House Wrecking Page 13

  “I know mother, I have to go to the store early tomorrow and I need sleep too.”

  “Um-hum,” Sarah said.

  I’ll speak with him first thing in the morning. Why don’t you take an extra squeeze of your medication to help you sleep?” Though she tried to hide it, Emily was anxious to get out of the room, thick with the smell of Sarah’s demise.

  “Fine, I’ll speak with him myself,” Sarah said, but made no movement to get her obese body out of bed.

  Emily hoped Sarah would tire herself, nodding with the practiced appearance of sympathy. She knew Sarah wouldn’t find out what her Grandfather was doing and stop it because Sarah’s feet hadn’t touched the floor in over a decade. They were permanently straightened; poised like a ballet dancer enpointe.

  “At least get me more water.” Sarah stretched her great frame over to reach her bedside table and the bottle of laudanum.

  “Of course, mother.”

  Taking a deep breath to clear her senses, Emily slipped into the second floor kitchen. Grandpa moved in with them after her father Charles’s death years ago. He’d demanded that two separate apartments be built as he’d never been fond of Sarah. The presence of Emily, and Sarah’s agoraphobia were the only things that made it possible for the remains of their family to reside under the same roof.

  When construction began the once grand front hall and carved oak staircase, balusters and banister were plastered over and doors installed. Kitchens were installed on both the first and second floor; leaving the basement kitchen obsolete. Emily and Sarah were left without a front parlor and dining room after the conversion. It hardly mattered. Sarah took her meals in her room and Emily and Mary ate in the new kitchen. There were no visitors to take offense at their lack of hospitality.

  With Sarah settled into a drug-induced sleep, Emily returned to her room. Although happy to be relieved of her responsibilities to Sarah, she hesitated returning to her book. The characters in her novels always became her own, and she had trouble leaving them once united. This would keep her reading well into the night often stopping to rest the book on her lap and imagine Steven and her exchanging the same dialogue; experiencing the same innocently rendered touch. Because of Jane Austen, Emily committed herself over and over again to her books, enjoying the relationship while it lasted and forgetting the books would always end too soon.

  She got back into her childhood bed and glanced upon the framed black and white photo of her family perched on her bedside table: mother on a sofa in the front parlor flanked by her two children - Thomas perhaps ten at the time and Emily who was six. Their father stood detached, off to one side behind the sofa on Emily’s side with his hand on her shoulder. Although the family had lasted a few years after the photo was taken, it was the only photo she had of the four of them together. In the eighteen years since Charles had died and her brother Thomas had disappeared, Emily and Sarah had remained rooted in these rooms in their family home while the Westville section of New Haven cultivated wealth around them. Houses had sprouted all over the once-quiet neighborhood, and electric trolleys ran up and downtown and to the Fair Haven section of the city. The Westville, village where Emily and her grandfather continued to operate their family grocery store, had seen the steady emergence of new business, but the store wasn’t profitable amidst the lingering depression. Recently, they’d started a delivery service. This was how she met Steven Jackson, the new delivery man.

  Emily had had crushes before. She’d seen men eye her and had basked in the rare attention, going out of her way to catch their eye, developing fantasies of a life with them. None of those crushes ever amounted to much, and at 26 years old Emily was an old maid.

  She returned the picture of her family to the bedside table and decided to hold off on reading for the night and deposited the book alongside the framed photo. After a long, slurp of cold water, she flipped off the light, settling under the covers with Steven. She didn’t need Lawrence tonight; Emily had her own story to sleep with. She rolled onto her side to allow his imaginary presence to wrap her in his strong, dark arms.

  Divorce

  The therapist advised Lauren and Jeff to wait until school was out to tell the children. They thought it wouldn’t impact the children’s rigorous kindergarten and second grade curricula this way. They thought it would be a worthy way to start off the summer with the new visitation schedule they’d strategized: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday with Jeff; Wednesday, Thursday Friday with Lauren and alternating Saturdays with each. They thought deferring until June would also deliver them time to get things sorted out between and among them; as much as could be done in the two and a half months since they’d decided to divorce. They thought wrong.

  They choose the last day of school to tell the children – maybe because this was the first date they were allowed, and they couldn’t wait any longer to end what needed to end and start when needed to be start. The last day of school was a warm, sunny, perfect day. They went together to get the children from school; this was their first mistake. It was a half day; the children’s favorite kind of day which added to the celebratory air of being the last day. Lauren and Jeff stood outside the shiny red door on the square of concrete where a dozen other parents also waited for the children to be circulated. A few curious parents glanced at Jeff. Lauren swallowed more tears into her already anorectic stomach, when a brave parent said “how nice of you both to come for the last day.”

  When the children raced out the school door and caught a quick look at their dad, their already ebullient energy escalated. Mommy usually picked them up. Having dad there was a special treat. “What’s going on?” “Are we going somewhere special?” Brian and Claire fired at their parents.”

  Although oblivious on matters of divorce, Jeff and Lauren were smart people and realized they’d made a bad mistake in choosing this day, but plunged forward anyway. It had taken them ample effort to arrive at this juncture; they couldn’t run away now. Instead of taking the kids for lunch at the diner, an idea Lauren thought would distract them when the blow was dealt; she redirected the car toward home. At least she could prevent the children from forever associating visits to the diner with the day their parents declared their divorce. She dismissed the vision in her head of Brian sitting there with his wife twenty years from now saying “Yup, this is where my parent’s wrecked my life.”

  Lauren directed the car into the driveway, mumbling “change of plans” to Jeff who followed after her and the children. She suggested they play outside for a few minutes while she made sandwiches; an order the children, still unaware of impending doom, were happy to follow on this beautiful June day. She was quick, assembling tuna and tomatoes on white bread with a flash of speed and gathering the four sandwiches, chips and a pitcher of lemonade on a tray for her return to the yard. When she descended the treacherous back steps from the second floor kitchen, she called them together and the family gathered around the picnic table for the last time. They ate their sandwiches while the children told stories of their last day of school and upcoming summer camps. Lauren waited for a satisfactory lull in the conversation before she took her cue and began.

  “Daddy and I have something we need to discuss with you guys.”

  Brian’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re getting a divorce aren’t you?” He said releasing the tears down his cheeks and onto his Pokémon tee-shirt.

  “Yes, honey, we are. We’ve been having…”

  Brian interrupted again before Lauren could explain her marital woes to her children, who didn’t want to hear them anyway. “You said you wouldn’t. I asked you before and you said…” He trailed off, his face red with anger.

  Claire climbed onto Jeff’s lap while Lauren gathered Brian into her arms to console him. She kissed the top of his head and rocked him, “I know, honey, I know” alternating with, “I’m sorry. The consoling exchange ended after a few minutes, when Brian became restless. Lauren thought it better to end there, the details of the separation and divorce could fol
low latter, changing their lives in small ways. She suggested that maybe now they could go to Chuck E. Cheese. They would go together as a family; a demonstration that nothing had changed, although everything had. As she rose to pack the lunch dishes to get ready, Claire asked “Daddy, what’s a divorce?”

  The children played together at Chuck E. Cheese, showing their report cards and getting extra tokens to play video games for every “Good” or “Very Good” in place of real letter grades. Brian’s usual energy was diminished, but Claire, still unaware of what would happen now, played along unaware. It was a Wednesday and according to the schedule, the children would be with her through the weekend. Lauren didn’t much like the schedule, she wanted the kids all the time, but was told that’s not how things were done anymore. She wasn’t worried – it wouldn’t last too long. Jeff would tire of the children’s endless needs soon enough and would ask her to take over an extra day, than another, until they were with her all the time.

  When they returned home, Jeff didn’t go into the house. At Lauren’s suggestion, he’d packed the majority of the things while the children were at school. Jeff kissed the two children goodbye, assuring them he would see them tomorrow when he came to his office on the first floor of their house. He gave Lauren a brief wave of his hand and got in his car, leaving them on the front lawn.

  The three of them stood enveloped in their desertion until Lauren sunk onto the freshly cut grass, pulling the two children down beside her, one on either side. They sat with uncharacteristic stillness and Lauren inhaled deeply the smell of the children’s sweaty heads. They ignored Carl, who was making grunting sounds under the fence trying to escape from the gated back yard to join what was left of his family. The sky was blue, blue over green, green like in a children’s drawing, then turned gray gray; a color children would never choose from a box of crayons. The rumbling of thunder replaced the sound of the dog who had given up on them and gone back to sleep beneath the shade of an ordinary oak. “Thunder” Brian uttered to no one in particular. “Yes” Lauren rejoined, “we better move on.”

  Mr. Jackson

  The chill spring air in the house had turned cooler during the night and Emily awoke to the stench of her morning breath. She remembered her imaginary sleep partner from the night before and smiled, enjoying a last moment nestled in the warmth and quiet of his arms before facing her duties. The morning patrons would want their papers and they were a force to reckon with if she were late. Emily coerced her strong body from the bed. Unlike her brother who was the spitting image of Sarah, Emily was a perfect cross between the genetic fabrics of her two parents. Her thick head of hair was a hybrid color between Sarah’s dark mane and Charles’s blond curls; a mousy brown with enough waves to avoid straightness and enough straightness to resist curling. Her height at five feet, eight inches was exactly halfway between Charles’s six foot frame and Sarah’s five feet and four inches and rendered Emily tall for a girl. Her pale skin and sturdy frame were more consistent with Charles than Sarah, and her childlike feet seemed incapable of holding her at times. Save for the piercing blue eyes which she occasionally chose to beset upon a chosen few, Emily was absolutely ordinary.

  After rousting herself from the bed, she dressed in heavy wool stockings, a baggy blue wool skirt falling a few inches below her knees and a cream-colored sweater. In anticipation of seeing Steven today, she added the pearls borrowed out of Sarah’s jewelry box years ago and never returned. She grabbed her brown leather shoes and left, returning to grab House of Mirth from her bedside table to get her through the long day at the store. She padded down the hall to make her rounds. First she stopped at Sarah’s room and quietly opened the door, forever plagued by the still-squeaky hinge despite being recently oiled. Sarah’s body moved up and down with each breath. Satisfied that she was still alive, Emily closed the door and went to the kitchen.

  Mary’s smile spread over her dark face when Emily rounded the corner. Emily silenced her with a finger to the lips and a nod in the direction of Sarah’s room. Mary nodded and gestured to the table beyond, where two places were set for breakfast. On the other side of the fireplace, the women were free to talk. Emily slipped her tiny feet into the clunky, brown shoes, securing them with their wide buckles. Mary brought over two plates of eggs, toast and bacon and sat down next to Emily.

  “Good morning. Here are your eggs, scrambled with bits-a-cheese, the way you like em,” Mary said.

  “Thank you, Miss Mary. I don’t know what I would do without you,” Emily said with the long-established polite address insisted upon by her late father, Charles.

  “How is she today?” Mary asked.

  “I believe she lives to wreak havoc another day.” Emily smiled.

  “Miss Emily!”

  “I know, I know, she’s lived a hard life….,” Emily said to save Mary from repeating the same lecture.

  “Well, it’s true. Have you checked on your Grandfather?”

  “Not yet. He’s the next stop on my rounds.” Emily glanced at her wristwatch. “I better go. What should I bring home for dinner tonight?”

  “Oooooh – get me a chicken! I found a great recipe in one of your mother’s magazines I gonna cook for you three tonight- um, um, um. You gonna love it!”

  “I’m sure we will.” Emily said smiling at Mary’s enthusiasm. She grabbed her coat and bag off the rack by the door, but paused before leaving. “Mary, I was wondering why you stay here when Mother is so… difficult.”

  Mary smiled, “Don’t you worry Miss Emily; remember all those times I told you how my mama stayed a slave even after the new help told her she was free. Well, I guess we come from staying-people. Besides, where else I got to go?”

  Emily smiled back. “Good for me… and for mother too.”

  “For me too.” Mary said.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Emily opened the door of their apartment to the front vestibule which was now reduced to a five by five foot space with doors dominating three of the four sides. The smell of smoke and alcohol filled Emily’s senses as she picked her way through the front parlor strewn with old newspapers, dirty dishes, clothes and all manner of other garbage, but there was no sign of her grandfather. Emily peeked into the dining room and kitchen; both rooms were also empty. The door to Paul’s bedroom off the kitchen was closed. She’d braced herself for the possibility that he might not be alone, but the bedroom was also empty. She headed back through the kitchen, opening the recently installed basement door and descend the wooden steps.

  The basement hallway was still lit from the night before. On her way downstairs Emily innocently passed the door to the secret space that had never been revealed to her, but had recently been reopened by her grandfather after almost two decades of disuse. There, across three wooden chairs lined together, lay her grandfather, snoring. She breathed a sigh of relief amidst the comfortable room paneled in mahogany, with deep oriental carpets and low lights. She’d been to the speakeasy a few times, usually to show a lost newcomer the way. Most didn’t notice her. On occasion, men had glanced her way.

  On her last birthday, Grandpa had invited her down before the patrons arrived and given her a glass of whisky. At first it burned her throat. After a moment she began to enjoy how it warmed her stomach. By the time she’d finished, a young man had arrived with a beautiful woman dressed in a sleeveless cream satin dress, silk shoes and pearls dripping down to her waist. They stopped for a drink before the theatre. How lovely, Emily thought. When she stood, she was woozy and her grandfather had to help her to bed. The shiny, mahogany bar that Grandpa had made for the room, stood toward the door, welcoming in the many guests who frequented the establishment.

  Emily took one more look around the room filled with deep, easy chairs and sofas. “Emily?”

  At the sound of his voice, she inched closer to her grandfather, and winced at the odor of whiskey from his mouth. “I’m checking to make sure you’re alright, Grandpa. I’m off to work now.”

  “Hold on!” Grandpa
pivoted to position his feet on the floor and rested his head in his hands. “Oh boy,” he muttered. After a few moments, his breathing became regular.

  “Are you alright?

  “I’m fine. You go off to the store now. I’ll see you later,” he said.

  “Are you sure, I could get you a glass of water.”

  I’m alright. You go along.”

  Emily approached the stairs leading from the basement, tamping down the recurring memory of her brother that loomed in front of her. What was it about this spot in the basement? Sure, they’d spent many hours huddled around the basement kitchen table boring Mary with tales of school while she prepared the cobblers, cakes and pies that fattened Sarah. Her time spent in the kitchen was no greater than time spent in the many other parts of the house less saturated with the spirit of Thomas. She shook her head and propelled herself up the stairs, through the first floor apartment and out the front door, stepping over the morning newspaper and ignoring its glaring headline: Mayor to Stomp Down on Violators of Volstead Act: State Police Called in to Aide Efforts.

  Emily greeted the old men waiting for her to open the store. She slipped her key into the lock and glanced at the poster of her brother fixed into place in the front window for the past eighteen years. No one discussed what happened to Thomas after Charles’s body was found washed onto a New Haven beach by the hurricane of 1904. The police had made inquiries to neighbors, the teacher, pupils and fellow business owners. Signs were posted and telegraphs sent. After a while, everyone assumed Thomas had gone the way of his father, although his body was never found. In the constant retelling of the day he disappeared and in the days following, she’d never mentioned Thomas’ final words to her before being expelled from school for fighting with Jimmy Dineen. “I’m going to play with Papa’s horse game.” After all these years, the words still didn’t make sense to her.