Chapter 7
The stop at the hardware store took longer than I expected. It neared five-thirty when we entered the restaurant.
We sat at our usual table near the kitchen. The sumptuous aroma of simmering garlic, pepper, and onions wafted toward us. Katie and Benjamin looked exhausted. Maybe I worked them too hard. Now, in addition to my aching head and back, my heart ached for what I put them through.
Katie hadn’t said a word since we left the house. Usually, she sat in the front passenger seat of the car, but since the divorce, her place was in the back with Benjamin. It made me look like a chauffeur. I wondered if the world knew Katie was angry with me. Though it had tempted me to invite Benjamin to sit in front, it would have been negligent to do so because of the airbags. Newer model cars had the option of turning them off. If Katie continued to resist our new life, I'd consider trading my old but still reliable car for one of those. Hopefully, Katie would move past her animosity and resentment and take her seat next to me and I wouldn't have to buy something I neither needed nor wanted.
I smoothed the red and white-checkered tablecloth, feeling zapped of every ounce of energy. Had I forced conversation, it would have done me in. So instead of talking, I watched my children.
Katie sat slumped in the chair with her arms folded across her chest. Her foot kicked the leg of the table. She stared through me. I told myself her attitude came from the absence of Mama Jo’s grandson at the restaurant and not because she hated me.
I turned and looked at Benjamin, who watched a family of four at the table next to us.
The two little girls chattered and bounced in place while their parents listened, seemingly enthralled with every word they spoke.
I knew what my son was thinking: We used to be like that.
I knew what my son was wishing: I wish Mom and Dad would get back together.
It broke my heart that my children would never share the joys of a happy family again.
I was wondering how I could make my children’s lives better when my gaze fell on the gentleman dining at a corner table. He held his knife in his right hand and his fork, tines pointed downward, in his left. Why that turned me on I had no idea. He wore faded blue jeans, a denim shirt and scuffed cowboy boots. A black leather jacket was draped across the chair next to him. I had always been attracted to the ‘tall, dark and handsome’ types. How I fell in love with a blond was beyond me. Look how well that turned out.
What color were his eyes?
Look at me, I telepathically prompted.
No, don’t.
Yes, do.
He looked up.
Oh, God.
Then as though he read my thoughts, he peered directly at me. His penetrating gaze nearly sucked the breath from me. I turned away quickly, but not before seeing the color of his eyes. Hazel. Wonderful. Why that thrilled me, I didn’t know. It wasn’t as though I’d ever see him again.
It was still early when we arrived home; too early for me to retire for the night. My children disappeared to their rooms and I was left downstairs, alone and traipsing from one room to the next.
In the hallway, I moved boxes out of the way, but after three, I couldn’t do more.
Herbal tea sounded like a great idea. On unsteady legs I wandered into the kitchen and filled the kettle with bottled water. Since we moved in, we used tap water only for showers and washing up. The iron water pipes needed to be replaced by copper. I imagined what accumulated in them over the years and gagged.
The kettle whistled. I threw a tea bag into a cup, poured boiling water over it and walked to the living room. It had turned dark, but not the dark of midnight – it just seemed that way in this old house. With pastel colors on the walls and white woodwork, the house would be brighter, even in darkness. I poised one hip on the window seat, then looked out and spotted someone leaning against a streetlight staring at my house. The hair on the nape of my neck sizzled. My children needed to be protected. That was left to me now.
Before I could question my reaction, I stood on the veranda, acting like I didn't scare easily. “May I help you?”
The stranger straightened and with a bad-boy swagger strode up the front walkway toward me. He stopped at the steps. I recognized him. He was the tall, dark and handsome diner at Mama Jo’s. Oh my.
“Do you live here?” he asked.
What kind of stupid question was that? I came out of the house wearing pajamas — oh my God, I was wearing pajamas. Well, really it was jogging pants and a tank top — my sleeping attire lately, but he wouldn’t know that. “Yes.”
“You and your husband?”
What business was that of his? When I hesitated, he walked up the stairs and extended his hand. His focus on my face warmed me. He had the most beautiful eyes.
“Where are my manners? Alex Cowan.”
He was a giant of a man, big-boned and big-shouldered. I took his outstretched hand. “Susan Turner. I’m divorced. This is my house. I bought it.” Okay, Suze, shut up.
“Good for you.”
His smile made me feel completely safe and relaxed. Despite his casual appearance, there was nothing casual about this man. He knew how to use his darkly lashed eyes. I felt immersed in their warmth. He could probably charm a cobra out of its skin.
“You have your work cut out for you. I own one like it on the corner.”
The house he referred to was even larger than mine and in better shape. It caught my attention every time I came down the street. “Oh.” I realized then we were neighbors. I didn't know how I felt about that.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Yeah, sometimes I was sorry I bought the house, too. “It can be fixed.”
“About your divorce,” he said.
“Oh.” The sadness in his eyes told me he knew about such things. “Did your wife leave you for another woman, too?”
He chuckled.
“Did I say something funny?”
Alex had a smile that virtually lit up the veranda. “No, Ma'am. I've never been married. You’d know that soon enough. Everybody knows each other’s business on this street sooner or later. It’s a small street in a small town.” He leaned back against a pillar. “Met any of your neighbors yet?”
“Just the one next door.” I pointed to Leroy's house. “Do you know him?”
“Uh-huh. But ever since what happened....”
I hated it when people did that. “What? Don’t stop there. Tell me.”
Alex looked down at the floor.
What he didn’t want to tell me must certainly be terrible. I wondered why I never heard the story.
He gave me a curious look, like he'd just recognized me from the restaurant.
“You’re the woman from Mama Jo’s tonight.”
I nodded. “And you’re the man from Mama Jo’s.” But he wouldn’t get off that easily.
“What about Leroy? What happened?” I waited patiently while he ran his slender fingers through his hair.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
I nodded. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have asked."
He shrugged. “I don’t know all the details, but I heard he saw a demon in your house.”
Alex paused to tug on his ear.
Ghosts, demons, cursed houses and possession — it sounded like something out of a horror movie. “Go on,” I said, returning his intense stare.
“Leroy thought the Simsons, the previous owners and friends of his, were under its control and went to the priest at the cathedral insisting on an exorcism. The town folk almost locked him up.”
“The poor man.” I didn’t know. My heart went out to him. “Do you think he might still be loony?” Since Benjamin seemed determined to spend time with him, I needed to know.
“Now? No. But a man ranting like a man possessed about a house possessed ... wouldn’t you think he was crazy?”
I didn’t know about that. My daughter called me crazy countl
ess times. I wasn’t.
“Probably just the ramblings of an old man.”
“Could be. The only thing is, Leroy wasn’t an old man at the time.”
“Really?” That had me thinking. “How many years ago was that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Twenty-five, maybe.”
That surprised me. Now, after all those years, Leroy still thought the house – my house – was haunted. “Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Cowan?”
“Alex, please.” He shoved off the pillar and jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know. Maybe. Do you?”
“Definitely not.” There were a few things in life I was certain of — taxes, death and that ghosts didn’t exist.
“You could ask Leroy about it.”
I could. If I truly wanted to know the story. What mattered was that Leroy wasn’t crazy anymore. Now if I started seeing apparitions in the house, it would be a different matter. “Maybe I’ll do that.” I suddenly felt chilled. “I should really go in. It was nice chatting with you.”
He smiled. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again. And if you need any help, I’m the house on the corner.”
I returned his smile. “You already told me that.”
“But don’t expect too much. I’m doing the work myself. It’s a slow process.”
Tell me about it. I watched him walk down the street and imagined him riding a Harley and sighed, wishing I were eighteen again. I would do things much differently.
Feeling melancholy, I entered the house, locked the door and climbed the stairs leading to the second floor. In the hallway, I noticed the light was out in Katie’s bedroom, but my son, the night owl, was still up. Just as I raised my hand to knock, I heard him talking.
“Benjamin?” I tried the door. It was locked. “Benjamin, let me in.” He never locked his bedroom door. Something was wrong. I cried out to him again. Thankfully, he answered.
“Mom?”
“Yes, honey. Unlock the door.”
“It isn’t locked.”
My heart pounded. My fingers shook as I tried the doorknob again. “Yes, it is, Benjamin.” A terrible feeling rumbled in the pit of my stomach. All that talk about ghosts and demons made me imagine all sorts of weird things — a devil holding a pitchfork to my son’s neck, a pedophile holding my son in a neck lock and threatening his life if he breathed a word. I shouldered the door just as I had that first night on Katie’s. The door gave way and I flew into the room, tripped over one of his toys, stumbled a few feet and landed face first on the floor. I couldn’t move. Aches on top of aches prevented me. Small hands grasped my forearms.
“Mom?”
“I’m all right. I just need to get my breath.”
“Okay.” He knelt on the floor beside me and smoothed his hand over my hair.
After a moment, I rolled over — very gingerly — and sat up.
“My door wasn’t locked, Mom. Honest.”
I made a move to stand. Pain shot through my shoulders. I cried out. While I waited for the spasm to subside, Benjamin held my hand. The gesture brought tears to my eyes. “I believe you. These old doors stick sometimes. Probably from the humidity.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Can you help me up?” I put my feet flat on the floor and extended my hand, but he was already at my back pushing. I stifled a scream when he shoved me upright. He led me to the bed. I sat. He sat next to me. The look of concern on his little face spurred me back to reality.
“I’m fine. Really.” I patted his hand. “Who were you talking to just now?”
He cast his eyes downward and in a soft voice said, “No one.”
“Yourself, huh?” I thought it was more than that, though. It was probably best not to pressure him into telling the truth.
He nodded.
“Sometimes I talk to myself, too, you know.”
He jerked his head in my direction. “You do?”
“Sure. Sometimes we have to talk to someone intelligent.”
It took a moment for that to sink in. “Aw, Mom.” He knuckled me in the forearm. I inhaled a deep breath and swallowed the pain. One ... two ... three. I exhaled. “It’s ... it’s all right, too, if you have an imaginary friend, you know.” I didn’t know that for sure, but I'd find out.
“He’s not imaginary. He’s real.” The words shot from his mouth like bullets.
That almost knocked off my socks. I cast a surreptitious glance around the room. Unless this mysterious new friend was under the bed or in the closet, we were alone in the room.
“What’s his name?” I asked after regaining my composure.
He leaned in close to me and whispered, “Bosco Alphonsus Xavier Joachim, but he likes to be called Irwin.”
“I can see why.”
“Aw, Mom.” He knuckled my arm again. I was prepared this time. The punch didn’t hurt nearly as much. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”
He shook his head.
“Sure?”
“Shure.”
I smoothed the blond tendrils of curls from his forehead and kissed it. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
Benjamin wrapped me in a bear hug.
Restless Souls Page 9
