Hawthorn Woods

by Patrick Canning

  “My sister,” Eric explained.

  He leaned against the rail of the garage door. His long, bony frame looked like the product of a recent growth spurt, one that had left him a kid at the controls of something bigger than himself. He produced his lime green pocket knife and began to flick it open and closed.

  Francine tried not to think of the tree trunk she’d last seen him use the blade on to great effect. “Your dirt bike’s the same green, right? Is that your favorite color?”

  He smiled like she’d told a joke.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nobody’s ever asked me that before.” He snapped the knife shut. “Yeah, it’s my favorite color.”

  “Yellow’s mine. But it has to be, like, the right yellow, you know? I’m talking sunshine or lemon, none of that mustard bullshit.”

  Eric couldn’t hide a grin. “Maybe you’re not as bad as Mrs. Asperski after all.”

  “Jesus, I hope not. I bet I’m as scared of her as you are.”

  “I’m not scared of her,” Eric said forcefully, snapping the knife open. “Her husband probably is, though. She gave him a hell of a shiner.”

  “Dennis?”

  Eric nodded. “Black eye for sure. Must’ve pissed her off. Not that they always need a reason.”

  The subtext on his face was obvious to Francine. “Your dad was a piece of work, wasn’t he?”

  “He’s a piece of shit.” Eric said reflexively, his voice unsteady. He stared down at his sneakers, looking embarrassed at having shown so much emotion. “He wants to take my sister.”

  “Eric, if something’s wrong at home, we can talk to the Chief—”

  “No,” he said. “That always just makes things worse.”

  Francine searched for the right words. “I was lucky with my dad. But I’ve definitely known my share of bad people. It’s never easy.”

  His eyes, looking much too old for someone his age, found hers for the first time. “Is it always this bad?”

  This was a situation where you lied to the kid. All parts of Francine’s brain knew that. But she couldn’t do it.

  “You can’t always go around the bad parts. Sometimes you just have to go straight through.”

  Her words sounded so trivial and weak. She tried again.

  “But if you go through enough of them, you learn to weather the others better. It’s like the one superpower of being an adult.”

  They watched the breeze carry gold hyphens of hair down to the street where a few boys rode their bikes under a plum dusk sky. They were a bit younger than Eric, but Francine got the feeling he would never have fit in anyway. How could they understand his life? How could she?

  “I, uh,” he began. “I didn’t mean to scare you off that one night. You just surprised me, is all. I wasn’t mad or anything.”

  “When Lori yelled at Diana? I think you had every right to be mad.”

  “No, I mean before that.”

  The line of boys on bikes suddenly divided in half, as they moved out of the way of a pale blue pickup that sped down the road.

  “That’s my dad,” Eric said, half in disbelief. Then he grabbed his BB gun and took off across the lawn.

  “I can help!” Francine called out.

  “No!” Eric yelled back. “You’ll make it worse.”

  Watching him go, she buzzed with anxiety and helplessness. How could she stay out of it? But he had been adamant. Pleading, almost. She tossed the cans of root beer in the trash and went inside, where Charlie was waiting for her.

  “Was that Eric Banderwalt?” he asked, sounding mildly horrified.

  “You should be getting into your pajamas, Bubba.”

  “Geez, do you play checkers with Darth Vader too? Why were you talking to Eric?”

  “He’s not such a bad kid. I don’t want you giving him or his sister a hard time.” Francine went into the kitchen and picked up the phone. Charlie followed her.

  “Me give him a hard time? He’s the scary one. And I’m friends with Diana. I even gave her some of our batteries for her toy.”

  “That’s great. Pajamas. Pronto.”

  “9-1-1 emergency,” the dispatcher on the phone said, with a voice that sounded oddly familiar.

  “This is Francine Haddix. I’m staying at my sister’s place on Lynn Drive.”

  “Hello, Francine.” The tone was arsenic with a saccharine glaze.

  Francine sighed. “Hi, Lori. Um, I was just talking to Eric Banderwalt, and his dad drove by. Going pretty fast.”

  “Yes?” Lori said, with far less urgency than Francine would have liked.

  “I thought I should give a heads up. Eric seemed pretty upset.”

  “He did, did he?” Lori’s response still had all the urgency of a sloth on Quaaludes.

  “Can you please just tell Chief Durham that Mr. Banderwalt is in the neighborhood, Lori? I’m pretty sure he’s not supposed to be at that house. Right?”

  “Hollis is already in the area. I’m sure he’ll see any disturbance. I’m head of the neighborhood watch, by the way. If you’re interested in reporting a crime, you can join and I’ll be happy to relay any concerns.”

  “That’s what I’m doing right now.”

  “Yes, but it would be through a more proper channel if you’re in the watch.”

  “Great, thanks, Lori.” Francine slammed the phone down, then called up the stairs. “Charlie? I gotta go out for a sec. Brush your teeth and I’ll tell you a bedtime story when I get back, okay?”

  “’Kay.”

  She banged out the back door for a casual walk n’ smoke across the block. If she just so happened to find trouble on the other side, she’d find it by pure coincidence, and nobody could say boo.

  Chapter 29

  People have often misunderstood my intentions when I was trying to be helpful.

  [ x ] TRUE [ ] FALSE

  Cigarette puffing like a locomotive stack, Francine power-walked under the willow, slowing her pace only when she saw Chief Durham’s brown and white cruiser parked alongside the pickup in the Banderwalts’ driveway.

  Eric stood at the top of the concrete ramp that led to the front door, his arms outstretched across the teal railings to shield his mother behind him. On the lawn before them, a bald, red-faced man paced the grass. Chief Durham stood between him and the house, his hands up, appealing for calm.

  “Mr. Banderwalt, let’s just relax,” he said.

  “I can’t visit my own family? I can’t see my children?”

  Mr. Banderwalt bristled with muscles that looked to have accumulated in slow, patient layers, perhaps over a lifetime of manual labor. To Francine, his brawn looked much more lethal than the Chief’s, which although impressive, had clearly been earned in a gym.

  The bald man neared the ramp and poked his son in the chest. “Who called the cops? Was it you, Eric?”

  Chief Durham stepped between them. “There’s no need for that. Nobody called me, I was driving by and—”

  “I called,” Francine shouted, wanting to take some of the pressure away from Eric. Her adrenaline was fully running the show as she strode across the lawn.

  “Who the hell are you?” Mr. Banderwalt shouted, stepping towards Francine.

  But Chief Durham moved quicker, twisting one of the man’s hands behind his back and holding it there.

  “Mr. Banderwalt, I asked you to calm down. You’re not welcome on this property. I’d like you to get back in your truck and go home. If you wish to speak to your wife, you can do so over the phone.”

  Mr. Banderwalt tried to yank out of Chief Durham’s grip, without success. Then he gave Francine a quick sneer, as if he were marking her.

  “Okay. I’ll go.” He relaxed, and Chief Durham let him out of the hold. He pointed a finger at Eric and Mrs. Banderwalt as he walked away. “Next time, your nosy neighbor bitch and dandy-haired cop won’t be here to interfere.”

  He slammed the door of his truck and roared out of the driveway, headlights knifing erratically around
the end of the block as he sped off.

  “Where’s your daughter?” Chief Durham asked Mrs. Banderwalt.

  “My daughter?” Mrs. Banderwalt said, with a note of confusion. “I-I don’t know.”

  Eric looked at her with panic. “I thought she was in her room.”

  “She ran out when she heard the truck.”

  “Is that her?” Francine pointed to the side of the house, where one of the window-well covers radiated a pale, yellow-orange light.

  Eric rushed over and pulled off the cover. His body visibly relaxed as he knelt down and carefully lifted his sister and her glowing stuffed animal out of the well.

  “That’s a good spot,” he said to her.

  Diana looked bashfully at Francine. “Somebody told me about it.”

  “Come inside, baby,” Mrs. Banderwalt said. Diana gave one last glance at Francine, then ran to her mother.

  Chief Durham pulled a card from the breast pocket of his uniform and handed it to Eric. “He comes back, you call 9-1-1 right away. This also has my pager and home number in case you have any trouble getting through. All right?”

  Eric nodded.

  The Chief clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder, then turned to Francine. “Ms. Haddix, I’ll bring you home.”

  They got into the squad car and rode in silence for a moment before Chief Durham spoke.

  “Did you really call it in?”

  Francine nodded. “How long has Lori been a dispatcher?”

  “When we didn’t arrest anyone for Brownie, she decided the police force could use her talents, and since we were a little understaffed anyway, it seemed like the least disruptive option. She’s been running in extra-high gear ever since she lost the Fourth of July parade job. It’s a pretty big deal around here.”

  “So I’ve heard. Well, in any case, thanks for grabbing Mr. Banderwalt. I’m glad you keep your gym memberships longer than I do.”

  “Not a big deal, working out comes naturally to me. I can thank my father for that.”

  “Was he a fitness nut?”

  “He had some strong beliefs on what it meant to be a man. I couldn’t measure up in every category, but weightlifting was something I could always do. Now I’m a certified gym rat.”

  “Is that where you met Magdalena?” Francine fished.

  Chief Durham gave her a sidelong glance. “No doubt you’ve heard other theories. Perhaps involving the words ‘mail’ and ‘order?’”

  “People say things,” Francine said noncommittally. “I’m not trying to be nosy, I’m just a sucker for how-we-met’s.”

  “Maggie comes from a tough area in Russia where there isn’t much in terms of future prospects. Her brother came to Indiana a few years ago for work, and he met and married my sister. When I heard about Maggie and her situation, I thought she might fit into mine. Win for everyone.”

  “That’s amazing,” Francine said, though it wasn’t the most romantic story she’d ever heard. “I have to admit, I’m still trying to figure out how I could’ve made her so mad that first night.”

  “Oh, you haven’t seen her mad. Trust me on that. I’d take on Mr. Banderwalt with one hand tied behind my back before I’d tussle with her. She’s tougher than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “I haven’t seen her around much lately.”

  “She’s been staying inside a bit, with all the strange things happening.”

  They pulled into Ellie and Pete’s driveway.

  “Staying inside might be a good course of action for everyone,” the Chief said. “You included.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He threw the cruiser in park. “When you came into my office, I may have encouraged your interest in looking into things around here. But now I’d like you to stop.”

  “Why?”

  “You saw how upset Mr. Banderwalt got? It’s always like that. When people get involved in things that don’t concern them, fingers start getting pointed, and everyone gets riled up.”

  “Those kids are terrified of their father, and their mother won’t or can’t do anything about it. I don’t think it should fall to a teenager to fix things. It should be on the police. On you.”

  “Do you have something to say about how I do my job?”

  Francine sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…sometimes when things get left alone, they get worse.”

  “Until I have evidence of Mr. Banderwalt breaking the law, he has the same rights you do. Lori wanted me to lock you up the night her goat died. Had her little followers calling in, one after another. ‘She seems suspicious.’ ‘She came from somewhere else.’ On and on. I told them the same thing I’m telling you now. I can’t arrest people for no reason, not without cause or proof. Sometimes in law enforcement we have to wait for something bad to happen before we can act.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “That’s the law, Ms. Haddix. You’re on your way home soon, and until that time, I advise you to stay uninvolved in local affairs. That way you can enjoy your vacation and stay safe. Sometimes things just work themselves out on their own.”

  Francine got out of the cruiser. “And sometimes an innocent animal gets its throat cut instead. Thanks for the ride, Hollis.”

  Chapter 30

  The future is too uncertain for a person to make serious plans.

  [ x ] TRUE [ ] FALSE

  Francine and Bruno weren’t quite finishing each other’s sentences, but they continued what they’d started, dancing to classical music, playing more games of ‘billiards,’ and delving more deeply into one another’s lives. Heart strings were definitely intertwining, which for Francine was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.

  She had visited Roland two more times, always in a flowy blouse of Ellie’s to conceal the microphone and transmitter. A transmitter with which she’d recorded no contradictions, no inconsistencies, not so much as a single stutter.

  And suddenly it was July second. The runway for interrogating Roland, and for whatever was going on between her and Bruno, was short.

  She walked through the agency’s front door, ready to dive into their usual pre-Roland meeting prep, and found Bruno waiting with a duffel bag and a big smile. “Hi.”

  “Well, hello. What’s in the duffel bag?”

  “Ah, but this is no duffel bag. It’s a picnic basket. I thought we could have a quick dinner before you go. To Roland’s, I mean.”

  They walked to the front of the neighborhood, and Bruno laid out the teddy bear tablecloth next to what Charlie had called Haunted Pond. He showily presented Francine with a mini bouquet of mature dandelions, their fluffy white seed heads shivering in the breeze. Both of them blew into the flowers at the same time, filling the air with a swirl of seeds.

  “Good to see we have the same maturity level,” Francine said, laughing.

  Bruno began pulling things from the duffel bag, starting with two cans of 50/50. “Voilà. Soda, since we need you good and sober for your date tonight. Um, a pack of cigarettes, I thought these might be good for the mosquitos. Don’t worry, they’re your brand. Oh, and while I think your burgundy nails are great, I remember you had yellow ones when I first met you. I don’t know if this is the exact same shade, but it think it’s close. Sunshine Yellow, it’s called. Ah! Finally, the pièce de résistance. Olive-shaped pancakes. I know you hate olives, but totally giving up on a food limits your world view, so I thought maybe if I made your favorite food in the shape of your least favorite, it could be a baby step forward.”

  When Francine didn’t have an immediate, witty response, Bruno looked self-consciously down at the spread.

  “I know it’s not the fanciest picnic. And I might have used too many eggs in the pancake batter. I just thought it might be fun—”

  “It’s perfect.” She leaned forward and kissed him, fighting back tears. “I love it, thank you, Bruno.”

  It was the sweetest thing someone had done for her in ages, and for the first time she was touched in a way that d
idn’t relate to something Ben had or hadn’t done. It was just Bruno.

  She opened the pops, swiveled the tabs, and handed one over. They talked over cigarettes and pancakes while a late afternoon breeze stirred the cattails in the pond. Bruno told her about his first day as a teacher, when he’d been so nervous he mixed up Austria and Australia. Francine recounted the depths of her elementary school gym class, like the plastic hockey sticks that had bruised the hell out of her shins and the nightmare of square dancing with pre-pubescent boys. It was nice to just talk like normal people, the topics naturally disorganized and wandering.

  “Okay, but there were gym class heights too,” she said, biting into a pancake olive. “Like the Presidential Fitness Test.”

  “I don’t think we had that.”

  “It was great, you got tested on the v-sit and pull-ups and running a mile, I think. But the best part was the rope climb. We got a little paper monkey by our name every time we reached the top. I’m a natural-born climber, so I always had a troop of monkeys.”

  “We’re all good at something.”

  He took an extra long drag on a cigarette and watched the water bugs that dented the surface of Haunted Pond.

  “So listen,” he said. “I don’t want to freak you out. But I’ve been thinking a little about…what’s next.”

  “With Roland?”

  “With us.”

  “Oh.” The conversation that Francine had been both dreading and looking forward to. One thing was for certain, she definitely didn’t want to go first. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Well, I know it’s fast, but I was thinking…What if one of us moved? I mean, you could probably find a salon in New York, or I could find a school in San Francisco. Not that it would be easy either way. I just thought we should talk about it, since our time’s almost up here.”

  Laura Jean had suggested it, and Francine had definitely thought about it, but now that the option was actually being discussed, she panicked. It was almost like whatever answer she gave would be the wrong one, and she’d ruin this fragile new thing in her life. She took the cigarette from Bruno.