The Glass House

by Bettina Wolfe

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have a confession,” I said, wringing my hands. “I was in the garden… and I found—”

  “I know,” he interrupted.

  I was startled by the way he looked at me.

  “I saw the footprints, both sets—the paw prints and imprints from your boots. I know you and Max were in the garden.”

  “Yeah, he was off the leash and dug something up.”

  “The box?”

  “One of them but I know there are two.”

  “I was going to tell you eventually. Show you where I keep my stash.”

  “Stash?”

  “Yes, Val, my money,” he said reluctantly.

  “Oh.”

  “Why the face?”

  “I figured… I thought you were keeping something else in those boxes.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know… dead bodies maybe.”

  “Dead bodies!” His jaw dropped as he threw his head back. “Val, you can’t be serious?”

  My silence told him I was.

  “First of all, please tell me how a body would even fit into a box that size?”

  “I figured maybe you burnt them.”

  “Burnt them?” he gasped. “I hope you mean burnt as in cremated.”

  “My gosh, David, you put an angel in the middle of the garden. The boxes, the flowers, the statue… it looks like a mini-cemetery out there. What else was I supposed to think?”

  “You should've asked instead of thinking and then you would've known.”

  “But the boxes, one has an ‘S’ and the other a ‘G.’ Those letters are the initials of your wives… your ex-wives, right?”

  “Yes, but they also stand for silver and gold.” He glared at me. “I worry about that mind of yours… always conjuring up things that aren’t real.”

  “Then what about the insurance papers in the cardboard box with my name on them.”

  “What insurance papers with your name?”

  “I saw a folder with my name written on it. Inside were papers, some kind of insurance policy… granted they were written in Spanish, but I know what I saw.” Crossing my arms, I waited for his answer.

  “That’s the policy on this house,” he yelled, pointing to the floor, then at me, “not you!” He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe I scribbled your name on it because I was thinking about you that day when I was on the phone with the insurance company.”

  I stood there watching him furiously pace the room. I felt silly, ashamed of myself. I didn’t know how I had gotten things so wrong. But there was still another piece of the puzzle to be solved.

  “Seriously, Val, you need to lay off the mystery movies. Clearly, you’ve been watching too many.”

  I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “Then what about the letter I found in the box?”

  “The letter?” he spun around. “Now there’s a letter? Let me guess, with your name on it or some other secret code.”

  “Actually, yes, it’s addressed to D from G. So I imagine it’s to you from your ex.”

  He walked over to the sliding glass door, placing his fingers on the handle.

  “So you found the letter.” Opening the door, he looked over his shoulder. “You’re quite the sleuth, aren’t you?”

  “Did something happen here at the house?”

  He looked away and then walked out onto the deck. I followed him.

  “The other day,” I said, catching up to him. “The look on your face when Cindy almost fell. I can’t help but feel that something happened here.”

  He sat down next to some banana peels near the end of the deck. With his legs dangling, he picked up one of the peels, hurling it in the air. My heart skipped a beat as I watched his body lean over a bit too far. I rushed over to him, grabbing him in fear he would fall.

  “It should have been me that day,” he said, placing his hand on my arm. “It was an accident, a horrible accident.” Chewing his lower lip, his eyes welled with tears.

  “I’m so sorry.” I let out a breath, crouching down next to him. We sat there for a few moments staring off in the distance and up at the canopy of trees.

  “Maybe it was a bad idea for me to come here,” I said.

  He sat quietly, swinging his legs, and then picked at another banana peel.

  “I think I should leave and give you some space.” I started to stand up.

  “But you have nowhere else to go,” he sniffled.

  “I guess I can go back to Vegas and stay with Cindy. After all, I did share a house with her.”

  “But this is your home now… our home,” he looked at me. “This house is all we have.”

  I wanted to tell him it didn’t feel like our home. It never did. It always felt like someone else was there watching us—as if a presence was hovering over us.

  “If you want me to stay, I need to know what happened… about the accident.”

  Inhaling and exhaling, his chest heaved slowly as he closed his eyes.

  “My ex and I… we had an argument one night…”

  “So you lived here before… with her… in this house.” The puzzle had just become more complicated.

  “She was drinking tea and taunting me.”

  The tea, not new, I added to my mental notes while waiting for him to continue. I watched as he put his hand to his forehead running it down his face.

  He let out a tense breath. “And then she…”

  38

  David

  I need something to calm my nerves. If I reveal the story, the whole story, no doubt she will leave. I thought we had a chance… that I had the chance to build something new.

  I glance over at Val and she shoots me a nervous stare.

  I thought I had finally found the right woman, a woman who could stand the test of time. My heart fills with dread and my head starts to pound as I search for the right words to explain what happened. No matter what I say or how I say it, Val will come to her own conclusion.

  Did you know that when two people hear the same thing, they hear it differently? It happens because we process things through our own perceptions, our own filters. I know for a fact because I had two wives who were completely oblivious to what I would say. In the end, they only heard what they wanted to hear but it wasn’t the truth… my truth.

  “Maybe we should have some wine,” I say.

  “Now?” Val makes a face. I watch as she walks over to the bamboo dining set, taking a seat in the yellow chair, always the same yellow chair.

  I stand up and walk through the open glass door and into the kitchen. At least ten bugs are buzzing around my head because Val not only forgot to close the glass door but also left the screen door open. She’s always complaining about not enough air circulation and has all the ceiling fans set on high. She completely forgets that it only takes a minute for the house to be swarming with insects. She’s slipping. Or maybe she wants me to be eaten alive.

  I swat at my arm, scratching intensely as a red bump appears. These bugs seem to love me more than Val or maybe they just don’t like her overwhelming vanilla body lotion. Everything around here reeks of vanilla: vanilla candles, soaps, sprays, and perfumes.

  I think back to that night at dinner with the gals in LA. “You’re no fun. You’re so vanilla,” Cindy had mocked, calling her ‘vanilla Val.’ Maybe she’s right. I laugh to myself. ‘Vanilla Val’ does sort of fit her personality.

  I gaze at the wine rack and sigh. We're out of red. Only one bottle lies there and it’s white. Do I dare? Tapping a finger on my lip, I ponder a moment.

  Yanking the bottle off the rack, I grip its neck and turn the cap. The cap twists too easily as if it hadn’t been properly sealed. I pause for a second, slightly suspicious, but then one of them must have opened it the other night and decided not to drink it. We had all been over our limit and had imbibed too much.

  “I think I should give you some space.” Val’s words ring in my head. So lame, so original. I sc
off at her feeble attempt to leave me. If she thinks she can just scurry back to Vegas, back to Cindy and her old life, she’s crazy. It’s funny how Cindy made a little joke saying that I should be in her life. She said I had chosen the wrong woman and I should have picked her.

  I knew she had a thing for me, but didn’t realize it was so serious. She practically undressed me on the ride to the airport and made it crystal clear she doesn’t want Val to return to Vegas. She was ‘over her,’ she said, with a definitive tone in her voice. Either Val is lying to me about going back to live with Cindy or the poor girl has no clue.

  Reaching for two glasses, I grab the bottle and head back out to the deck. Now I have two stories to share with Val, but I’m not sure how I’ll break the news. She’s sitting there picking at her cuticles, a bad habit she can’t seem to break.

  “So,” I say, pouring the wine, filling our glasses. I place one in front of Val and she slides it to the side.

  “Are you not going to join me?” Taking a sip, I wince. It’s a tad bitter. I pull out a green chair settling into it.

  “I’ve had enough wine for a while,” she turns away.

  “But it’s white, your favorite.” I hold up my glass, willing her to pick up hers so we can clink and say cheers like the good old times. “Speaking of favorites, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you always sit in the yellow chair?”

  Her gaze is solemn and a veil of sadness covers her face. She looks as if she’s given up on us. I sit quietly studying her, sipping my wine despite the taste.

  “Why did you search for deadly concoctions?” she says out of nowhere.

  For a split second, I am stunned. How could she know that?

  “Are you… are you trying to poison someone?” she fearfully stutters. “Are you trying to poison me?”

  “No! Val! What are you thinking?”

  “I’m repeating what I saw on my computer… your search history,” she flinches.

  “What you saw was me checking to make sure I had the right mixture… a safe mixture. I was not concocting anything deadly.”

  “What mixture?”

  “The tea, Val, the tea. What else would I be mixing?” My blood pressure rises and I feel it rushing through my veins. I reach for the bottle almost knocking it over and pour myself another glass of wine. My hands tremble. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Like a woman who doesn't know what the heck is going on around here. Like a woman who doesn’t know who or what to believe… yeah, that would be me.” She shifts in her seat, and everything is blurry. “So let me get this straight,” she huffs. “You already knew Conchita, before we arrived here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your ex knew Conchita too.”

  “Yes,” a stab of pain slashes the side of my head.

  “And this tea business is not new. You and Conchita have been brewing things up for a while now.”

  I nod while massaging the sides of my temples.

  “And you had a fight with your ex who was drinking the tea.”

  “She went crazy! She went crazy from drinking the tea.” Leaping from my seat, the chair tips over as I stumble.

  “I told you she was prodding me. She was jealous. She was jealous of everything, of me, of my tea, of my relationship with Conchita. She wanted to be the one who created the tea.”

  I watch Val lift the chair off the ground and put it back in its place. Why is she doing it in slow motion?

  “She started mixing her own blends, her own mishmash of herbs and flowers. I didn’t know about it and she didn’t know what she was doing.” I stop for a moment to catch my breath. “She wanted to prove she could do it better, better than everyone else.” My head is pounding so loudly I guzzle the rest of my wine.

  “Easy on the wine, David,” I hear her say. “I think you’ve had enough.”

  “You know, for once you’re right. I don’t feel so good. I need to lie down.” I stagger into the living room and fall onto the futon. I watch as the ceiling fan goes round and round, making me dizzy. My body feels weak and everything is hazy.

  “I didn’t kill her,” I whisper.

  “What? What did you say?” Val’s voice is muffled and she sounds far away.

  “She pushed me. She was always pushing my buttons. But that day, she pushed me to the edge, so I pushed back.” I feel myself fading.

  “Maybe I pushed,” I muster a breath, “a little too far…”

  39

  Valerie

  He pushed her during an argument. He said he didn’t kill her but she’s dead.

  I stood there frozen, my stomach roiling in fear as I stared at David out cold on the futon. I watched as his chest rose slightly, up and then down, making sure he was breathing… making sure he was still alive.

  After hearing his confession before he passed out, it was time to get out of there. But my body felt heavy, weighed down with so much grief for both of us. I had to leave the man I loved, a man whose ex-wife, accident or not, was dead.

  I went into the bedroom, swung open the closet doors, and grabbed a suitcase. As I stood there throwing my clothes on the bed, my heart ached but the voice inside my head screamed. Get out now! After stuffing my clothes in the suitcase, I gathered my items from the bathroom counter, tossing them in my bag.

  I needed to get out of the house quickly before David woke up. If I stayed, I wouldn’t have known what to say or do. Even worse, I may never have had the chance to leave. Reaching for my phone, I called a taxi and then went to the kitchen to pack Max’s things. He was my dog, after all, and I had promised I’d always take care of him. He’d have a much better life with me not tied to a dog run for umpteen hours a day.

  I softly padded over to David one last time to check on him. Snoring away, he had changed positions and I figured he'd be waking up soon. I left him a note on the counter to say goodbye.

  With my bags in hand, I went outside, propping them by the door while I rushed over to the dog house David had built. Max heard me and came out of his house, wagging his tail, excited to see me. I was so happy to see him and even happier when I untied him from the run for the last time.

  Max was soon by my side trotting along as I strolled down the driveway, the wheels on my suitcase bouncing along the gravel. Although I was leaving the house, I hadn’t planned on leaving Costa Rica. There was no way I was going back to Vegas, that was for sure. I remembered seeing a help wanted sign posted the last time I was in town. A new hotel was opening up by the beach and they were hiring servers and bartenders. The sign had read, debe hablar inglés, must speak English. I figured Max and I could find a little place and run around barefoot in the sand. Live that simple, carefree life I had once dreamed about long ago.

  Halfway to the road, I spotted a colorful butterfly sitting on a leaf. I stopped to look at it but it didn’t even move. It was as if it was watching me or wanted to be noticed.

  Its vibrant colors made me think of the flowers David had sent to me at the hotel. Red-tipped yellow roses—for happiness, friendship, and new beginnings. Tears pricked my eyes and I momentarily thought of turning around. I thought back to the room I stayed in at Villa Manuela on my first trip with David to Costa Rica. The lovely room with the bright yellow décor. I have so many memories of our vacation.

  Then I remembered the little yellow bird I had found at the house that day, talking to it and feeding it some fruit on the deck. I loved watching the birds and listening to them sing. Rain or shine, there was always a creature to see through the many glass doors of the house.

  It was funny when David asked me, ‘Why do you always sit in the yellow chair?’ The color, I wanted to say, reminded me of the joyful times in our relationship. Yellow is the color of contentment, optimism, and sunshine, all things I had wished for and wanted in my life. That day, however, as I walked away, yellow only stood for remembrance.

  I glanced back at the butterfly now fluttering its wings. Within se
conds it took flight, hovering in front of me, and then flying away. I took it as a sign. It was time for me, too, to fly away.

  When we reached the end of the driveway, the taxi was parked there waiting for me. The driver loaded my luggage into the trunk while Max and I hopped in the back seat.

  Did I really know who David was? Truly understand the person underneath the handsome exterior? At times he seemed like a tortured soul and other times, a savior. Like a knight in shining armor, he had entered the hotel that day and swept me off my feet. He whisked me away, far away, into his world, to his ‘little slice of paradise’ as he always referred to it.

  I gazed over my shoulder and watched as the glass house faded away further into the jungle. As I turned back and looked at the road ahead of me, a quote I once saw came to mind. Forcing a half smile, I recited the words in my head.

  ‘Sometimes, you just have to write your own damn fairy tale.’

  40

  David

  ‘Look, I’m an angel,’ she says. Twirling around with her arms open wide, she waves them in the air gently by her side. ‘See my wings, watch me fly.’

  ‘Be careful,’ I say, ‘you’re standing too close to the edge.’

  ‘Why, oh why, does time pass me by? Why does my love not want me to fly?’ Whispering the words in a heavenly voice, there’s a distant look in her eye. She’s the saddest, most beautiful angel I’ve ever seen.

  I watch as she whirls and floats through the air as a trumpet sounds in the distance. One last twirl, her figure unravels as she slowly fades away.

  I open my eyes and blink at the ceiling. My limbs feel numb. I’m hot and sticky, drenched in sweat. My head pounds loudly thumping in my ears. I must have been dreaming, but it felt so real.

  She was here with me, back at the house, the house I built for her.

  I had given her everything I had but it still wasn’t enough. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew she was the one. So innocent and so pure, I had to protect her while I could.