The Glass House

by Bettina Wolfe

  I have another surprise in store for her but decide to save it for later. I am slowly learning that Val doesn’t like too much information thrown at her all at once. I have the feeling she is overwhelmed with the move and I’m hoping she isn't having second thoughts. I don't know what I’ll do if she leaves me. I will do everything in my power to make sure she stays.

  I have to act fast and put things in order, so she won’t have any reason to leave. I want to make things easy on her, so she can have time to focus on her writing.

  “Here, let me help you,” she says, reaching out to carry a bag of groceries.

  Max circles around us, whining and sniffing each bag, anxiously waiting for his food. Val finds one of the plastic bowls I bought and fills it with kibble. When she places it on the floor, Max starts crunching away. She unpacks the remaining items, lining them up on the counter.

  “Peach wine?” she questions. Holding the bottle up in front of her, she examines the label. “I've never seen this kind before.”

  “Yeah, there are all sorts of cool products here. It makes shopping very interesting.” I watch as she stares at the bottle, a blank expression frozen on her face as if she’s trying to avoid me.

  “You can open it if you want,” I suggest.

  A half crooked smile forms on her lips as she places the wine on the counter.

  “Okay, what's going on? Did something happen while I was away?”

  Hesitating, she gently strokes the top of Max’s head as he sits next to her panting.

  “I talked to Cindy today,” she replies, lowering her gaze.

  “Oh, really? What did she have to say?”

  “She was worried about me because she hadn’t been able to reach me.”

  “You still have your phone, right?”

  “Yeah, but it was turned off.”

  “Why did you shut it off?”

  "I didn’t. That’s the strange part. If I did, I don't remember.”

  “Listen, we've had a lot going on. You’ve been busy since we arrived. Maybe things have been a bit overwhelming for you.”

  “Yeah, it's going to take some time getting used to being here. Everything is so different.”

  I watch as she struggles to open the bottle.

  “Here, let me open it for you.” Gripping the bottle, I twist the cap off while she reaches into the cabinet for wine glasses.

  “Twist off,” she remarks, raising an eyebrow.

  After filling both glasses halfway, we retreat to the living area. Val takes a seat on the futon, crossing her legs underneath her and slowly sips her wine. She avoids looking at me and focuses her attention on Max, who lays peacefully beside her on the floor. I see he’s made himself right at home.

  But back to Val. I sense something is bothering her. She appears melancholy and on the verge of tears. I hate when women cry. I need to avert her sadness.

  “So I was thinking. Maybe you'd like some help around the house.”

  “Help?” she scoffs, her eyebrows scrunching together.

  “You need to understand something. It’s customary to hire a local woman to help the lady of the house.”

  “With what?”

  “With the basics, you know, cooking and cleaning.”

  “But this place is so tiny,” she says, waving her hand above her. “It's barely big enough for the two of us,” she gazes at Max, “er, three of us.”

  “Then maybe we have her come a few days a week to start.”

  “Does that mean we’ll have to interview someone?”

  “Actually, I already have someone in mind.”

  “Oh, who?”

  “Her name is Conchita. She’s a friend of Slim’s housekeeper and she's in need of work.”

  “Hmm, I guess if you think we need help.”

  “My belongings are due to arrive tomorrow from LA. Conchita can help you unpack the boxes, sort things and put them away. Maybe she can also teach you some local recipes, you know, things like that.”

  “Okay, whatever you say.”

  That’s right, whatever I say.

  While swirling my wine, I gaze at the sliding door and see spots of water dotting the glass. There’s a rumbling, a cracking of thunder and then a sharp bolt of lightning flashes in the sky. Within moments the water droplets turn into streaks as the rain pelts down.

  I glance over at Val, a look of unease spreading across her face as she stares out into the darkness.

  “You okay over there.”

  “This place is kind of spooky at night. You can't see out.”

  “You're right, you can’t. But if someone were outside, they could see in.”

  “They could? If someone were outside right now, they could see us?”

  “Yeah, they could see into the house. Someone could be watching us,” I wiggle my brows.

  “That's a frightful thought.” She quivers.

  “Think of it this way. In the daytime, when you are inside, you can see out. But when the sun is shining, with the reflection of light, if someone was outside, they’d have a hard time seeing in.”

  “So at night, it’s reversed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because at night, when it’s dark and there’s a light on inside, you can see in, but you can’t see out.”

  21

  Valerie

  I had just stepped out of the shower and was drying off when Max started growling and barking. In between his loud woofs, I heard a soft knocking at the front door.

  “David, can you get that?” I called out.

  There was no reply.

  Wondering where he was, I quickly threw on a T-shirt and shorts and rushed into the kitchen. When I opened the door, a petite woman in a red dress with a long braid of black hair stood before me. A look of terror filled her eyes as they widened at the sight of Max. I immediately grasped Max’s collar, holding it tight, but he lunged toward her, pulling my arm and throwing me off balance.

  “Tengo miedo a los perros,” she screamed as she bolted from the house. I had no idea what she was saying but figured it had something to do with Max.

  I stood in the doorway and watched the woman run toward David as he came strolling up the driveway, his machete swinging by his side. After tucking the machete into its leather sheath attached to his belt, he reached out his arms to give her a hug. Still holding onto Max’s collar, we jogged to the side of the house where I secured him on the dog run.

  Speaking of being terrified, those darn machetes scare me to death. It seemed everyone in town had them and each time I saw one, horrible pictures filled my mind. I imagined a deranged killer roaming the jungle, slicing and chopping up people.

  David would laugh and call me crazy, telling me I had an overactive imagination. He assured me people only used them as tools—to prepare fruit and clear the thick underbrush that grew wildly everywhere. Some of the plants and tree leaves were so huge you could hide a child behind them, or a small woman who was now back at our doorstep.

  David had his arm draped around her trembling shoulder to comfort her. “Val, I’d like you to meet Conchita.”

  “Hola,” she spoke softly, afraid to look at me.

  “Nice to meet you.” Smiling, I reached out to shake her hand. “Please come in.”

  “¿Dónde está el perro?” she asked, her head swiveling left and right.

  “She’s asking where the dog is,” David translated for me.

  “Oh, I tied him to his run,” I pointed. “The coast is clear.”

  “Está atado ahora,” David explained, winking at her. “I told her he’s tied up now.”

  I admit that not knowing the language was challenging. Despite practicing an hour a day, I was having a difficult time getting up to speed. If David were to talk to her about me, I wouldn't have a clue about what they were saying.

  “Why don't you make us some coffee?” David asked as he pulled out a chair for Conchita.

  “¿Quieres un café?” he turned to her.

>   “No, no,” she mumbled, reaching inside her pocket. “Té, por favor.”

  She placed a small cotton sack on the table pointing to it. “Una taza de agua caliente.”

  “Of course, a cup of hot water,” he nodded. “Val, please boil some water. We’re having tea instead.” He leaned in closer to her and they began talking under their breath and sharing laughs. I guessed there was something funny about the tea.

  As I stood at the sink filling the kettle, I could feel her stare boring into me. I wondered what she thought of me, the Americana who didn't speak a shred of Spanish. Dreading the thought of David having to translate for me continuously, I promised myself I’d study more.

  After placing the kettle on the stove, I took a seat at the table next to David. He reached for the cotton sack, untied it, and took a long whiff. He then pulled out three teabags that appeared to be homemade. They had colorful strings stapled to them with tiny handwritten tags at the end.

  “¿Que tipo?” he questioned while holding one. “What kind?”

  “Tranquilo,” Conchita softly replied, pointing to the tag.

  “Ahh, like chamomile tea to calm the nerves, relieve stress.”

  “Sí, sí.” She smiled.

  “Hey Val, you could use a few of these.” He chuckled, waving the bag in the air.

  “Very funny,” I quipped.

  I rose from my chair to retrieve the kettle and teacups, returning to the table with them. The moment I set a cup in front of Conchita, she dropped a teabag into the steaming water.

  David casually conversed with her while stirring and sipping his tea between sentences. I sat back and listened, testing myself while trying to understand a word here and there. Off in the distance, I heard the low hum of an engine as it drew near. Soon after, Max began barking.

  I stood up and walked over to the glass door. Slim’s truck, covered in mud and loaded with boxes, made its way up the driveway toward the house. A horn honked and David jumped up from the table. Conchita got up seconds later and followed him out the door.

  I quickly pulled on my rain boots and went outside to help them unload the truck. Everyone wore rubber boots as you were either walking in the rain or trudging through the wet, muddy grounds of the jungle.

  When we were out running errands one day, I had eyed a pair of leopard print rain boots. All I did was comment on them and David bought them for me the next day. He was generous like that. I didn't want for anything; he was very thoughtful, always surprising me with little gifts. He said it was a Costa Rican tradition that the men would bring small trinkets home to their women. Yesterday it was a colorful, beaded bracelet.

  One by one, we carried the boxes inside the house, stacking them against the wall in the living room. Four sets of muddy footprints trailed across the floor and as I reached for the mop, Conchita caught me sighing.

  “Mañana, mañana. Te ayudaré a limpiar.” She reached out toward me.

  I guessed she said something about tomorrow and helping me with something. I pulled out my phone and asked her to tell me again as I tried translating the words. I was close. She said she wanted to help me clean tomorrow.

  “Sí, gracias,” I replied, proud to say, ‘yes, thanks’ on my own.

  Nodding her head, she smiled at me and I hoped it was the beginning of a new friendship.

  Fifteen boxes and ten suitcases later, we said our goodbyes. Slim had offered to give Conchita a ride home. I brought Max back inside, fed him his dinner, and then flopped down on the futon, exhausted from the day’s activities. I must've drifted off because I woke to find David tapping me on the shoulder.

  “Hey, you okay? You zonked out on me.”

  “I don't know why I’m so tired,” I sat up, yawning and rubbing at my eyes.

  “Perhaps the Tranquilo tea worked its magic on you,” he said while drawing the curtains.

  “I guess. I feel like I hit a wall. Think I’m going to call it a night.”

  “Okay, get some rest. I’ll be in shortly. I’m going to check my email.”

  As I padded my way into the bedroom with Max trailing behind me, an uneasy feeling washed over me. Through my fog of fatigue, David’s dating profile popped up into my head. I tried hard to push it away. When I slipped into bed, hugging my pillow, Max jumped up and cuddled beside me.

  Tears soon filled my eyes as I lay there, gently stroking his fur. I couldn’t help wonder if Mr. fit & fun was looking for a new travel partner.

  22

  David

  I wonder if Val sensed it wasn't the first time I had met Conchita. I mean, the woman ran straight into my arms while she watched from the doorway. Val's a sharp cookie and nothing gets passed her. I must say it's a good trait to have here in the jungle. One should always be alert for hidden dangers.

  Once again, I detected fear in her eyes when she saw me with my machete. Who knows what kinds of scenarios she conjures up in that writer’s mind of hers? I’m concerned, though, that she sometimes confuses fiction with reality.

  In all my years down here, there had been only one incident and it was totally avoidable. At least that's what I tell myself; it’s how I cope with it.

  I'm not sure if Val would ever be ready for me to share that story. To be honest, I’m not sure I even want to relive that night. For now, it’ll stay buried in my mind. I’ll have to be more observant this time and mustn't let frivolous distractions get in the way.

  I log into my email and scroll down the page. Now there’s something I haven't seen in a while. I haven't visited that site in months. I click on the message to read what it says.

  CutieC has winked at you. Log in now to view her profile. CutieC could be your perfect match.

  I hesitate for a moment with Val in the next room. Gazing over my shoulder, I check to make sure the bedroom door is closed. I decide to log into my account to window shop only. You know the saying, ‘you can look, but you can't touch.’ All men like to look and all women need to get over it.

  I stare at the screen and narrow my eyes. I’m mystified. I know that gal, know her face. It can't be her, can it?

  CutieC. Such an interesting moniker for a scantily clad, skinny blonde.

  I stare at her profile picture as she stares back, studying her two-sizes-too-small, low cut red dress. She’s slightly bent over and blowing a kiss at me.

  I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest and study the photo for a few more minutes. I wonder if she knows it's me.

  I click back to my profile picture. There I am coming out of a swimming pool gripping the handrails. My hair’s slicked back, and I’m wearing dark sunglasses. Granted, the photo is ten years old when I was twenty pounds lighter. Maybe she didn't recognize me. Still, I ponder as I glance through her photo album.

  CutieC is the typical Vegas girl. Every photo is ridiculously posed and airbrushed to the hilt. Dancing atop the bar in another skimpy outfit with a cocktail spilling from her hand. Eating sushi with chopsticks in an exaggerated manner while seated at a table with a gaggle of giggling girlfriends. Sitting at a slot machine in a jam-packed casino, sticking her tongue out while pulling the lever.

  I stop and linger on the last photo. A sly smile forms on my lips. There they are the two of them at work dressed in their uniforms. They’re leaning into each other with their arms out from their sides holding their drink-filled trays. Their eyes shine while pursing their lips for the person taking their photo.

  A pang of jealousy pings my gut. Who is my girl making kissy faces at? Who is the person behind the camera? A coworker? An ex-boyfriend?

  A whining and scratching sound jostles me from my thoughts. I rise from the table and softly stride over to the bedroom door. I slowly open it, careful not to wake Val as Max bolts from the room. He circles my legs twice and then runs over to the front door.

  Val must've forgotten to let him out before bedtime. Opening the door, I flick on the floodlights as he trots outside, disappearing into the night.

  I don't know why she in
sists on keeping him in the house. He's a watchdog; he belongs outside guarding the house. I don't want that smelly mutt in our bed. Scratch that, my bed. I paid for it.

  I call the shots around here. I make the rules. But Val sometimes seems to forget. She needs to be reminded of the pecking order. She will need to become more submissive if she’s going to be with a man like me. She will need to learn her place in the world—my world.

  I log out of the website and close the laptop. Shuffling over to the front door, I open it and give a low whistle, calling Max back inside. From the corner of my eye, I see something move between the trees. A blurred figure passes through the ray of light.

  “Max, is that you,” I say, trying to keep my voice down.

  Slipping my feet into my jungle Mocs, I close the door behind me and head down the walkway. The clopping of my shoes hitting the ground mixes with the chirping of crickets and the low hum of insects.

  “Max, where are you?” I call out again a bit louder this time.

  I stop and do a three-sixty, scanning the back yard. There is no sign of him. He must be off on an adventure and will come home when he tires of hunting.

  As I trod along the path, I catch a glimpse of a dark shape appearing and disappearing in a flash.

  I tell myself it's not real that I'm seeing things. Perhaps there's a stray tree branch dangling in front of the floodlights causing a shadow. Surely, if someone was out here, Max would've picked up on the scent.

  I call out for Max one last time and then make my way back toward the house. When I arrive at the door, I glance up at the two floodlights. No tree limbs are hanging near them. Nothing is blocking them. The only thing near the lights is the security camera, which I still need to hook up. I need to stay on top of things this time around—no more mistakes.

  Off in the distance, the grunting of howler monkeys echoes through the air, their sounds sending chills up my spine. My ex was terrified of them. The first time she heard them roar, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She said the sounds of the jungle would haunt her dreams.

  I pause for a moment, wondering if she's here, wondering if she’s haunting me while I'm awake.