening had come to this horrible end.
“Don’t worry Sweetie,” Dad said, ‘Mitch will be okay, I’m sure.”
“But what do you think of him, if he’s the nephew of a criminal?”
“I think that I’m a pretty good judge of moral character, and Mitch has good moral character. I’m not going to judge him rashly because of something someone else did – even if it is his uncle. And I’m sure he’ll need all the support and understanding we can provide.”
At that moment, there was the muffled sound of several people moving down the hall, then a terrifying pounding on the neighboring door. We all held our breath as we listened to the tones of conversation without being able to make out any words – a conversation that became heated, then very quite. Then there was the muffled sound of several bodies moving back down the hall to the elevator.
And that was all.
“It’ll be okay,” Dad reassured, coming over and putting his arm around my shoulder.s “Don’t cry.”
I reached up and brushed at my eyes and only then realized I was crying. “But we had such a perfect evening. And we even came back early and ordered pizza, and we were having so much fun. Why did this have to happen right now, tonight?”
“Better sooner then letting Mitch’s uncle think he can get away with it, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m wiped out, but I’m all wound up, too,” Mom said. “how about some hot chocolate?”
I nodded, but I didn’t feel like having hot chocolate. In fact, the pizza wasn’t sitting particularly well at the moment. But hanging out with my folks in the kitchen was at least comforting. While we sipped our hot chocolate, and Mom and Dad gave me more details of their trip to the police station, I found my attention wandering. Why didn’t Mitch call and tell me what had happened? So what if it was late, I wanted him to reassure me that he was all right, that everything was all right. That he meant what he said to me tonight... before everything fell apart.
How was he? My thoughts went around and around in a worried circle.
“It seems he might have called and let us know how things went,” Mom said, speaking my thoughts.
“He may be embarrassed,” Dad suggested. “It’s possible we won’t see him for awhile.”
That brought me out of my introspection. Dad was right. Mitch was proud – I didn’t know much about him yet, but I did know that. “Do you think he won’t want to see me?”
“Oh, Pumpkin Pie, I’m sure he’ll want to see you, but he may be too embarrassed for awhile. Be patient – let him figure it out in his own way, in his own time. I mean, as long as it all comes out right in the end, that’s all that matters. Your Mom and I certainly don’t bear him any grudge. But you have to admit, it’s not a usual situation.”
“Well, I should hope not,” Mom nodded emphatically. “Neighbors robbing you blind. There’d be no society if that were usual.”
Obviously, Mom did not share Dad’s complete coolness with the situation. She was angry. There was a good chance she’d say something to Mitch if he did come by, before she got over it. I went from wishing with all my heart that Mitch would call or stop by, to hoping with all my might that he wouldn’t for a few days until things settled. As long as everyone kept saying Mitch couldn’t be held responsible for something he didn’t know about, I believed it’d eventually be okay. And I’d be okay with Mom being all weird if she wanted to hold him responsible in some way – as long as she kept it to herself.
* *
I got my wish. For days I didn’t hear or see sight or sound of anyone in the neighboring apartment. Eventually Dad asked if we’d had seen or heard Mitch or his mother. Mom and I shook our heads.
Then Dad knocked me for a loop by saying, “maybe they’ve moved.”
My heart sank. It was a possibility. “But if they were living here rent-free,” I argued, “c
ould they leave?”
Dad gave me a studied look, like, when’d you get so smart? “You make an excellent point. But if they’re there, they sure know how to lie low. And if they moved, they could hardly take anything down this hall without us being aware of it. They might have gone to stay with someone, though. Until the dust settles.”
“Days go by without seeing most of our neighbors, and we don’t think anything of that,” I said.
“True,” Dad agreed. “So they’re probably still there, you’re right.”
The idea of Mitch having moved without even saying good-by stuck in me like a painful sliver. Could he do that? Would he? What if I never saw him again? Why didn’t I just go knock on his door? Why was that so hard for me? One reason was because I had called him and texted him several times, and he did not answer. Anyway, never mind the phone. I wanted to see him!
The next day I was so miserable, I decided I had to take action. I knew what I had to do. After school I didn’t even stop at my apartment, I went straight to his door and knocked. It took every ounce of my courage. I stood in front of the peep hole so that, if anyone was there, they’d know exactly who was on the other side of the door.
No one answered, but I heard a faint stirring inside. I waited a full minute, then knocked again. And stood my ground.
Finally the door opened a crack, with the chain on. It was dark on the other side of the door, and I could not make out anyone.
“What do you want, little neighbor girl?” a woman’s voice asked. It was thick with the accent I loved about Mitch’s voice, although his was much less pronounced. The sound caught in my heart.
“I want to talk with Mitch.”
“He is not here.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. He has been gone for days.”
