Afraid of Her Shadow

by Carol Maloney Scott

  Hands on her hips, she walks back to the door and shuts it. “What is wrong with you? Are you sick? Oh, you slept funny on your hair.” She frowns and narrows her eyes. “You’re not hung over, are you? Didn’t you have bowling?”

  I rough up my hair and sigh. “Stop asking so many questions!”

  Claire sits down and waits patiently.

  I slump forward. “No, I am not hung-over. I haven’t slept since Steve told me about the dog.”

  “Really? You look like you’re in pretty bad shape over a dog.” She raises one eyebrow.

  I lean forward and lower my voice. “Okay, you’re right. I will tell you, but you need to keep this under wraps. Gina knows a little because she was there last night.”

  “Oh, did she meet Tony? How did that go?”

  I rap my fingers on my desk and clench my teeth. “Later…one thing at a time.” I fill my lungs and continue. “I’m sorry, I’m freaking out. My old boyfriend, Luke, is back in town and I saw him last night.”

  Claire’s eyes pop. “What? You slept with him?”

  “No, I SAW him!” I hop up and down in my chair and hold my head. “He sent me a text to let me know he was back in town, but I already knew.” I take in Claire’s confused expression and I know she is holding back a minimum of ten questions. I continue to fill her in on Violet’s discovery, Luke’s return and our encounter last night.

  Claire shakes her head in disbelief. “Wow. I remember him vaguely. You were still dating him when I first started working here, but that was during my miscarriage trauma years.” Claire suffered several miscarriages in her early thirties and had a troubled marriage. We didn’t really become close friends until after she had a hysterectomy and divorced her clueless husband a few years ago. “So what did he want?”

  I explain his screenplay project and how he asked me for help.

  There goes the eye rolling again. “Rebecca, you seriously think he needs your help with editing?”

  “Hey, just because you’re on the editorial team now doesn’t mean other people can’t share your talents. A year ago you didn’t know anything, either. When Brandon’s manuscript fell in your lap, your natural abilities blossomed.” I flutter my fingers in the air.

  Claire sighs. “Yes, you could probably be helpful, but he’s a minor celebrity, and I’m sure he has contacts in the entertainment community. And books and screenplays are very different types of writing anyway. Obviously he’s looking for your personal view on his story, which sounds like it’s a rehashing of the steamier side of your relationship?”

  “Maybe not. He didn’t say it was steamy.” Shit, yes he did. “So you don’t think I should do it? I don’t have to meet with him again. He’s e-mailing it.”

  “Oh, Rebecca. Do what you want, but I see trouble ahead. He’s clearly an irresistible guy, and with your relationship with Steve being so rocky lately—”

  “My relationship is not rocky!” I really need to stop shouting. Someone will report me to human resources. I burst out laughing at the absurdity of that thought.

  Claire must think I have gone bonkers. “Okay, you need to get some rest before you make any decisions. You are a total whack-job. I hate to say this, but did you have any coffee?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “That milky crap?”

  “No, I had three shots of espresso.” I pause and count on my fingers. “And two honey buns and two…no, three Hostess cupcakes.”

  “Oh my God, no wonder you were sleeping. Were you very productive for a while and then your head hit the desk?”

  I look at the notes I was working on for Tim’s defense against our disgruntled employee, and see that I wrote a whole Law and Order episode. “Wow, yes. I want more!”

  “No, you crashed, silly. You should go home sick and sleep before you go to Steve’s tonight.”

  “Claire, I can’t do that. Please bring me another shot?” I know I look like a crack whore begging for another hit from her pimp, but desperate times…

  “You’re impossible. Fine. I’ll do it.” She walks towards the door and says, “But promise one thing.”

  I reach up to cross my heart and smack my fingers on the desk. Oww! As I hold my injured hand, I pout and say, “What? Anything.”

  “If Luke asks you to meet again, tell him you’re turning it over to your editor. I’ll meet with him.” In response to my alarmed look she says, “I am not going to be swayed. I have the best guy in the world for me. Remember, I resisted Justin.”

  As the door closes, I lay my head back down, just for a teensy second. Justin was a good looking, young guy. He’s hot, I’ll give her that. But he’s not Latin smoldering hot. Zzzzzz…

  Whoa! Why was I dreaming of bacon cooking?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  On the way to Steve’s house after work, I’m thinking I may have had too much coffee today. Claire came through with an espresso shot, but only one! She doesn’t drink coffee so she doesn’t understand that it’s not a big deal, although it is so much stronger than my usual watered down variety. However, I have to be awake to get through this night. I purposely didn’t bring clothes or my toiletry bag because I may not feel comfortable sleeping there. I’m going to wait for the weekend for my first official sleepover to mark my new level of commitment and acceptance of…I’m not sure what.

  The GPS guides me to the neighborhood, and I peer out the window to find the house. Thank God it’s not dark. It’s like a freaking jungle in here. Is that the house? No, it’s too big. I think that’s it. My car rolls to a stop in front of the Hollister abode. Number 354. Little flowers painted on the mailbox. Steve can’t draw a straight line, so I know that isn’t his handiwork.

  I grab my purse and place my hand over my heart. I feel a little jumpy, but surely it’s the extra caffeine in my system, and not apprehension over crossing the threshold into...okay, maybe it’s a little bit of that. I just don’t know what to expect, and no matter what I find in there, I don’t even know what it will mean.

  I jump out of the car and lock my door. I survey the house and property for signs of change. I haven’t been here in a while, and it’s possible things are different. I feel like I’m going to get my teeth drilled, even though I don’t have any cavities or experience with dental work. I imagine this is what it must feel like, except I won’t be getting any laughing gas to numb the pain.

  The house actually resembles a dentist’s office. The seventies contemporary dwelling is all wood, dark and set far back on the lot. I think he has almost an acre. Heavily wooded. The house has lots of long windows with no blinds, and the doorway is set in, sort of on the side, so you can’t see it. As I approach the house on the stone driveway, I feel like any second either a bear or Marcia Brady will emerge. It’s even more private than I remember. He could have a Roman orgy in here and the neighbors would be oblivious. If I open my blinds my neighbors can see what I’m having for dinner and what color I’m polishing my toenails.

  As I approach the house, it looks dark, but Steve is always turning off the lights, even at my house. If it wasn’t for his rosy complexion, warm hands and normal sleeping patterns, I would think he was a vampire. Should I ring the bell? He just walks into my house, but of course I have given him a key. Somehow I feel like I need to earn that privilege here.

  Hell, I will just…“AHHH!!! AHHH!!! AHHH!!! AHHH!!!”

  “Jesus, Rebecca!”

  I leap up out of a cowering position and lean up against the house. Steve is holding his eye. “You scared me to death! I thought you were home.”

  “Why are you shouting? I had a student who wanted to talk about his final grade. Didn’t you notice my car wasn’t in the driveway?” He takes his hand away from his eye, blinks hard and fumbles to put his glasses back on.

  “I’m sorry, Honey. I panicked and threw my hands all around.” He reflexively covers his face and I notice I’m doing it again. I self-consciously plaster my arms to my sides and peer at him. “Let me see. Is it okay? At least I don’
t have long nails.” I smile weakly.

  “At least I have protective eyewear.” He sees my alarmed expression and continues. “It’s okay. I startled you. But seriously, why are you talking so loud? Are you okay?”

  “Yep, I’m fine. No trouble finding the place. Work was good.” I smile brightly and widen my eyes. I think the effects of the coffee are wearing off, but luckily I bought a five hour energy drink at Wawa when I left the office.

  He stares at me and tentatively grins. “That’s nice. Why don’t we go inside?” He ducks around me and heads to the door, which has a keypad. That’s right, he doesn’t use a normal key. At least this way we can’t, I mean…he can’t get locked out.

  I follow him inside and survey the dark foyer. My heart is beating faster again, but my eyelids are droopy. I grab the wall to steady myself.

  “Are you sure you’re alright? Maybe you’re hungry. Did you go right to sleep when you got home last night?”

  I gulp and reply, “Yep, right off to dreamland. Well, actually I did have a tiny bit of a hard time falling asleep.”

  “Rebecca, were you worried about coming here today?” He touches my face and pulls me close. “Come here, I need a proper hug and kiss.” He holds me gently, but firmly, and kisses me sweetly. My eyes are closed and I feel Steve hold on tighter as my legs are getting noodly…

  “You were up all night, weren’t you?” Steve narrows his eyes, but still with a hint of playfulness.

  I sigh. “Not all night, but I was a little worried. It’s just that I know you haven’t made many changes since—”

  He puts his finger on my lips. “I know, Love, but you’re going to help me. We’ll work on it together. It will be great. Now why don’t you sit down? I’ll order some dinner. Is takeout okay?” He is still blinking his injured eye. It’s a little red.

  I’ll down that energy shot while he’s in the kitchen. I’ve never had one, but I’m sure it’s just like coffee. Actually I bought a few, just in case.

  “Sure, yes. I just don’t like Mexican.” I wince at my own volume. He’s in the kitchen, not Canada. Maybe I am a little wired. Speaking of Mexican, last week we let Gina talk us into Mexican for lunch at Casa Upchucka, I mean Azteca. I felt like shit for days. No green or brown baby diarrhea on a plate for me, thanks.

  “Okay, Love,” he calls out.

  I grab the wall again and slowly move into the living room, surveying the scene. I blink my eyes several times. Is this a warehouse or a living room? Is he operating an EBay reselling business? I can see he’s not an antiques dealer because everything is so modern it looks like an episode of The Jetsons, but there is something in every corner and crevice of this room. So much stuff. My house isn’t clean or neat, but I am not a hoarder.

  Only the piano is from another era. In the middle of the room, near the window, is a beautiful grand piano. It looks ancient, but well cared for. I love the antique look, but I won’t buy old things. Dead people owned antiques. There’s at least half a dozen ghosts associated with this piece of furniture. I run my fingers along the top, feeling the polished wood. This is also the cleanest thing in the house. Everything else has a thick layer of dust. Steve doesn’t play the piano. I can’t believe I don’t remember seeing it the last time I was here, but it was only for a few minutes. I sigh and touch a key. The shrill noise startles me.

  “Oh, you found the piano. Do you like it? Noreen played every night. It was her stress relief while I played with bugs, as you would say. It’s an old family heirloom.” I am still looking at the piano, and now the framed photo on top.

  Steve clears his throat. I look up and his hands are in his pockets, and he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I need to go pick up the Chinese food. You can stay here and rest. I’ll be right back.” He gives me a peck on the cheek and is out the door before I have a chance to protest, or hold onto his leg. Or ask if he has garlic or a wooden cross handy. Wait, that’s for vampires, not ghosts.

  I need to suck down one of those energy drinks or I am going to be fast asleep when he gets back. Although, maybe not. The couch looks like it belongs in an office waiting room. Or a torture chamber. In fact, Bella Donna’s reception area has one almost like it. It’s ORANGE leather! And not even soft, squishy, enveloping leather. It’s hard and fierce leather. The back doesn’t even lean back, it leans forward a little. It could turn someone into a pretzel. My elderly parents would be permanently crippled if they just came here for a visit. And Blue and Jewel would rip this to pieces. Shit, the dog. Oh well, maybe she’ll help me to get rid of this lovely item.

  I open my purse and take out the energy shots. They’re so tiny! Like those liquor nips on the airplane. I open up the first one and drink it down. Hmm…that wasn’t so bad. I shift my attention back to the piano. And the picture. This room is like witnessing a bad car accident—it hurts to look, but my eyes are drawn to all the worst, most bloody places.

  Smiling at me in their wedding photo, Steve and Noreen look so happy. How can he possibly be okay? In love with me? He has to miss her every day, but he does love me. The feeling of confusion turns my stomach upside down.

  She was small, thin, athletic looking. Short, bright red hair. Tiny nose. Very bright green eyes. She’s about thirty in this picture, but looks like a teenager. Maybe even a boy, if she wasn’t wearing a full white ball gown with a long veil and a chapel train. She is radiant, but her eyes are not smiling as much as her mouth.

  Steve looks like Steve always looks. Obviously younger. Very handsome. A little slimmer. His hair is a bit thicker…this damn energy drink isn’t doing a thing. I am going to take the other one. That should keep me awake long enough to get through dinner and the rest of the “house of horrors” tour. I wince in guilt to even think that of Steve’s home. My sweet Steve. I suck down another little magic potion. There we go. I’ll be more alert in a few minutes.

  Whew, I wish this house had stairs. I need to burn off a little steam. I need to find some music. Oh, here’s Steve’s iPod set up in the Bose docking station. This is an odd musical selection for him. This looks more like Claire’s music. Shit, I know why. I drop the device like it’s on fire, and it makes a clinking sound. It’s not Steve’s iPod. My heart rate is increasing, but it’s just the five hour energy drinks. What the hell did the iPod hit? Of course, another jar of bugs! I scan the room and notice the enormity of this odd decorating choice. There are insect themed objects and actual insects in jars all over the room. They must be dead? Stuffed? I need to look and see if any of them are moving, but I’m too creeped out.

  Who decorates with bugs? There’s a mason jar with something crawling in it on the piano, beside their wedding picture. Are those wedding bugs? I think there’s two. I burst into a fit of giggles and throw myself on the equally uncomfortable side chair—DID THEY RELEASE BUGS INSTEAD OF DOVES AT THEIR WEDDING? Hahahahahaha…I have to tell someone about this. That’s probably not funny. Is it? I think this energy drink is making me a little speedy. I find my phone in my bag and I text Gina. She will die laughing. “Mr. & Mrs. Hollister ask that you duck to avoid being stung by the killer bee swarm being immediately released following the ceremony.”

  Fuck. The iPod is cracked on the corner. I’ll put it back on the docking station. He probably won’t notice. It is also full of dust. Maybe I could play the piano a little and avert my eyes from Mr. and Mrs. Tentacles in the jar. That would be fun…

  I stand up and face the wall. It’s the one I described to the girls at work. The entire wall is pictures. The ones with Megan, on vacation, there is even one of them all painting pottery at one of those craft places in the mall. Did they take a picture of every fucking thing they did and hang it up? I wish Steve would hurry. Where the hell is this Chinese place? Actual China?

  I sit at the piano, but I can’t sit still. I get up and start doing jumping jacks. I need the exercise anyway. Steve will be back soon, but I need to work off some of this nervous tension. I hear the car door…“85, 86, 87, 88…”


  “Are you doing jumping jacks? Is it cold in here?” Steve stands in the doorway holding our dinner, with his mouth slightly hanging open.

  “No, not at all. I was just…looking around a bit and I tried to find some music…” I glance guiltily at the iPod, “…and I couldn’t find any, so I decided to get a little exercise in before we eat that fattening food…89, 90, 91…”

  Steve approaches me and gently stops me from jumping—mid jack. “I thought you were tired?”

  “I AM! That’s it! I’m trying to stay awake so I can see the rest of the house! Exercise keeps the blood pumping.”

  Steve wrinkles his forehead and starts to say something, but closes his mouth, pursing his lips. “I think you need to eat. Let’s have a nice meal, and then we can look at the rest of the house. Or better yet, skip that and just tour the bedroom. Really, just the bed.” He starts kissing my neck. If he touches my hair, I am going to momentarily forget that twenty-seven pairs of Noreen’s eyes are staring at my back. And an undetermined amount of beady bug peepers.

  He leads me by the hand. “Let’s sit in the dining room. I never use this room.” He flips on the light and I see the walls are painted black and grey. What a nice touch for walls with wainscoting (NOT!). Actually, houses like this don’t normally have wainscoting. They must have added that. Weird mix of styles. I catch myself staring a moment too long again, and I tap my foot to the music in my head. I can’t get that first iPod song out of my brain. I don’t even know what it is…yes, I do. I think Brandon’s band plays it. I’ll have to ask Claire. My phone buzzes in my purse. Steve has disappeared into the kitchen to get plates, so I pick it up. I wonder if it’s…

  “WTF, girl? Are you drunk?”

  I wonder why Gina thinks I’m drunk. Oh yeah. The buzzy bee nuptials! Hahaha….I burst out laughing again. Another buzz. Hahaha, the phone sounds like a bee. BZZZZZ…

  “High? Didn’t know you smoked. Drink lots of water, k?”