The Glass House

by Bettina Wolfe

  Val sits back on her heels, her eyes locked onto the piece of paper in her hand. With her finger, she traces over the lines on the page, one by one, until she reaches the end. Her mouth drops open as the paper falls from her hand and flutters to the floor. I gape as her hands fly up to cover her mouth to silence the scream she lets out.

  As she turns her head toward the deck, I take a quick step back from the window, my foot catching on the leg of the wrought iron bench nearby. I fall to the ground with a loud thud and soon hear Max barking as he rushes over to the door. It opens.

  “David! Are you okay?” Val stands frozen in the doorway, panic in her eyes.

  “Yes,” I say, slowly rising to my feet. I don’t look at her as I brush the dirt and leaves from my jeans.

  “What happened?” she asks, her voice trembling.

  “I was just… uh,” I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead. “I was just moving the bench. It was too close to the house… too close to the window. I must have turned the wrong way and tripped over myself,” I lie. I still don’t look up as I walk past her into the house.

  “What’s going on here?” I ask, my eyes trailing to the cardboard box and papers strewn on the floor. Now it’s my turn for questioning.

  “Oh, I was just cleaning. Straightening up the house a bit,” she says, her hands flitting in the air. “Max wanted to play ball, and when I tossed it, he ran and knocked over the box in the corner. I was in the middle of picking up the mess he made.”

  Well, well, well. She’s almost a better liar than I am.

  “Darling,” I say, in my best syrupy sweet tone. “Why don’t you boil some water? I’m in the mood for some tea.”

  Like the obedient girl she is, Val marches straight into the kitchen and turns on the faucet, filling the kettle. I sit at the table and watch as she strolls back to the living room to gather the papers that have fallen on the floor. I notice her thighs look a bit thicker than usual. She’s gained some weight. We’ll need to cut back on the cakes and cookies we’ve been enjoying lately. My craving for that coconut cream pie I saw at the bakery will have to wait.

  The kettle whistles and she hurries over to the stove. She removes two cups from the cabinet and pours hot water into them. I study her as she reaches for the tin canister on the counter. When she opens it, she sighs.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, even though I know the answer. “Are we out of tea?”

  “Yes and no,” she pouts. “We’re out of green tea but we have some of that tea Conchita always brings with her.”

  “Great, I like hers better anyhow.” I snicker.

  “You do? I swear that stuff gives me weird dreams… and a headache.”

  “Well, it helps me sleep.”

  “For sure, it knocks me out.”

  “You’ll get used to it. She’s still perfecting her brew. I’ll tell her to lighten up on a few herbs on the next batch.”

  Val grudgingly pulls two teabags from the canister and then slips one into each of the cups. She saunters over to me with cups in hand, placing them on the table.

  Gazing at her, I bring the cup to my lips and take a long sip. She rolls her eyes, I’m guessing, at the slight sound that escapes my mouth.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Why do you always make that slurping sound when you drink?” She twists her lips and I detect a hint of disgust from the look on her face.

  “Does it bother you?” I take another long sip, louder this time.

  “Why do you answer me with a question?” Leaning back, she crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Relax. Take another sip of your tea before it gets cold.” I glare at her.

  Val shakes her head and then reaches for her cup. She makes a loud sucking sound as she gulps down her tea, mocking me. Mid-swallow, she laughs, inhaling the liquid and starts choking. She coughs and coughs, squirming in her seat as she tries to remove the liquid from her lungs.

  I jump up and rush to her side, knocking the chair backward. I position myself, ready to do the Heimlich Maneuver on her, but she stops me, putting a hand up in front of me.

  “I’m okay,” she says, her tone low and raspy. She takes in a shallow breath.

  “You had me scared there for a moment.”

  “Serves me right.” She clears her throat. “I shouldn’t have made fun of you.”

  Bringing the cup to her nose, she inhales and then pauses. “That’s weird,” she says with a lilt in her voice.

  “What now?”

  “The smell,” she scrunches her face as she sets the cup down.

  “What smell?”

  “The tea, the scent of that tea,” she points. “I’ve smelled it somewhere before.”

  I tug at the string in my cup, lifting the teabag and take a quick whiff. “It smells a bit woody to me,” I say, dangling it before placing it on the saucer.

  “I think it smells like perfume. It has a sweet, floral aroma.” She looks at me and yawns. I notice her eyes are glassy.

  “You okay?” I reach over, stroking the back of her hand.

  “Yeah, I feel tired all of a sudden.”

  “We’ve been up since dawn. Maybe you should take a little nap.”

  “I can barely keep my eyes open.” She yawns again, half covering her mouth.

  As she rises from the chair, she wobbles, unsteady on her feet. I reach up to grab hold of her arm as she collapses into me, falling onto my lap. She mumbles something but it comes out slurred. I have no idea what she’s saying.

  Draping her arm over my neck, I wrap my arm around her waist. I half walk, half drag her to the futon, lay her down, and prop a pillow behind her head. I unfold the blanket and cover her, tucking it up to her neck and behind her shoulders. She looks so peaceful, so snug. Snug like a bug in a rug, I silently laugh to myself.

  I stand above her, watching her chest slowly heave up and down. She’s the only woman I know who barely makes a sound when she breathes.

  I remember the first night we slept together. I woke up and rolled over and thought she was dead. She was lying there motionless—pale faced and still as a statue. It didn’t look as if she were breathing. The moment I placed my hand on her neck to feel for a pulse, she moved slightly and gasped for air. Even now, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I check to see if she’s still alive.

  I hear a whimper as she turns her head. Her eyes are still closed, but now she’s facing me. I study her, watch as her lips twitch. I wait until her body goes limp. She’s out like a light.

  27

  Valerie

  The second I opened my eyes, I tried blinking away the stickiness inside my eyelids. Through blurred vision, I saw the ceiling fan whirling above me, its low hum streaming in my ears. I soon realized I was lying on the futon in the living room and not lying in our bed in the bedroom. That’s strange, I thought.

  Running my tongue over my lips, they felt chapped. My head hurt, my throat was dry, and my body was drenched in dampness. I was parched and sweating. My jeans and tank top were uncomfortably stuck to me. I wriggled around, my arms and legs flailing, battling an oversized piece of fleece with palm trees on it.

  I stood up, flung the stupid blanket on the floor, and then made my way to the bathroom. Don’t get me wrong, I love palm trees. Real ones, outside, where they belong with their leaves swaying in the wind. Planted, not printed loudly all over some cheap blanket.

  I’ll tell you, David has the worst taste in decor. I was beyond thankful when he asked me to help him decorate the place. I could not wait to replace most of the tacky-looking items he had purchased. He blamed his choices on limited selection, but I had no problem finding plain white towels and earth-toned curtains. You just had to look a little harder to find the good stuff. You had to go to more than one store and refuse to settle for less.

  While I didn’t remember falling asleep on the futon, I did remember my dream. Similar to the one I had had when I first arrived sans the dead body on the ground. Another dream of being trapped inside
a house with no way out. This time, though, it felt so real. It was more vivid. It wasn’t a dingy old shack but a quaint little house painted bright blue. The house sat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by tall, dense trees.

  After a quick shower, I changed into some clean clothes and made my way to the kitchen. The smell of coffee wafted in the air and I spied a half pot on the coffee maker. As I reached for a mug, I noticed a piece of paper on the counter. It was folded in half with my name on it scribbled in blue ink. I opened it.

  Hello Darling,

  I hope you slept well. I missed you in our bed last night. I am out running a few errands and will be home in time for dinner.

  Love you lots, David

  Tossing the note aside, I filled my mug and padded toward the bedroom.

  David’s little note, the folded piece of paper, reminded me of another piece of paper I had found… in the box with the insurance papers. That one, however, was folded into squares. I prayed it was safely tucked away in the place I had stashed it.

  I opened the clothes hamper, pulled out my jeans, shoving my hand in the back pocket. Voila! Perfecto! Thank goodness it was still there.

  I carefully unfolded the paper, smoothing out the lines. After taking a sip of coffee, I placed the mug back on the nightstand and sat up in bed to reread it.

  D,

  I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. All we ever do is argue and fight. Your promises, one after another, all broken and never kept. Why make a commitment you never intended to keep?

  You built this house to be our oasis. You said it would be our safe haven. But it didn’t turn out that way. Instead, it turned into a nightmare… a living hell.

  Everything you brought into this house perished—flowers, plants, even my poor little fish. I swear it’s the reason you brought me here. To trap me, to watch me shrivel up and fade away. To watch me suffer… to watch me die.

  But know this.

  I am not her. I never will be.

  Therefore, it’s time for me to leave.

  I tried to make it work. I thought you would change. I actually thought I could change you. But who was I kidding? The only person being fooled was me.

  When we first met, I was blinded. I had fallen madly in love… crazy, head-over-heels in love. I gave you my heart, but you tore it to pieces and stomped all over it.

  “Trust me,” you said. “You'll have to learn to trust me.”

  That’s the thing about trust — it takes years to build and mere seconds to shatter.

  You don't hurt the ones you love. You don't keep deep, dark secrets.

  I’m sorry it has to end this way, but I’ve made my decision. Today is the day, the beginning of the end. My beginning and your end.

  Today is the day I will be bound to you no more.

  G

  My hands shook slightly but not quite as bad as when I first read the letter. I’d had time to process things, to put two and two together. It was that moment when I knew. G was his ex-wife. And the box buried in the garden had something to do with her.

  Was it a memory box? A collection of keepsakes? Or was it something else, something more sinister? Maybe he tried to stop her from leaving? Maybe something happened? Maybe he hurt her?

  As my mind searched for answers, I couldn’t help wonder. I wondered if she had been burnt and buried inside that box.

  28

  David

  I pick up Val’s phone and scroll through her contact list. A handful of names, mostly female, pass under my fingers, but I’m only looking for one. Ahh, there she is. I stop to study the number below her name. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I tap out the number and place it to my ear. She picks up on the third ring.

  “Hello,” she answers in a breathy tone.

  “Hey, Cindy, it’s David,” I say, nonchalantly, not wanting to raise concern.

  “David? David who?” she snips.

  “Val’s David, I am calling about Val.”

  “What’s wrong? What happened? Is she okay?” She rapid-fires questions at me.

  “Yes, she’s okay. Listen, I’m a little concerned about a few things and wanted to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

  “What exactly are you concerned about?” she snaps. I picture her placing a hand on her hip.

  “Well, she hasn’t been herself lately,” I rub the back of my neck, pausing for a second. “She seems sort of anxious and depressed.”

  “That doesn’t sound like my Val,” Cindy emphasizes the word ‘my.’

  “Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m projecting. I thought by now she’d be relaxed in her new home. I thought she’d be happy and content with the life I created for her.”

  “What do you mean the life you created for her? I don’t understand.” This time she emphasizes the word ‘you.’

  “Well, I hired a housekeeper… her name is Conchita. I figured she could help Val with chores, help her get acclimated and all.”

  Dead silence on the other end.

  “Cindy? Hello? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I am just wondering why you hired a housekeeper for a nine hundred something square foot house.”

  “It’s different down here. It’s not about the size of the house; it’s about helping the community.” I hesitate for a second. “Besides,” I add, “Conchita is teaching Val to speak Spanish.”

  “You do know you can take lessons online these days. There’s a bunch of sites that offer language courses free of charge.”

  “As I said, I enjoy helping the local community here. I’m providing a job to someone in need.”

  “So, has Val made any friends? Other than what’s her name… Conchita?”

  “No, she doesn’t go out that often. She pretty much stays close to home but she does have Max.”

  “Max?”

  “Our dog.”

  “Oh, that’s right, Maximilian. She told me about him but I had forgotten his name.” A long pause ensues before she pipes up again. “Hey, I have an idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll come down and visit. I’m sure that will cheer her up. I miss my Val and I desperately need a vacation from hotel hell.”

  I mute the phone to air my grievance. Honestly, I don’t know what to say to her self-invitation. As I ponder the thought, I hear clicking sounds over the line as though someone is typing in the background. I unmute.

  “So, I just checked the airlines and found a smoking deal. There’s a flight that will put me there on Friday. I’m gonna grab it before it’s gone.”

  “Sure, Cindy,” I unwillingly relent, “go grab it and then text me your arrival time. I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

  “I can take a cab if it’s a bother.”

  “No, I don’t want cabbies or strangers knowing where I live.”

  “Okay, then I don’t want Val knowing that I’m coming down. I want it to be a surprise.”

  “Sure thing, Cindy, let’s surprise her.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise,” I sneer.

  “See you on Friday,” she squeals and ends the call.

  I put Val’s phone back in the exact place I found it next to the lamp on the nightstand where it is always setting. I keep telling her she shouldn't sleep with her phone by the bed. I read that it's not safe to be so close to your phone when you sleep—something about radiation and brain cancer. I really wish she’d listen to me more. It would be horrible if anything ever happened to my Val.

  As I wander into the kitchen, I wonder if Cindy knows the size of other things in my life in addition to my house. Clenching my teeth, I can only imagine what Val tells her when they chit chat on the phone.

  Val knows I'm a private guy. I don't like sharing information with people I don't know and don’t want my dirty laundry aired. I tug on the refrigerator door and swipe a Ginger ale off the shelf. Pulling the tab, the soda hisses at me. I take a quick gulp, the bubbles tickling the back of my throat on their way down. I’m hopeful it will help soothe
my sudden upset stomach.

  While sipping my soda, I gaze around the house. I have no idea where Cindy is going to sleep when she arrives. With Val being the kindhearted gal she is, I'm sure she'll offer Cindy our bed. But if she thinks we’re going to sleep on the futon in the living room, she's nuts. That thing is somewhere between a twin and a double. Maybe I’ll sleep outside with Max in the doghouse. Nah, forget that idea. I’ll sleep on the deck in the hammock under the stars.

  I think back to when we took our little vacation to our last night as we strolled along the beach. The night I wished upon a shooting star and asked Val to do the same.

  The wish I made that night miraculously seems to be coming true. My only hope is that I don’t mess things up this time. Otherwise, it would be all for naught, a terrible waste.

  29

  Valerie

  I hate playing games; I find them a complete waste of time. But I felt like I was involved in a murder mystery, a puzzle waiting to be solved. The puzzle pieces included insurance papers with my name on them, a box buried in the garden, and a handwritten letter from David's ex-wife. Well, one of his ex-wives… a probable missing or possibly dead ex-wife. I felt the hair rising on the back of my neck. What other pieces of the puzzle was I missing? I was determined to figure it out.

  Marching into the living room, I headed straight for the box. Back to square one where I began. The key had to be hidden somewhere, maybe stashed away inside a file. I pictured David’s keychain and tried counting the number of keys on it from memory. Too many, I thought, shaking my head. But it would be the first and most logical place to keep a key.

  I removed each and every folder, flipping them open, and searching inside. Nothing. There were no keys tucked away inside the box. Biting my lower lip, I sighed. Maybe I should have told him about my concerns. I had so many questions accumulating in my head that I was surprised they weren’t spilling out my ears.