House Wrecking Page 14

  Emily was plagued with the guilt that she hadn’t done enough to find Thomas. She grew up with the feeling that Thomas was lurking, waiting for her to find him. Emily also became hyper-vigilant, looking for him wherever she went. It was never him. Several times a week she would dream of him, and had taken to trying to waken herself to write down the details of the dream to remember the next day. Her notes rarely amounted to much, but Emily investigated anyway. Once she dreamt that Thomas was being held in a warehouse by the docks. The morning after the dream, she made an excuse to go there, saying she was looking for more citrus fruits. When the stern-faced tradesman said he’d no more, she took out the picture of Thomas she kept with her and showed him. He shook his head as all the others had.

  She knew she’d driven the police crazy with her ideas and hunches concerning Thomas’s disappearance. They were kind to her face, taking her information and promising to investigate, but she could feel them smirking behind her back. On her last visit to the police station, with her hand on the door to leave, she heard the crumbling of the paper the officer had written on, and the perfunctory clunk it made as it hit the bottom of the metal wastebasket.

  She sighed and unlocked the door to the store for the old men who had been gathering in front and she answered the persistent ringing of the telephone.

  “Good morning Joan, this is Emily” She greeted the operator who manned the party line during weekday mornings.

  “Oh Emily, I’ve been trying to reach you for the better part of an hour. Mrs. Nelson, Mrs. Banks and her highness Mrs. Beecher have all been trying to reach you with their orders. I took down what they wanted, lest they keep calling back. Can you take them now?”

  I’m sorry, I got delayed with tending to Grandfather this morning. Give me ten minutes to get the men their papers and such and I’ll ring you right back.”

  “No problem, dear. Take all the time you need.”

  Emily returned the receiver and turned her attention to collecting coins for the Journal Courier and the occasional quart of milk, coffee or sundry. When the crowd cleared, she called Joan back, and filled the orders.

  An hour later, with business under control, she stole a moment in the room at the back of the store to fix her hair and lipstick, and make a cup of coffee. She sat behind the counter awaiting the arrival of Steven. As if her imagination had conjured him, he appeared in the open door, smiling his toothy grin. A couple of inches taller than she, Steven’s dark, broad shoulders and wide stance filled the doorway. He brushed a hand through his thin brown hair and arranged a strand over the balding spot on top.

  “Good morning, Miss Emily.”

  “Mr. Jackson.” Emily nodded. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve a number of orders prepared. Let me add the milk. I didn’t want it to sour.” She rose from her stool, and self-consciously walked from behind the counter to the icebox across the narrow aisle.

  He carried the crates stacked on the floor to the wagon attached to his bicycle. When he was all loaded, he said, “Should I come back for more orders later?”

  “Please do. Best to start with Mrs. Beecher, she seems anxious today. It’s been a busy day and I expect more orders this afternoon. Please take your lunch and return afterwards.” Emily said in her most business-like voice.

  “Yes, Miss Emily,” Steven flashed her a smile and she reddened when he fixed his eyes on her a moment longer than needed, but not too long to be improper.

  When the door closed behind him, Emily stepped from behind the counter and watched him hop onto his bike. She smiled at the sight of his buttocks crack emerging between his belt and too short shirt when he bent over to peddle his bicycle up Fountain Street towards Forest Road.

  Emily spent the rest of the morning fielding orders for afternoon delivery and waiting on the occasional customer purchasing a paper, soda pop or tin of oatmeal. At midday, she grabbed a dollar out of the cash register, hung a sign on the door and went home for lunch, stopping at the butcher for Mary’s chicken. After consuming her chipped beef on toast from last evening’s leftover steak and sliced tomatoes, Emily drank a glass of cold milk with an oversized slice of Mary’s blueberry pie. She’d begun avoiding daytime visits with Sarah which always delayed her return to the store. She’d taken to leaving the care of Sarah in Mary’s capable hands until evening, when Emily’s shift would begin. Her grandfather clomping around on the first floor during lunch assured her that he too was alive. With this reassurance, she wiped her mouth, threw her napkin on her chair and went back to the store.

  Like clockwork, Steven appeared in the frame of the door within an hour for the afternoon deliveries.

  “Afternoon Miss Emily.”

  “Mr. Jackson.” Emily nodded in his direction. “All the orders are prepared,” she indicating the crates by the door. She didn’t bother to get up from her stool this time, self-conscious about her expanding backside.

  “Yes, Miss Emily. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

  “Yes, Mr. Jackson.” Emily kept her eyes on her book, hoping to conceal her infatuation with disinterest.

  “Yes, Miss Emily.” Steven said. He hesitated before leaving.

  When she was sure he was gone, she smiled, her thoughts on the lingering odor of manly sweat left in Steven’s wake. She inhaled his smell, imaging his broad chest without a shirt and whether he was well-endowed like the men in her novels. She wondered what he would feel like inside her and felt a twitch down below. Her reverie was broken by the appearance of a group of school children, fresh from the Westville School, looking for soda pop.

  More Masonry

  On Friday afternoon, when Jeff wrapped up his day at the office and mounted the steps. Lauren was sitting at the kitchen counter with a cup of tea and a book.

  “I’m taking off now to get the kids at camp, and we’ll head back to my apartment for the weekend. I thought I’d take them to the new Disney movie tomorrow.”

  “They’ll like that.” Lauren replied.

  “This all their stuff?” Jeff asked, gesturing toward a duffle bag at the top of the stairs.

  “Yeah. They should have everything to see they need in there. If they need anything else, just call and I’ll run it over.”

  “Boo boo bunny in here?” Jeff asked, referring to Claire’s nighttime companion.

  “Yeah.”

  “Alright – see ya.”

  “Bye.”

  When he’d gone, Lauren found herself alone in the house for the weekend, for the first time since she’d married and had children. First, she sat on the couch with her book, but soon became restless and began wandering from room to room looking for a project to consume her attention. She emptied the dishwasher and threw in a load of clothes gathered from the children’s room and bathroom. She tried to sit again with the book, but she couldn’t concentrate on the words on the page. She reached the end of one chapter and realized that she’d no idea what she’d read. She’d longed for this moment, but now that it had arrived he didn’t know what to do with herself.

  She got an idea and flew upstairs in search of the little piece of paper with Mr. Walsh’s phone number, scribbled months earlier with the offer to come over and look at the strange lever in the basement stairs. She hesitated for another minute, knowing she was crossing a professional line. What the hell, she said to herself and punched the number into the phone.

  “Yal-llow.” The voice boomed on the other end.

  “Hi, Mr. Walsh. This is Lauren, the nurse practitioner from Dr. Alford’s office.

  “Lauren, what a nice surprise to hear from you. You don’t have any bad news for me, do you? Cuz I am on my way out of town with the Missus and I’ll need to live long-enough to enjoy a few weeks on the Cape.

  “Oh, no, sorry. It’s nothing like that. I’m sorry to bother you on a Friday afternoon. Remember the lever I mentioned was encased in a stone in my basement? It was a few months ago. You probably don’t remember, and since you’re going out town, never mind.”

  “I remember,
sounded like a strange thing. You want me to send my son over to take a look?”

  “No, no, no. It’s no problem; it can wait until you get back. I don’t want to trouble you or your son.”

  “No trouble, I’ll send him over to your place after he finishes work today. What’s your address?”

  “Are you sure? It’s no rush.”

  “No trouble, he won’t mind.”

  “Well, alright, if you’re sure.” Lauren gave him her address.

  Swanky Westville Speakeasy Stormed

  That night Emily fell fast asleep, amidst her continued fantasies of Steven. Late into the night, she was woken by Sarah’s cries. “Emily! Em-i-ly!” Disoriented, she jumped from the bed forgetting her robe and stockings and plunged into the cold hallway. The loud bangs and shouts from the lower level frightened her. Gone were the laughing, happy noises emanating from the speakeasy. There was no music. Men, shouted orders, doors slammed and footsteps ran across the porch. Emily ran to Sarah.

  “Something’s happening! Something bad is happening,” Sarah screamed from her perch in the bed.

  “Let me go see what’s happening,” she said in the most reassuring voice she could muster.

  “No, No! Don’t leave me, Look!” she pointed to the window. Emily and Sarah took in the sight of the Paddy Wagon parked in front of the house and people fleeing in haste.

  The illicitness and rapid wealth derived from the speakeasy should have prepared Emily better for this moment. But as she sat there with Sarah, panic predominated as their stroke of fortune slipped from their home into the paddy wagon. Sarah’s bedroom wallowed in the moonlight, as if to taunt them both. She held Sarah’s hand and her eyes rose to the sky. Amidst the moon, she could see low, dark clouds, above the new houses built on the street. Her eyes adjusted and the structures took form. Perhaps they were not as threatening as mother had made them out to be, or perhaps the houses seemed less harmful in the diminished light. Maybe one of the families had an elderly mother who could be a friend to Sarah. Or maybe there was a nice young man looking for an overweight, middle aged woman to fall in love with. Never mind, she had Steven. She needed no other.

  The paddy wagon receded down the street, taking with it her grandfather and any others it had gathered. They stayed this way while the clouds lingered low and Sarah began to snore. Emily released Sarah’s hand and rose from the bed knowing that tomorrow, everything would be changed.

  Ben

  Lauren opened the door to a handsome bald-headed man with a goatee standing on her front porch. His earth-colored tee-shirt bulged over his ample chest and strong arms. She glimpsed the end of a fading tattoo sneaking out from under his right short-sleeve. His khaki shorts ended at his knees, leaving four inches of fine, hairy leg before his work boots began. She thought there may have been were naked women dancing on his socks. “I’m Ben,” he said, holding out his calloused hand. “My dad told you I was coming, right?”

  She led him into the front hall, allowing his manly smell to fill the small space. They stood alone in the vestibule among the period wallpaper, an odd blue with men and women in nineteenth century dress. It was a copy she’d found months earlier, when things had been better. She didn’t dislike the odor.

  He admired the crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the hall. Lauren didn’t know where to bring him and was momentarily confused by his presence. The house wasn’t set up to greet strangers anymore. She couldn’t bring him into Jeff’s office on the first floor, although Jeff wasn’t there, so led him up the stairs to the second floor, across the faux oriental runner and brass bars she’d also installed on her own hands and knees. She could feel his eyes on her ass while she ascended, and was glad she’d worn her short, white shorts. They made it look good.

  She led him through the hallway at the top of the stairs past the old mahogany radio she’d found at the Elephant’s trunk last fall, which stood under the portrait of her grandmother Dorothy in the gold frame she’d over-accessorized. She led him into the red, painted kitchen and again wondered what to do with him.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Sure, whatcha got?”

  “Beer, wine…?”

  “I may have to use power tools on your lever. Anything nonalcoholic?”

  She blushed, thinking he thought her a lush, and blushed deeper when she realized that she cared. “Iced tea?”

  “Perfect”

  She hoped he wasn’t one of those types who avoided artificial sweeteners. She also hoped there were no children’s fingerprints on the white plastic Tupperware container containing the Crystal Light Iced. She pulled two glasses off the open shelves and filled them each with ice from the dispenser on the door, self-consciously keeping her eyes on her task. She could feel his eyes on her the whole time. When she met his eyes, he kept them on hers. They stood for a moment longer than they should. Grabbing the keys from the drawer, she said, “follow me, I’ll show you the lever.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, Lauren unlocked the heavy oak door and tried to pull it open. It was stuck tight. She hadn’t gone down this way since early last December - a day wedged between the anticipation of the party and the nastiness of the lawsuit.

  “Maybe, I could try.” Ben offered; interrupting her from her struggle. He stepped in front of her without waiting for an answer and effortlessly opened the door with a slight flex of his right bicep.

  “I loosened it for you,” she said, surprised by the twitter in her groan and followed him down steep, the stone steps; grateful when he laughed. She allowed him to open the door at the bottom.

  With both doors now open, Lauren flicked the central switch filling the old stairway with light. She slid off what was left of the thin stone covering the bottom step and revealed the lever. “Here it is,” she pointed.

  Ben pulled a flashlight from his pocket and single-mindedly shined it into the crevices of the step. She chattered on nervously, explaining how she found it. He dug around the rock fragments with his bare, calloused hands with no apparent regard for the dirt or sharp fragments. He continued his work while she rambled on.

  “I tried to turn it, but it broke off in my hands.”

  When he seemed satisfied with his assessment, he stood up to pull what was left of the lever.

  “No luck, huh?” She regretted the idle chatter the minute it was uttered and told herself to shut up.

  “Hang on a sec; I’ve got to get something from my truck. Be right back,” he said over his shoulder. He mounted the steep stone steps two at a time and disappeared out of sight.

  Lauren stood fixed in place in the basement with her arms crossed over her chest, already missing him. “Oh for God sakes,” she mumbled to herself.

  Back through the double-front door, and down the steps he returned with a heavy clamp and odd wrenches. He went to work and sweat gathered on his bald head, amidst the cool basement. In their silence, she enjoyed the musky, male smell of him filling the air where she stood. It wasn’t like the usual smell she encountered down here. That smell was a malformed, male muskiness and was all wrong. The smell coming from Ben was a simpler scent, pure, sexy male.

  She tried to peer over his shoulder to see what he was doing, but he was intent on his tool fastening, moving right to left, back and front. She gave up and assumed a seat on the steps opposite. He stood back revealing the contraption he’d built. A long handle suspended in the air attached, seemingly to the rod below. “Let’s see if this works.” He turned in her direction. “Ready?”

  He took the waist high handle with both hands and with bulging biceps, lowered it toward the floor.

  A high pitched, screech filled the basement as metal scraped against metal. He continued lowering the lever forcing the sound of splintering wood to bounce amidst crumbling stone and plaster. A cloud of dust emerged and hid Ben and the staircase momentarily. Lauren jumped up from her position on the stairs, but didn’t know whether to run away from the scene or toward it

  The
room quieted and the dust cleared sufficiently for Lauren to begin to see the outline of Ben again, steps from the scene. The makeshift lever was all the way to the floor by now and he stood seemingly trying to make out what had happened. Lauren came up beside him, and he pointed his pocket flashlight toward the right of the staircase, where minutes ago a wood-paneled wall had stood. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a secret room,” Ben said.

  “Holy shit,” was all Lauren could produce in reply.

  Lock-Up

  Emily read the glaring headline of the paper parcel upside down: Swanky Westville Speakeasy Stormed: Elderly Owner Facing Serious Charges. She tossed the bundle by the door of the store and stepped behind the counter. Never mind, she said to herself. Grandpa said that to her a thousand times, although it never made her stop worrying when he did. Mr. Brunel, Mr. Ford and Mr.Voloshin were all looking at her. Had grandpa been there, she would’ve asked him what was happening and what she should say to these old men. She knew her grandfather would say, it’s none of their business – you keep to yours and let them keep to theirs.

  “What?” she asked them.

  Mr. Voloshin jumped in. “Quite a night at your house, it seems.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  He turned the paper toward her, revealing the picture of her house centered on the front page.

  “I don’t have anything to do with that. I’m sure if you read the story, you’ll see.”

  “Suit yourself. But it seems to me you could fill us in – clear the air if you will.”