The Glass House

by Bettina Wolfe

  David hated being questioned and loathed confrontation. He easily became defensive and sometimes took things the wrong way, twisting them around. At times he even went as far as putting words in my mouth. That particular trait of his drove me batty.

  I heard a tap on the window and glanced over and saw a yellow bird flapping its wings, hopping around in circles. Sliding the door open, I stepped out on the deck to make sure it was okay.

  “Hello there, little one,” I whispered, crouching down slowly beside it.

  The bird chirped as it hopped around. I reached out calmly, my hand inches from it, curious if it would come near. At that moment, it tilted its head and looked up at me.

  “Aren’t you an adorable speckled fellow.” I smiled. It took a tiny hop toward me and pecked at my hand.

  “Aww, you must be looking for food. Some fruit, maybe?” Turning my head, I spotted some melon slices in the corner. “Oh good, David remembered to leave food out today.”

  I slowly walked over to the fruit, hoping the little bird would follow me. Sure enough, it soared right over my head, landing and then perching by the edge of the deck. I watched as it pecked at the melon for a few minutes. With a full belly, the bird looked up at me as if to say thanks and flew away.

  I hung out on the deck for a while, not wanting to go back inside. I spent many days being cooped up in that house and felt like a prisoner at times. David was gone a lot; he was always leaving me alone. Well, not all alone; I have Max. And I don't know what I would have done without him.

  Other than the humidity, it was a gorgeous day. The sun peeked through the trees and a gentle breeze swayed the leaves. I had decided to try the new hammock David had bought. After our vacation at The Green Tree House, it was all he ever talked about.

  When we spotted one on a shopping trip to town, his eyes lit up. As soon as we returned home, he immediately wanted to tie it between two trees but instead, I suggested we buy a stand for it. Of course, there wasn’t a store that sold hammock stands, so David the handyman built one.

  Sinking into the thick woven fabric, I swayed side to side until I found my balance. I lay perfectly still, losing myself in the songs of the jungle—the trilling of the birds, the low buzzing of insects, and the squawking somewhere off in the distance.

  As I closed my eyes, I heard a disturbing grunting sound. I froze, my hands gripping the hammock tight on both sides as a loud scream echoed through the air. Scrambling, I tipped over in the hammock and fell flat on my face. Then a second scream, louder with a screeching yelp.

  I sat back on the deck, pulling my knees to my chest. There was a low growling and then a long string of howling. Max? No! Max! My heart dropped to my stomach.

  I jumped up and took off sprinting as fast as I could through the house to the front door, swinging it open. Another scream flooded my ears—a guttural, blood-curdling scream.

  30

  David

  I make my way up the walkway carrying a statue I bought, trying to decide where to put it. As I get closer to the house, I glance over and see Val sitting by the front door. Max is there lying beside her. She's stroking his fur with one hand and wiping her eyes with the other. I immediately set the statue on the ground and rush to her side.

  “Val, what's going on? Are you okay? Is Max okay?” My eyes dart to her face, to Max, and then back to her.

  “Yes, thank goodness. I thought something happened to him, something terrible,” her voice raw. Her face is streaked with tears and she’s all stuffed up.

  “What do you mean something terrible? What the—?”

  “Oh, David, I heard this horrible screaming.” Her eyes widen. “I have no idea where or who it was coming from. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

  “Can you describe it? What did it sound like?”

  “It was so weird and scary. Like a growling and grunting and then a hollering… all at the same time.”

  "Sounds like the howlers.”

  “Howlers?”

  “Yes, the howler monkeys. You just described them to a T.”

  “Whatever they were, they were beyond frightening.” Her shoulders twitch.

  “My ex-wife was terrified of… ” I catch myself starting to say. Val gazes up at me but I shake my head. “Never mind,” I stop myself and remain silent.

  Max stands up, interrupting us, and starts licking her tears.

  I watch as he kisses her face. I can’t remember the last time we kissed, Val and I, not the dog. I’ve been so busy with the house and all. She was so upset when I missed our dinner the other night. But what can I say, the day got away from me. She must realize things are slower here and don’t move as quickly as they do in the states. Work matters take longer, sometimes weeks or even months to complete. But no excuses. We definitely need to spend more time together.

  I walk back over to the statue and pick it up to show Val.

  “What do you think?” I ask, cradling it. “Do you like it?”

  “What is it? A bird?”

  I turn it around to show her the front. “No, it’s an angel.”

  She sits there staring, first at the statue and then at me, not saying a word. She’s deep in thought and I wonder what she’s thinking.

  We go inside and I pull a bottle of wine off the rack I built. Opening it, I take two glasses from the cabinet and pour the wine, handing a glass to Val.

  “Thanks,” she says. I'll start dinner. “Is spaghetti okay?”

  “Sure.” Reaching for the wine, I study the dark liquid as it swirls in the glass. A vision flashes before my eyes and I shut them tight, forcing the scene away—that horrific, bloody, tragic scene. One I hope and pray I never see again.

  I inhale deeply and then take a sip. I need to put my old life behind me and focus on the new one I’ve created. Out with the old and in with the new, I tell myself. I take another breath and repeat the mantra a few more times.

  I stroll into the living room and plop down on the futon, putting my feet up on the coffee table. Val hates it when I do that, but what the hey, I bought it. She also hates the table and says it doesn't go with the decor. She tells me every day but I ignore her.

  I’m about function and utility, not style. Why do they call it a coffee table anyway? I mean, at the moment, there's no coffee, only an array of other things on it: a magazine, a glass of wine, and one of her vanilla-scented candles. I’d say it’s an anything and everything table, including a footrest. I reach for my drink, having a little laugh to myself.

  After a heaping bowl of pasta, I lean over and give her a peck on the cheek. She pulls away, rubbing her forehead.

  “You okay?” I gently massage her shoulder.

  “I have a headache. It’s been a long day.”

  “I'll clean up, you go lie down.”

  “Thanks.” She half smiles. She stands up from the table and heads for the bedroom, closing the door.

  After doing the dishes, I pour myself another glass of wine and mosey over to the desk I made. Val needed a place to do her writing, so I thought I’d build her a little writing desk. She designed it and picked out the wood, teak. It's nothing fancy but it seems to fit perfectly in the corner.

  She thanked me for it, calling me ‘crafty’ and I knew what she meant. I’ve been called worse before.

  I take a seat and flip open the computer. I have some research to do. My laptop is in the bedroom, but I don’t want to go in there and wake Val. I’m sure she won’t mind if I use her new computer since I’m the one who bought it.

  As I click through the sites and scroll down the pages, I think about opening up to Val. I consider telling her about my past and about my ex-wives. I contemplate telling her everything, even what happened on that fateful day.

  Conchita has been pestering me about it once again. She says I should, ‘confesarse.’ Or in English, ‘come clean,’ ‘confess.’

  It’s such a crazy, unbelievable tale. Where would I begin?

  31

  Valerie

&n
bsp; Those three words, ‘ex-wife,’ ‘no,’ and ‘angel.’ I’d heard them before.

  I thought back to when we first arrived in Costa Rica and I overheard Slim talking to David in the casita and the strange look he gave me. I wished I had heard the entire conversation to make sense of it all but I didn’t. So it became another piece of the puzzle.

  Staring at the computer screen, I waited for the site to load—the background information site where I saw a photo of a woman named Susan. When the page appeared, all the data had disappeared along with the picture. I searched for more information on David, hoping to find a link to a name with the letter ‘G’ but came up empty.

  Since I had hit a dead-end, I decided to send Cindy an email as it had been weeks since we last spoke. After composing a quick message, I went up to the toolbar to insert an emoji. As the cursor arrow drifted by the history tab, a long list of recently searched phrases appeared, but they weren’t mine.

  David must have used my computer and forgot to clear his search history.

  Pausing for a moment, I quickly scanned the words, hoping they might help me solve the puzzle. Most of the searches were for teas, herbs, and flowers. One certain phrase, however, caught my eye. It more than stood out; it screamed out, sending shivers up my spine. I blinked rapidly, unsure of what I saw.

  Two words read ‘deadly concoctions.'

  My mind raced in a million directions. I felt weak as I gripped the sides of the chair, trying to catch my breath. I deep breathed so I wouldn’t pass out and kept telling myself to stay calm.

  Minutes later, the front door opened and David appeared. I saw grocery bags hanging from his arms and someone hiding behind him. I knew it wasn’t Conchita because the long, bare legs behind him didn’t belong to her; they belonged to someone else I knew. When he walked inside, placing the bags on the counter, she stood in the doorway smiling at me.

  Cindy.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” he said with a sweeping wave of his hand.

  Cindy elbowed him, “You must be the cat.”

  I was at a complete loss for words.

  “Val,” she squealed. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She came rushing over to me.

  “What are you? How are you? How did you get here?” I stammered.

  “A plane, silly,” she snorted. “How else do you think I got here? Then again, I suppose I could've sailed here in a boat.” She remarked, winking at David.

  “I’m surprised you’re here,” I said. Steadying myself, I rose from the chair.

  “Happy to hear; that was the plan.” She grinned and gave me a hug.

  “The plan,” I stepped back, glaring at David. “What plan?”

  “To surprise you,” she tugged on my arm. “I wanted it, or rather me, to be a surprise.”

  “Who planned this?” I asked, my eyes flicking between the two.

  “Is there a problem?” David sighed, glancing at me. I watched as he stood in the kitchen, placing three new bottles of wine on the rack. Crumpling the paper bag, he tossed it in the trash and then unpacked more groceries.

  “I see you did a little shopping while you were out,” I walked over to help him put the items away.

  “My fault,” Cindy butted in. “I made him stop. I want to make dinner for you guys tonight; it’s the least I can do for letting me stay here.”

  David rolled his eyes as he opened the fridge. He pulled out two bottles of water and handed one to Cindy.

  “Thanks. I’m sooo thirsty.”

  “So, Cindy tells me she makes a mean taco salad,” David said. Twisting off the cap, he chugged half the bottle.

  “What else did she tell you?” I didn’t make eye contact with David as I closed the cabinet. “I'm guessing you picked her up at the airport.”

  “Yep, he did.” Cindy chimed in. “We talked about a lot of things, didn’t we?”

  “You’ll have to fill me in.” Opening the fridge, I retrieved a bottle of water since David forgot me when doling them out.

  “I'm off. I have things to do. You two are on your own for the rest of the day.” As he walked past, he gave me a quick peck on the cheek and headed out the door.

  “Show me the views.” Cindy grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the glass doors. I slid one open and we stepped outside.

  “This house,” she gazed all around. “The set up is way too cool. You must love living here.” Strolling to the end of the deck, she peered over the edge.

  “Be careful, please. David still needs to put up the railing.”

  A parrot flew by landing in a tree in front of us. “Val,” she pointed. “Look at that bird. He’s amazing!”

  “Yeah, and they are pretty friendly too. We feed them every day.” I tromped over to a banana peel and picked it up, flinging it in the yard.

  Cindy walked back to me and made a sad face, draping an arm around my shoulder.

  “Honey, what's wrong? You don’t seem like yourself.”

  “I don't know… things haven’t been going so well.”

  “Have you been writing? How are the books coming along?”

  “No books, I’ve been too busy piecing things together.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m trying to solve a puzzle.”

  “Puzzle? What are you talking about?”

  “This place,” I said, waving my arm. “It’s become one big mystery.” I turned and walked toward the door.

  “What do you mean? I don't understand,” she followed me back inside and we sat on the futon.

  Leaning forward, I rested my elbows on my knees and blew out a long slow breath. “I don't even know where to start.”

  “The beginning would be a good place,” she said, brushing the hair from my face. “You seemed so happy when you first arrived here.”

  “Yeah,” I sat back and began counting on my fingers. “That was before the ATM ate my card and before I saw life insurance papers with my name on them. Before I found a wooden box buried in the garden and before finding a strange letter from his ex-wife who, according to Slim, I resemble.”

  “Gosh! That does sound like a mystery,” she faltered. “Who’s Slim?”

  “A friend of David’s who picked us up at the airport.”

  “Oh, well, now that I’m here, we can solve the puzzle together.”

  I sighed, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Look on the bright side; at least you have a dog.”

  “Yeah, my one true friend around here, my loyal companion.”

  Cindy made the sad face again. “I was wondering why you weren't happy to see me when I walked in the door.”

  “Sorry, it has nothing to do with you. Right before you got here, I was on the computer and happened to see David's search history.” I frowned.

  Her eyes widened. “Uh-oh, what did you find?”

  “It's what I saw.”

  “Let me guess,” she raised an eyebrow, “an email from another woman?”

  “No,” I snapped, “a phrase, a search term.” I chewed on my thumbnail.

  “So, what then? Tell me. What did it say?”

  “Deadly concoctions.” I trembled, feeling my heart race as the words left my mouth.

  “What the hell?” She scooted over, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Why on earth would David be searching for such things?”

  “I have no idea but mark my words, I will find out.”

  32

  David

  I walk into the house and the sweet scent of vanilla hits me in the face. A vase of hand-picked flowers, from my garden by the looks of them, sits in the middle of the table. Next to it, a white, flickering candle, wax dripping down the side into a small hardened pool on the table. Reaching for a butter knife, I gently scratch it off, hoping it doesn’t leave a stain on the wood. As I take a step back, rolling the wax into a tiny ball, I study the arrangement for our guest.

  A table set for three.

  Off in the distance, I hear voices and the clinking of glasses. Then a
burst of laughter and a door sliding open and closed. I gaze over and there they are heading my way.

  Yin and Yang.

  Cindy, making herself right at home, grabs a bottle of wine on the counter and refills their glasses.

  “Care for one?” she asks, gripping the bottle by its neck, waving it in the air.

  I want to say, ‘yes’ to her offer as an entire bottle of wine is exactly what I need to deal with Cindy, Ms. Yin, this evening. I anticipate a night of antics, a tawdry replay of our boozy dinner in LA. Instead, I flash her a smile, shake my head, and decide to start with a glass.

  I reach to the rack for a bottle of red, open it, and fill my glass halfway. Swirling the wine, I then raise the glass to my lips, inhaling the vapors.

  “You’re not one of those, are you?” Cindy quips.

  “One of those?” I inquire sarcastically. I take another sip.

  “He is,” Val interjects. “Not only is he a ‘swirler’ but he’s also a ‘questioner.’”

  “I see,” Cindy says, eyeballing me and then flicking her gaze to Val. “But we’re used to guys like him, aren’t we V?” She elbows Val.

  I glare at them. “A little inside joke, hmm?”

  Cindy overly swirls her glass, mocking me. “Relax, we deal with swirlers and questioners all the time at the hotel.” She giggles. Val blushes and gazes down, shaking her head. “Correction,” she nudges Val, “in Val’s case, the word is dealt. She’s dealt with your kind before,” she slightly slurs, pointing at me. “I, on the other hand, still do,” she points to herself. “I still deal with them.”

  Here we go, let the Cindy games begin. She’s already tipsy and stumbling over her words. I let out a loud breath.

  “It’s dinner time,” I announce. “Let’s eat.” I pull out a chair and take a seat. Cindy follows suit.

  Val removes the taco salad from the fridge and divides it among three plates. She then waltzes over and does a little bunny dip as she places each dish on the table. They must have taught her that move at the hotel, in Etiquette 101—how to properly serve guests. I like it; it works. I also admire that she can carry three plates on one arm so effortlessly and not drop one.