The House That Jack Built

by Willow Rose

  “Maybe we should get the old crew together while you’re here,” she says. “Just for old time’s sake.”

  I freeze completely.

  “Unless you don’t want to?”

  I shake my head. “No. No. I mean, I do. I think I do. There is just so much…I mean we haven’t seen each other in a very long time; we haven’t hung out since…” I pause and look at her, not knowing what to say. We both know what I am talking about. We have avoided bringing up the subject and we both know everyone will try to avoid it if we are brought together again. It will only be awkward. So extremely awkward.

  “You know what?” Sandra says. “Maybe it was a bad idea. It was good to see you again, Mary.”

  She touches my shoulder briefly and walks past me, nudging her little Chihuahua along as she walks across A1A towards her own house by the end of 7th Street. I watch her walk away, her perfect little behind moving beautifully in her tight shorts, then curse Blake for getting himself—and thereby me—into this awful mess. I was doing so well up there in New York, minding my own business, slowly forgetting my past. Now it has all come back to laugh in my face.

  Chapter Nineteen

  September 2015

  Jean Schmidt closes the window of her small house. She feels a chill of happiness rush through her body while looking out on the canal where the sun is about to set in the distance. She can’t believe they have finally moved into the house of their dreams. She has dreamt of living canal-front ever since she was just a young child growing up in Cocoa Beach. She remembers sitting on the school bus, driving around town picking up kids, her nose pressed against the window, dreaming about living in one of the houses that has a view of the water and a dock and maybe a boat in the back. And for years, she worked to save enough to buy it. Neither she nor her husband, Danny, make much money, so for years they lived in a small townhouse by Fifth Street. But three months ago, Danny was made captain at the fire station, and with his raise, the bank finally agreed to give them the loan for the house of their dreams. They had saved just enough for the down payment.

  They bought a beautiful two-story house with a dock big enough for them to have a table and six chairs and a tiki bar on it, and it even has a boat ramp. That is their next goal, Danny says. To get a boat. Jean doesn’t care about sailing. She just wants to have it so the neighbors can see it docked by her house.

  “I’m going to my room to watch TV,” Daniel Junior says, as he enters the kitchen where Jean is standing admiring the view and the sunset over the Thousand Islands. It is gorgeous. There is nothing like a Florida sunset.

  Jean turns her head and nods. “Sure.”

  Junior grabs a soda from the fridge. Jean gives him a look. “Soda right before bed? Is that a good choice, do you think?”

  Junior growls. At the age of eighteen, she can rarely still tell him what to do and what not to. Junior puts the soda can back and grabs a water bottle instead.

  “Is Dad at the station?” he asks.

  Jean nods. “Last night of his 48-hour shift. He’ll be home in the morning. He talked about taking you fishing if you like?”

  Junior nods. “Sure. I mean whatever. If he wants.”

  “Great. I’ll tell him. Once he has slept, he’ll take you out on Alex’s boat.”

  Junior shrugs, pretending like he doesn’t care, but Jean knows he loves to go fishing with his dad. It just isn’t cool to show it.

  “Okay. Goodnight.”

  Junior leaves and Jean returns to look at the sunset. She takes a picture of it with her phone and posts it on Facebook. Not that her friends haven’t seen it before. She has posted those pictures every day since they moved in, but she just can’t help herself. It is truly spectacular.

  Jean pours herself a glass of wine and walks outside to catch a glimpse of the orange sun. She sits in one of her lounge chairs and sips her wine. She has the entire weekend off from the DMV office, but she is tired from having worked all week. Gosh, how she loathes her job. Sitting all day taking care of people that need to renew their driver’s licenses, or who have lost them somehow, is so tedious, so mind numbing she sometimes has to swim away in strange fantasies about her piercing their eyes with a pen or using the stapler to make art out of their faces. What would it feel like to put someone’s finger inside a stapler, then accidentally press it down? Would she hear the bones crush if she pressed hard enough? Would it bleed? Would the idiot scream? It’s those small fantasies that keep her going. Otherwise, she would simply go insane. These people are so stupid, so idiotic, it is mind-blowing. But it pays the bills, and now it had helped Jean get the house of her dreams. Well, that and Danny’s promotion.

  The sun disappears behind the islands and darkness surrounds her fast. There is no wind and soon the mosquitoes have a feast. Especially the No See Ums are terrible at this time of day. Those small bastards will eat you up in seconds and leave small red bumps, but you can never see them, hence the name. They are even small enough to go through your screen. It is so annoying.

  Jean tries to ignore the itching and burning sensation that soon covers her legs, but soon it is too overwhelming and she has to go back inside. She didn’t know the No See Ums were this bad by the canals, but apparently this is where they live and multiply. They love the murky fresh water in the canals. And when there is no wind to keep them away, like this evening, there is no way to fight them. Jean has tried everything. Candles, different sprays. Nothing works.

  Jean takes her wine and sits in the living room and turns on the TV. She watches an episode of CSI Miami, but halfway through she has emptied her glass of wine and needs a refill. Junior is quiet upstairs and she figures he has fallen asleep. Jean likes having the house to herself. Danny is a sweet man, but he is incredibly boring. The way he eats is the worst part. She simply loathes eating with him. She always looks forward to when his shift starts. That gives her forty-eight hours on her own to enjoy her life.

  Jean sighs and pours more wine into the glass, then throws away the bottle. It has become a habit for her to open a bottle of Cupcake white wine every afternoon and finish it at night. It is the only way she can really get through the day…knowing that a bottle of wine is waiting for her at home.

  Jean closes her eyes and sips her wine, standing in the kitchen, when suddenly the wind chime on her back porch starts making an awful lot of noise. Jean opens her eyes. There is nothing but darkness outside of her windows.

  That’s strange, she thinks to herself. Has the wind suddenly picked up? Are we expecting a storm tonight? There wasn’t a cloud in the sky at sunset. Has it come from the ocean side?

  The wind chime plays again. The music is haunting. Jean opens the door to the porch and peeks out, but there is nothing there. The wind chime is completely still now. It isn’t even moving. Jean looks at the flagpole with the flag they have put up and put a spotlight on. The flag is hanging flat down.

  That’s odd. There is no wind at all.

  Thinking that she is probably just imagining things, Jean decides to go back into the house. Just as she closes the sliding door, the music starts over again. Jean gasps and looks out through the window. She can’t see anything.

  Maybe it’s an animal? Could a bird have flown into it?

  Jean shakes her head. She is probably just tired. All those hours of listening to people and all their crap is making her hear things.

  She decides it’s time for bed and turns off the TV, then the light in the living room. As she walks through the kitchen, she hears the noise again. This time, the wind chime is louder than any of the other times.

  What is this?

  “That’s it,” Jean says. “I’m taking that thing down. I won’t be able to sleep if it is going to make this loud noise all night.”

  With determined steps, she walks to the sliding door and opens it out to the porch, where the wind chime is so noisy it drowns out every other sound, even the crickets that are usually very busy at this time of night.

  The chime is hanging fro
m a hook under the roof of the porch. Jean turns on the light to better see. She looks in the direction of the chime, then stops.

  A woman wearing a surgical mask is standing underneath it. Jean stares at her. She is short, wearing a black coat hiding most of her body.

  “Who are you? What are you doing in my yard?” Jean asks.

  The woman tilts her head. “Am I pretty?” she asks.

  Jean stares at her. “I can’t see your face because of the mask, but I am sure you’re very pretty. Now get out of my yard before I call the police.”

  The woman tilts her head to the side a few times, then asks again. “Am I pretty?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Jean asks. “I really have to…”

  “Am I PRETTY??”

  The yelling startles Jean. She feels all of a sudden very uncomfortable in the presence of this strange woman.

  “You do know we are pro-gun in this house, right? There’s a sign by the driveway.”

  The woman doesn’t seem to react. Something about her eyes seems familiar to Jean. Is she one of the weirdoes that she has met at the DMV office? Jean sees so many faces every day. It is hard to tell them apart.

  “Am…I…Pretty?” she asks again. This time much calmer.

  Jean sighs. The woman is probably drunk or stoned. She rolls her eyes at her. “Well, if you have to know, then yes, you’re very pretty.”

  That seems to help. The woman’s face lights up. She grabs the surgical mask and pulls it off. The sight that meets her makes Jean gasp, horrified, and clasp her mouth.

  “How about now?” the woman asks.

  Chapter Twenty

  February 1992

  Ally Meyer starts at Cocoa Beach High in the middle of ninth grade. She has just moved to town because her mother is starting a new job at Kennedy Space Center. Ally is angry with her mother for pulling her away from her comfortable surroundings once again, and even before she has given it a chance, she hates the new place more than all the others she has moved to over the years.

  On her first day, she keeps to herself. Or at least she tries to. Decisive that she doesn’t want to make friends, she doesn’t want to be happy here, she avoids talking to anyone or sitting with anyone at lunch.

  Still, she can’t be left alone. Two of the girls from her class come up to her during lunch break and sit with her. Mary and Sandra are their names. They both live on 7th Street, they tell her.

  “We all surf. Do you surf?” Mary asks.

  She is the chubby one. The other, Sandra, is so beautiful Ally feels intimidated by her. And on top of it, she is also sweet. It is too much. Almost nauseating.

  “N-no. I don’t,” she says, shaking her head.

  Ally isn’t very athletic. Never has been. When all the other kids on the street ride their bikes or jump rope, Ally stays inside listening to music on her Walkman. Sports just aren’t her thing.

  “Maybe we can teach you,” Sandra says.

  “Yeah,” Mary says. “Sandra here is the best. You should see her turn off the lip. Slam! She’s like Kelly, dude.”

  “Who’s Kelly?” Ally asks.

  “Kelly Slater!” Mary exclaims. “Only like the best surfer ever.”

  “Well, Mary thinks he is,” Sandra says.

  “Oh, he’s gonna be. Just you wait and see. Used to go to this high school, you know. He’s only like five years older than us. He won Rookie of the Year last year on the pro tour and he is in the lead to win the world title this year. Isn’t it crazy? I even heard rumors that he is going to appear on an episode of Baywatch this year.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Sandra says.

  Ally stares at the two girls, not knowing what to say to them. She has no clue who this Kelly-character is, and she certainly doesn’t like to watch Baywatch. She has a pretty good idea that surfing probably isn’t her thing either. She has no desire to show herself in a bikini.

  “I-I have to go,” she says and grabs her things, then leaves the table. Ally feels a huge relief as she walks away. There is no way she is going to make friends here at this school. None of them are like her.

  At least she doesn’t think they are, until another girl approaches her as she reaches her locker. Ally is fighting with the lock on it. Ally doesn’t notice the girl until after she slams her fist into the locker in anger because it won’t open.

  “Nice punch,” the girl says.

  She is flanked by two other girls. They are all wearing black makeup around their eyes and the girl in front even has a green Mohawk. Ally thinks she looks so cool. She has at least four or five earrings in each ear and one in her nose as well. She is like a rock star.

  “Thanks,” Ally says, feeling even more intimidated than earlier.

  “Say, I saw you with the surfers earlier,” the girl says. “Are you one of them?”

  “I-I-I don’t know them. They just came up to me and started talking about surfing and some guy…”

  The girl chuckles. “Yeah, they’re all about that. Always talking about Kelly Slater and surfing and the waves and crap like that. There are a lot of those in this school. Surfers are all over. The question is, will you be one of them or are you with us?”

  She is very upfront. Ally likes that. She stares at the girl, who now slams her fist into the lock and smashes it, then pulls the door to Ally’s locker open. “You might need a new lock for that,” she says.

  “Thanks. I’m Ally.” Ally holds out her hand.

  The girl looks at the hand, then laughs. “Welcome to our school, Ally,” she says, and walks away.

  “Hey, how will I know your name?”

  The girl turns and smiles.

  “People around here call me AK,” she yells back. “Like the rifle.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  September 2015

  I finally have some time to spend at the beach with Salter. The next morning, we grab two of my old surfboards and paddle out together. Salter has surfed a bit this past summer when visiting his dad, so he is eager to show me how good he has become. I feel nervous because he is not a very strong swimmer.

  It is a gorgeous day out. Not a cloud in the sky and the ocean is glassy. The waves are really good. There is a storm in the Atlantic. Hurricane Joaquin is roaring somewhere far out and creates some good and decent ground swell for us, and soon we both ride one wave after the other. I am impressed with how good my son has become. He seems to have no trouble anymore, not even with the swimming. I realize I was mistaken about him.

  I am a little rusty, but surfing is kind of like riding a bike. You never forget completely. In the beginning, when we moved to Manhattan, Joey and I would go up to Montauk and surf, but as the years passed we did it less and less. Just like all the other things we never did anymore. It wasn’t something that happened all of a sudden. It kind of snuck up on us.

  While waiting for a wave, I wonder if things would be different today if I had been better at taking care of my marriage, if I had prioritized it more. As soon as Salter came into our lives, Joey moved down to like number three on my list of priorities. I kept Salter and my career ahead of him. That can never be a great cocktail. Looking back, it is pretty obvious. It just isn’t when you are in the middle of it. I somehow kept telling myself things were going to change soon, as soon as I was done with this assignment or that project, as soon as Salter grew a little older, or as soon as Joey got a job. But things never improved. Not when I didn’t do anything about them. I let this happen. I was as much at fault as he was.

  And now there is no going back.

  After about half an hour in the water, the line-up is beginning to get crowded. It is Sunday and the waves are good, a very rare combination. They are usually always perfect Monday morning when everyone has to work or go to school. I must have skipped the first two hours of school a hundred times because the waves were good on a Monday morning.

  “Hi there. I thought I might find you here.”

  “Daaad!”

  Salter
almost falls off his board while trying to greet his father. Joey paddles up and stays close to him so they can hug. Seeing them together makes me happy and sad at the same time. Why did I ruin this? Why did he?

  “Hi,” he says when our eyes meet. “I hope it’s all right with you that I join you?”

  I smile. “Of course. Just don’t drop in on me.”

  Joey laughs. It seems a little forced. “What happened to sharing is caring?”

  Sharing is caring is something we used to say when the 7th Street Crew surfed together. We made it a deal to never get angry if someone dropped in on your wave. Between us, we knew how to share a good wave and sometimes it made it even more fun.

  I feel a pinch in my heart, remembering all the Sundays we used to spend out here on the ocean, cheering each other on when someone had a good wave, laughing at Marcia when she wiped out, which she always did. Or cheering on Danny when he finally made it to the nose of his humongous long board.

  As I sit on my board remembering all this, I spot Sandra paddling out on her short board. Alex, who has the same big smile on his face as he always used to when paddling out, follows her.

  “Yeah! The 7th Street Crew breaks rules,” he exclaims with a loud cheer.

  I can’t help smiling. Even if it is not all of us, it suddenly feels a little like the old days. It fills me with both joy and sadness as well. I say hello to Alex as he comes out and sits on his board. He hasn’t changed much. Still small and chubby like me. Well, he has gotten a little chubbier, but he still has great hair and the sweetest smile. I have always loved hanging out with Alex. He is such a happy guy. Easy to please.

  I look at Joey, who instructs Salter to start paddling for a wave.

  “It’s your wave, go get it, go, go. Now get up. Get up fast!”

  And there he goes. I have never been more proud of my son than in this moment when he catches the wave and I see the smile on his face as he rides it in.