House Wrecking Read online

  Dorothy listened to the long dramatic tale, with interest and sympathy. Offering a handkerchief when needed, a pat on the back and a rub on the arm, a glass of water to help wash the tears down her friend’s throat and more wine to keep the enticing narrative nudging along. When Emily finally finished, Dorothy nodded reassuringly and agreed to write to her husband. She would get Emily an answer as soon as possible.

  China & Crystal

  Lauren wanted to hate her before her first phone call to Ben’s ex-wife, Crystal. Her resolve diminished as the smart, friendly woman on the other end of the phone, listened to her story about the paintings in the basement, asking intelligent questions and complimenting her on her decision not to move or touch the paintings. She resolved again to hate her when Crystal used the word “fabulous” for the tenth time in the conversation. But when they settled on a time for Crystal to come over and see the contents of the basement. Lauren said, “fabulous,” in reply.

  She resolved once again to hate Crystal up until she appeared on the front porch of Lauren’s house fifteen minutes late for their scheduled appointment time, full of apologies. Crystal stood close to six feet tall, which was a good couple of inches taller than Ben. She went by her maiden name, Crystal Lehrer, rather than taking Ben’s name and becoming Crystal Walsh. She wondered how Ben, who seemed traditional and manly, tolerated Crystal’s height and independence and thought he didn’t like it much at all. Her lightly-glossed mouth filled the horizontal plane of her face. She had the good looks of an attractive woman, who needed to do nothing to be attractive. Her dark eyes smiled behind her tortoise shell glasses and her ears were adorned with a pair of diamond studs. Her straight dark hair was pulled back in a carelessly gathered low-ponytail. She was the type of person Lauren would’ve loved to hate. Despite her resolve, Lauren couldn’t hate the tall, thin woman in her J. Crew white cotton blouse tucked into a tan Pencil skirt – she liked her.

  She led Crystal through the door to the office. Jeff was in a session, so Lauren was saved from introducing them. Crystal followed her through the first floor to the basement. She led her down the stairs and turned on the lights. The smell of pipe tobacco and body odor hit her on her way, but Lauren noticed with sadness that the smell was fading. She led Crystal over the bottom step to the hidden room, turned on the two lamps, allowing her to go first and pointing to the back where the paintings were displayed.

  Crystal took her time with them, looking first without touching. She withdrew a lighted magnifying glass from her over-sized Coach tote, and examined them closer, she held each by their frames, turned them around and returned them to their leaning positions against the wall. After 25 minutes Lauren considered leaving her there and returning upstairs, but she didn’t want to appear rude. Nor did she want to miss finding out about the disposition of the items.

  Crystal drew away from her examination a couple of times and murmured, “fabulous.”

  Lauren continued to ponder an escape strategy when Crystal finally spoke. “They look original, but I need my laboratory equipment to tell for sure. Would you consider allowing me to take them back to the museum for a full appraisal?”

  “Oh sure, of course. Let me help you.” Lauren said, moving forward to pick up one of the paintings.

  “Oh no, I’ll have someone from the museum come and get them. They’re over a hundred years old and we must be careful with them. In fact, I’m worried that they’ve already sustained damage from the moisture down here. If it is ok with you, someone will come later this afternoon.”

  “Yes,” Lauren replied, embarrassed.

  The two women left the basement and tracked back through the office to the front door.

  “Thank you again for taking the time to show your paintings to me. They are quite fabulous.”

  Lauren smiled back at Crystal. “You’re welcome, thanks for coming.”

  “Make sure it is a Yale van and the guys show ID when they come.

  “Okay.”

  Then Crystal surprised her by adding. “You know Lauren, Ben’s a great guy. We weren’t right for each other, but he’s got much to offer the right woman.”

  “Oh, we’re not… I mean, we’re just friends,” Lauren said too quickly.

  “Uh-huh. Alright. I’ll have our van here within the next couple of hours.”

  “Fabulous,” Lauren said

  It’s Time

  At 44, Emily didn’t look like the younger, pregnant women parading their proud bellies around town with glowing complexions. She swelled up like a big, fat balloon. The added weight to her belly was well matched with what collected in her already ample breasts, strong, muscular thighs and her swollen face, feet and hands. Her changing appearance toward the middle and late pregnancy was insidious. It was good that no one much noticed Emily, so they wouldn’t be surprised about her expanding portliness.

  Emily had hoped that Sarah’s failing eyesight along with all her other senses would prevent her from noticing the extra fifty pounds she was hauling around as finding and fixing upon Emily’s faults was a well-formed fascination of Sarah’s. But Sarah seized every opportunity to facilitate her daughter’s declining mood by drawing attention to her expanding form. Since Sarah never suspected Emily of having a lover living in her lower level, Sarah never suspected that Emily was pregnant.

  Had Emily not already been deep in depression, she may have found such disparaging remarks about her weight comical coming from Sarah who was close to two hundred and fifty pounds; and there was only one of her. But Emily was in no mood to find humor in anything, especially toward the last months of her pregnancy. When Emily awoke one morning early in her ninth month, her feet were so swollen that they hurt to put them on the floor. After a fitful and uncomfortable sleep on her side, the only position where she could lie, she was still exhausted. During her last month of her pregnancy, her daily routine of caring for Sarah, opening the store for a few hours, working at Malley's and back to Sarah became unendurable. Instead of forcing herself out of bed to attend to Sarah, the store, her job, she lifted her heavy legs back onto the bed and went back to sleep, with the pillow over her head.

  She was awoken by what felt like a pop. It wasn’t a sound, more than a feeling of relief – like the burst of a blister. First she thought that she might’ve wet herself. She smiled with relief realizing her water had broken, like Dorothy said it would. She leapt out of bed, disregarding the pain in her feet, which didn’t seem as bad now. She felt a little bit of cramping. It wasn’t bad at all, and she wondered what all those women in her novels had been complaining about. She thought to call Dorothy, who said she’d come right over. She knew where the house was as they’d done a dry run months earlier, when Emily was hardly showing. A young man who was photographing the neighborhood houses for a piece in the Journal Courier had taken their picture. Later he’d sent them each a copy and Dorothy had phoned Emily to see how she was, and whether she’d received it too.

  She wouldn’t call Dorothy yet; she had things to do. She must attend to Sarah and make sure she was well-sedated. She’d have to clean up too, before Dorothy came over to help her. Emily left her room and walked down the silent hallway toward Sarah’s bedroom. She stood outside the door, with one final hope that Sarah would be dead when she opened the door. She turned the knob quietly allowing the silence of the room and accompanying smell of shit to fill the hallway.

  “You wretched, wretched thing. How could you leave me here alone in my own filth with no food for an entire day - where have you been? Do you think of no one but yourself?” Sarah screeched at her.

  “I’m sorry, mother. I’m not feeling well and must’ve fallen back to sleep.” Emily said.

  “You’re not feeling well, you? Look at me, here. Who’s worse off? At least you can walk and attend to your own needs. I can do nothing, but lie here,” Sarah said, her words dripping with disdain for Emily.

  “I’m sorry, Mother. I promise it won’t happen again. Now let’s get you all cleaned up and fed, shall w
e?”

  Feeling guilty for her self-indulgence, Emily made Sarah steak and potatoes for dinner and the two sat together and ate. The pains in her abdomen were getting worse, but Emily forced herself to chat through them and not show them on her face. It could take a while Dorothy said, and Emily felt comforted by Sarah’s company in these early stages. After a while though, the pains progressed and she could hide them from Sarah no longer. Since Sarah was now clean, fed and sufficiently dosed with Laudanum to ensure a good night’s sleep, Emily gathered up the dinner dishes and gave Sarah a hasty kiss on her wrinkled cheek, turned off the light and shut the door before she left.

  Emily thought she might be able to hold off a little longer. She washed the dinner dishes, changed her own sheets and tidied her own room before she finally made the call. It was well after dark and the trolleys had stopped running. Dorothy said she would borrow a friend’s car, but it could be a while. Emily settled herself back into bed with a glass of water and Ethan Frome. The pains were getting worse and she was too uncomfortable and agitated to read. She went downstairs and unlocked the door to facilitate Dorothy’s easy passage when she arrived.

  By the time Dorothy arrived, it was close to midnight and Emily was in a state of a panic. The pain was horrific, like someone was trying to pull her stomach out through her groin. Dorothy had brought clean sheets and towels. She filled a basin with water and began to wipe Emily’s brow, calming her slightly with her reassuring tone and touch. When Emily had calmed down sufficiently, Dorothy positioned her legs.

  “Emily I want you to try to push the baby out of you, like you’re taking a big shit. Can you do that? Dorothy pressed down on her friend’s abdomen.

  Emily uttered barely a groan for fear of waking Sarah.

  “Perfect – I see the baby’s head coming. Can you do it again? Dorothy instructed Emily again.

  Emily complied with Dorothy’s whispered requests.

  “I think one more.” Dorothy urged.

  With the last push emerged a beautiful baby girl.

  Dorothy whisked the healthily crying baby away from the bed, cleaning her hastily with the towels she brought and speaking soothingly to her; ignoring her friend who lay spent on the bed. She wrapped the baby tightly in one of the blankets she’d brought and nestled the quietly sleeping infant into a far corner of the room, by the door. She returned her attention to Dorothy, who delivered the afterbirth, changed the sheets of the bed with Emily still in them, turning her gently from side to side. She rolled a clean white cloth into the crouch of Emily’s panties, helped her slip them on, and tucked her in.

  “Goodbye Emily.” Dorothy turned toward the door.

  “Please, let me see her before you go.” Emily pleaded weakly.

  Dorothy gathered the sleeping infant and presented her to Emily.

  “She’s so beautiful,” Emily said.

  “Yes, she is.” Dorothy replied, leaving Emily alone in the room.

  Emily slept a long, fitful sleep, full of alarming images and dreams that awakened her and drew her back in. She would’ve been happy to sleep forever, had she not been awakened by “Emily, Em-i-ly” being called piercingly from Sarah’s room the next morning.

  Toward the End of Summer

  On a hot July day, one week after the men in white shirts with Yale University Emblems came to pick up the paintings, Crystal called to confirm the paintings were original oils. Lauren assumed a seat on a stool in her sweltering hot, red country kitchen, while Crystal told her they were all painted in the years spanning 1860 to 1885. If the paintings were copies, no originals or other copies had been located as a result of their research. The notes of the artists revealed that the paintings were purchased shortly after completion directly from the artist by a Mr. & Mrs. George Elliot of Colebrook, Connecticut. Their research didn’t uncover any reports of the paintings being lost or stolen.

  Lauren didn’t recognize the name from any paperwork provided at the house closing, but remembered that the man who had built the house was from Colebrook and perhaps was a relative of George Elliot. Lauren realized for the first time that the man who had built the house was her grandfather.

  The two remaining unidentified paintings were from the same time period, but the artist could not be found. She assured Lauren that she would continue to research these paintings. They may be from local artists who had not received any fame for their work. In any event, they were still beautiful period masterpieces. Since four of the six paintings were lawfully purchased and likely kept in the family, the remaining two were also likely lawfully obtained.

  Before she hung up, Crystal asked Lauren what she would like to do with the paintings now. Lauren hadn’t thought about this and said she would speak with Jeff and get back to her. Before she hung up, Crystal appealed to her to allow the museum to keep them as part of their permanent collection. Art should be enjoyed by the masses and it would be a shame to keep them locked up in a private home. Lauren said she would seriously consider this request and thanked Crystal for all her help. In the few seconds it took Lauren to return the phone to its cradle, she already decided, she would do exactly as Crystal asked, but had a few people she needed to speak with first.

  Mr. Jackson Returns

  Emily sat across the table from Steven watching him devour the plate of scrambled eggs she’d made. She had a million questions for him, but he hadn't said a word since he took her hand and allowed her to lead him home. And here they were - him eating eggs and she practically jumping out of her skin with the thrill of having Steven home after all these years. In all the years since Mary had died, Emily hadn't learned to cook much else. She hadn't had to. Steven pierced the remaining contents on his plate onto his fork and stuffed them into his mouth. Over his left shoulder the yellow flowered kitchen wallpaper peeled at the seams and the white paint on the windowsill had chipped to reveal the natural wood below. Steven was eating as if he hadn't eaten in months and from the look of him, that may have been the case. Emily shook her head imperceptibly, remembering how the roll of belly fat used to hang over the waist of his trousers when he leaned over his bicycle. When he cleaned his plate and downed the last of the milk in his glass, she took them from him and walked to the sink. She could feel his eyes on her back as she cleaned the dishes, her plump fingers pinkening in the hot water. With all the thoughts buzzing in her head, the one bubbling up first was her embarrassment over the black stretchy skirt she was wearing the skirt as it did nothing to hide her substantial backside.

  She'd been downtown earlier in the day in desperate need of a new pair of shoes, when she’d found him on the New Haven green. He was lying on a park bench, covered in newspaper - feeble protection against the March cold. She'd almost passed him, but something made her look at the poor homeless man and it was him. At first, it seemed like he didn't recognize her. He'd aged in the five years since her last visit to the recruitment office when they told her there was had no record of a Steven Jackson. Without any other ideas, she’d given up looking for him.

  She kept her back to him, waiting for him to speak, but he remained silent. When she finished the dishes, she wiped her hands on the dishtowel and hung it to dry on the handle of her new gas range. She’d found nearly a hundred dollars squirreled away between the floorboards and fireplace stones of Sarah’s room when she’d died two months earlier, not dramatically with a fall or laudanum overdose, but quietly in her sleep one night - probably died of a heart attack, the cute young medical examiner had said. She was close to 300 pounds when she died. The coroner’s boys had quite a time getting her out. She’d bought the range, thinking she would learn how to cook, but cooking, like many other things, never happened.

  She opened her mouth to speak to Steven, closed it again and went to her room. She picked through the pile of clothes on her floor and chair, looking for something presentable to wear. She couldn’t find another skirt, but changed into a red angora sweater and fastened pearls around her neck. She found a lipstick on her bedside table, dr
y from years of disuse, took it over to the mirror on her dresser and worked it over her withered lips. They seemed to soak up the foreign substance, becoming plumper and fuller with her repeated application. Thinking she appeared clownish, she grabbed an old handkerchief and wiped it all off.

  Emily returned to the kitchen, but Steven was no longer there. She panicked, having gotten him back, she wasn’t ready to lose him again. She glanced into each of the rooms on the second floor, and followed the stairs to Steven’s apartment.

  “Everything’s the same as I left it,” he said.

  “I was hoping you’d come back.”

  “Perhaps we should sit down?” Steven turned his back to her and walked to the front parlor where they’d gone after their first meal together two decades earlier. Emily followed. He took a deep breath before speaking. “I didn't go to war Emily, I went to jail.”

  “Jail? Where? For what?”

  “There's a lot of stuff you don't know about me.”

  “That seems obvious at this point. Why don't you fill me in?”

  “I’m not sure where to start.”

  “The beginning would be nice.”

  Steven took another deep breath and worked his mouth into a grimace. "I'm married - or I was married when I first came here in 1922.”

  “Married? All those years you lived with me in this house, and you were married?”

  “We lived in separate apartments. I didn't mean to get involved with you - it wasn't… it wasn't my plan. I came here to lie low for a few years, until they stopped looking for me. I was gonna head back up north to my family in Bathe.”

  “Family? Did you have children?”

  “Two boys.”

  “Emily got up and started pacing around the room.

  “They’re all grown up now. At least I think they are.”