Closer Home (22 page)

“Your mom has some new artwork in the hallway.” The words come out before I’m sure I want to say them.

“You noticed.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing.”

I don’t know what to say to that. We’re in some sort of weird space betwixt and between. Not lovers, not friends. Those kisses demand answers, and neither one of us seems to have any. Callie looms, larger than life. I don’t need to say her name; I know she’s there for him, too. And it’s her ghost that keeps me from crossing the space between us and stepping back into his arms.

Mr. Elliot rescues us. “Grub’s on. You all coming?” He smiles at Ariel and the dog. I’m pretty sure that his sharp gaze hasn’t missed the tension between me and Dale, but he ignores it. “You want to give George his dinner?” he asks.

At the magic word, the dog abandons Ariel and trots over to sit at his master’s feet, his tail thumping loudly on the floor.

“Sure.” Ariel follows the two of them out of the room.

Dale looks like he’s going to say something, but then he turns and heads for the dining room. Dinner is meatloaf and mashed potatoes, apple pie for dessert. All this, and she never knew we were coming.

Ariel eats like she’s never seen food before. I alternate between ravenous hunger and a lump in my throat that makes it hard to swallow even one bite.

“I hope that camera guy won’t give you any more trouble,” Mr. Elliot says, swallowing the last bite of his second piece of pie and shoving his chair back from the table. “Can’t believe he followed you all the way up here.”

“We’re just lucky there aren’t more of them,” Dale answers. “Wasn’t easy getting away from the motel.”

“Why don’t you and Ariel both stay here?” Mrs. Elliot asks, smiling at me. “So much safer than your place in town. And now that you and Dale are finally together . . .” She actually clasps her hands, looking from one to the other of us and beaming. “I’ve always thought of you as family, Annelise. Callie, too, of course. Even when you were wee little things, I always thought one of you would marry Dale.”

Ariel pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth, eyes flickering from Mrs. Elliot to me to Dale. I barely manage to keep my gaze focused on my plate, dissecting a bite of meatloaf as if it’s the most important action in the world.

I can’t say it’s all a lie. I don’t know what it is. My feelings are all over the map and not to be trusted.

“Mom,” Dale says. There’s a warning note in his voice, something close to a growl. She just smiles at him indulgently, like he’s six.

“Oh, of course. Likely you’re not talking about marriage. But that’s okay. Annelise is still welcome to stay. There’s the couch. Or, modern times being what they are—”

“I really need to check on my place,” I break in. “I’ve been gone for over a week. Just want to make sure everything’s okay.”

“I’ll drive you home,” Dale says.

This was not precisely what I had in mind. My stomach twists and flutters, and there goes the rest of my appetite.

“You’ve hardly touched your food,” Mrs. Elliot clucks, shaking her head. “Poor child, you must be exhausted. And Ariel almost falling asleep over her plate. We need to get you both squared away, get some rest. Ariel can sleep in the loft. Are you absolutely sure you won’t just stay here, Annelise?”

“I need to go home,” I say, quickly before she can suggest again that I share a bed with Dale.

“Oh, but honey, you must be so exhausted. And those picture people . . .”

I want to point out that those picture people took the photo she’s got hanging in the hallway, but I keep my mouth shut for once. “I’ve been living out of a suitcase for a week. I really just want to go home.”

“I’m going with you.” Ariel’s eyes are at half-mast. She looks a little dazed, but I recognize the stubborn set of her jaw, the way her lips are compressed. Uncanny how Callie’s moods can show up on such a different set of features. It’s probably safer for her here than in town, but I’m too tired to argue.

Dale sees it, too. He pushes back his chair. “I’ll take you both. Thanks, Ma.” He drops a kiss on his mother’s forehead. “Guess Dad will have to help you with the dishes.”

“Take my truck,” Mr. Elliot says. “You can do something with that car in the morning.”

“Hopefully, the idiots aren’t blocking the road and we can get through.” Dale looks at me. “You wanna take George? He’ll make intruders think twice.”

“Yes,” Ariel answers for me.

At the mention of his name, the dog gets up, stretches, and pads over to the table, snuffling around beneath the chairs for crumbs before settling down beside Ariel’s chair for her to pet his head and scratch his ears.

“Dog’s not allowed at the table,” Mr. Elliot says, but not like he means it. His face softens every time he looks at Ariel.

Half an hour later, my plan to get away alone for the night has been thoroughly shot to hell. George rides in his accustomed spot in the back of the pickup. Ariel has the window seat, and I’m crammed into the middle, feet straddling the hump and the stick shift. The truck smells of wood and engine grease, familiar and comforting, but I’m anything but relaxed. I’m only inches away from Dale. His strong hand rests on the knob of the gearshift, so close, yet so out of my reach. Every time he shifts gears, his arm brushes against mine.

My hands keep knotting into fists. I consciously relax them, but a minute later they’re all curled up again. Dale’s window is cracked open, even though the night air in May is cold. It makes me shiver, but I don’t mind. I feel like I’m suffocating, and the sweet green smell of spring helps, a little.

“So what are you going to tell her?” Ariel asks.

“Who? About what?”

She doesn’t accept my deflection. “Mrs. Elliot. About the two of you.”

Dale doesn’t answer. I risk a glance in his direction and don’t know what to make of the hard line of his jaw or the way his eyes are fixed on the road.

“Nothing,” I say finally.

The truck rocks through a mess of deep ruts, throwing me hard against Dale’s shoulder. It takes a minute to right myself. I can’t stop thinking about that last kiss or worrying about the distance between us now.

Dale slows the truck to a crawl as the giant mudhole appears in the sweep of the headlights.

“Looks like your friends weren’t wolf food after all.”

No more stuck car, but a mess of tire tracks remains as evidence that the tow truck came and went. My relief surprises me. Both that the camera guys are gone from here, and that they’re probably both okay. Death doesn’t need any more victims.

“Are there really wolves?” Ariel asks again.

“Rumors of them,” Dale answers. “Haven’t heard them howling or seen any myself.”

“What else is there?” She sounds like a kid who has heard too many ghost stories around a campfire, and I suddenly see this road through her eyes. Deep darkness like she’s probably never seen before in her city world. Nothing illuminated but a sweep of rough dirt road and thick trees.

“Deer,” Dale says, missing the tremor in her voice. “Bears, mountain lions, coyotes.”

“Mostly deer,” I tell her. “Especially in town. Be more worried about the paparazzi than the wolves.”

She relaxes, little by little. By the time we turn onto the smoothness of pavement she’s asleep, her head leaning against the window. Dale drives my street twice, end to end, looking for suspicious vehicles. Sure enough, a very muddy white car with Nevada plates is parked across the street and down a ways, as far as possible from the nearest streetlamps.

“You can’t stay here,” he says. “They’ll never leave you alone.”

“Hard to take a picture in the dark.” My voice sounds calm, but my insides are quaking. I can’t make the shivering stop, even with my arms wrapped tight around my chest to hold myself together. The nerve thrills in my left hand are close to pain.
They’re not going to hurt me,
I tell myself.
It’s just pictures.
But they have already turned my world upside down. I squeeze my eyes shut to make the car go away, but behind my lids I see all of the cars and panel vans from the motel blocking my street, cameras flashing.

“You have keys to the old house?” Dale asks.

I nod, not trusting my voice. “Fingers crossed they’re not onto that one yet.”

Dale drives to the end of the street, takes a left, and heads across town. No headlights follow us. Everything is quiet and peaceful, but then so was the motel in Pasco before we fell asleep. My head aches deep behind my eyes. Resentment toward Callie rises up until it feels like it’s going to choke me.

She got me into this. And it’s looking like there’s no way out.

The street in front of the old house is empty. There’s a car in the driveway at the Stillwells’, but it’s an old, familiar Subaru with Washington plates. Lights glow behind drapes up and down the street. Most of my neighbors have been here for as long as I can remember. Some of them watched me and Callie grow up through their living-room windows. Good people, but they hold a new level of threat for me. Every one of them will want to hug me, talk about Callie, ask about the funeral.

As for the house, it’s in a sad state of limbo. There’s a “For Sale” sign up on the lawn. Mom’s been in the nursing home for a year now, and the sign has been up nearly that long. My realtor tells me it would sell if I’d just lower my price. I know he’s right. I know a house shouldn’t be empty, but the thought of facing up to the memories and emotions packing up will trigger is too much for me. Even Callie’s belongings haven’t been touched since she moved out sixteen years ago. One of my students cleans the place once a week. I’ve hired another to mow the lawn in summer and shovel snow in winter. I swing by on Tuesdays and Thursdays to check on things, flush the toilets, run the water, but it’s still looking neglected and empty. An abandoned house gets to feeling sorry for itself, Mr. Elliot always says.

Dale gets out of the truck and opens the tailgate for George, who bounds out and starts investigating the yard with his nose. Ariel wakes up, her cheek reddened, a line indented into it. Her eyes are still dazed and she moves like a sleepwalker. The front door sticks, like it always does. Dad planned on fixing it but never got around to it.

Ariel sways on her feet, and I put an arm around her shoulders to steady her. “We need to get you to bed.”

I walk her upstairs and tuck her into Callie’s old bed. George flops down on the floor, chin on his paws. When I invite him to come back down with me, he thumps his tail politely but declines to move.

Dale is waiting by the front door.

“You know that dog is going to end up in the bed,” he says. “Not sure about his status with fleas.”

I shrug. “Seems maybe she needs something more than a teddy bear. Thanks for bringing us.”

Dale puts a hand on the doorknob. “I think you’ll be safe here. If you have any problems, call one of the neighbors. Wait, you don’t have your cell.”

“Landline is still hooked up.”

He gives me a long look. “It’s been a year. You’re still paying that?”

I shrug but don’t meet his eyes.

“Gonna be even harder now to let it go.”

“I keep thinking maybe I’ll move back in. It would make financial sense.”

He shakes his head. “Sometimes holding on to things isn’t the best idea. Make sure you lock up tight. And don’t worry about Mom, I’ll talk to her.”

A couple of hours ago, this is what I thought I wanted. Now the only thing I’m sure of is that I don’t want him to go, but I can’t ask him to stay. So I do something I never thought I’d do. I cross the space between us and kiss him.

His lips answer mine, but his body remains rigid and unbending. His arms don’t come up to hold me. When I pull back to look up at him, his eyes are misery. He swallows hard, then shakes his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Dale . . .”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you that first time. Opened up a whole big can of worms.”

The world spins around me, but I dredge up a shaky laugh from somewhere. “It’s not like I objected.”

“I can’t do this, Lise. All these years . . .”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing. The silence stretches until breaking it feels like it’s going to take an act of Congress.

Dale’s the one who finally breaks the silence. “She’s here. She’s everywhere. In your head. In mine. Every time I look at Ariel, I . . .” His voice breaks and he turns his back on me. “Make sure you lock up tight. Windows, too.”

I stare in disbelief as the door closes behind him.
You can’t walk away from this. From me. You started it!
Everything peaceful and happy as friends, and then he has to go and stir it all up again.
It’s not fair!
I know I sound like a child. Fair has nothing to do with this. Maybe he’s loved her all these years. I don’t know. So what the hell was that kiss about?

Tears well up, but I’m sick to death of them and I brush them away. I’m so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open. Things will look clearer in the morning, after a good night’s sleep.

I climb the stairs without turning on a light. There’s no need. My body knows them by rote. Our old bedroom hasn’t changed much since Callie left. I never moved the beds or the dressers. I’ve grown used to her absence over the years, but tonight her memory is everywhere. Enough light from the street seeps in through open blinds to make the two twin beds visible, and the blanket-wrapped body in Callie’s stops me cold in the doorway. Exactly how she always slept, wrapped up like a giant burrito with her feet hanging out. When she was little, sometimes I would unwrap her head and put the blanket over her properly, but an hour later she’d have wriggled her way back to the way she started.

George lies across the foot of the bed. He looks up at me and his tail thumps twice, but he doesn’t offer to move.

It’s Ariel.
Callie’s dead.
But my heart keeps fluttering. My hands feel like ice. Step by slow step, I cross the room. When I peel back the blanket, I half-expect to see a ghostly, moldering Callie, but it’s Ariel’s heat-reddened face and blonde hair on the pillow. She mutters something unintelligible and rolls onto her belly. I replace the blanket over her head, and she settles with a long sigh.