Authors: Sara Rosett
“That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard someone say about their marriage.” I jumped up, skipped over his ankles, yanked his door shut, and flew down the stairs.
When I entered the living room, Abby raised her eyebrows, as if to ask where I had been, but she didn’t move from the card table with craft supplies. Her jar was painted with wildflowers and now she was gluing lace around the edge. I was about to make the first move to leave when the doorbell rang. Since I was closest, I opened it. Who would arrive an hour late?
A woman in her fifties stood on the porch. Cigarette smoke drifted in the door. When she saw me her smile faded. “Di?” She asked hesitantly, then looked past me into the house and said with relief, “Oh, a party.” She took a last drag on her cigarette, dropped it, and crushed it with the heel of her purple tennis shoe before stepping inside.
Her short, flaming red hair extended in every direction around her face, but the back was flattened against her head. She had that artificial dark tan that makes me automatically think tanning bed. Her lined face showed her smoking and “sun worshipping” were not recent activities. Small eyes, rimmed in thick black liner, scanned faces as she chewed the remnants of scarlet lipstick. She adjusted her fuchsia wind suit trimmed in gold braid, then gripped my arm and said in a wave of cigarette and alcohol breath, “I’m Di’s mother Vera. Where is she?” She smiled, revealing yellow teeth. This had to be a joke. The thought of Diana and Vera being even loosely related was too far-fetched to be true. I realized the room had gone quiet.
“Diana,” I called as I turned around. Diana froze in the door of the kitchen, a dish towel knotted in her hands.
“Di!” Vera flew across the room and enveloped Diana in a hug. Diana stood as motionless as a fence post.
When Vera released her, Diana said in a low voice, “What are you doing here?”
“Just dropping in for a visit.”
“But you live in California.” Diana’s voice was angry and what else? Annoyed, embarrassed?
“I sold the mobile home and bought a Winnebago!” Vera grabbed Diana’s arm and pulled her to the front window. “See, there it is. Since you never come visit me, I figured I could see the country and come visit you. You won’t have to worry about anything. I’ll stay right there in Winnie! That’s what I call it. A thing that big needs a name, like a ship.”
For a moment I thought Diana might pass out, but she seemed to remember there were people vividly watching the reunion. She smiled and said in a tight voice, “The kids are spending the night at a friend’s house, but let me go find Brent and tell him you’re here. Help yourself to something to eat.” She hurried up the stairs and the room suddenly seemed too quiet. At once the wives went back to their crafts and food, talking a little too loudly and shooting covert glances at Vera, who went to the buffet and filled a plate with her shoulders drooping. I can’t stand to see someone with their feelings hurt, so when Vera sat down on the couch, I sat down beside her and asked her what part of California she was from.
“Everywhere.” She smiled, but her eyes were shiny. “I’ve never much liked to stay in one place. Diana. She likes to be called Diana now. I’d forgotten that.” Vera shook her head. “I can’t call her anything but Di.” They must not have been in touch for a long time if Vera didn’t remember what name her daughter liked to use. Jill arrived with coffee for Vera.
“What kind of gig is this? One of those parties where you try to sell crap like baskets or candles?”
Jill explained about the spouse coffee and the activities connected with the squadron.
Vera said, “I remember when she met Brent at a tennis tournament. She was so excited. An officer! She thinks she’s so different from me, but look at her life. Moving around every few years, just like her ma. She’s not so different.” Vera patted her pockets and pulled out a worn quilted cigarette case and a lighter. She looked around for an ashtray, but didn’t find one, so she used her empty plate instead. She blew out a long stream of smoke toward the ceiling.
Diana and Brent clattered down the stairs and I stood up with relief and moved out of the cigarette aura. Brent gave his mother-in-law an awkward air kiss near her cheek. Diana waved away the cigarette smoke and strode off to the kitchen with the ash-filled dish. The meeting broke up and Abby and I escaped. No one seemed to want to linger, but I didn’t think the family reunion was going to be that pleasant after the company left.
We crunched quickly through the piles of leaves on the sidewalk. “So where did you disappear to?” Abby asked.
“I went upstairs to find a bathroom and ran into Brent. There was something … I don’t know what it was, but something about that conversation with Brent tonight that bothered me,” I said.
Abby snorted, “Brent’s smarminess?”
“No, it was something else, but I can’t figure it out.”
“Did you know he latched onto me at the barbeque after you left The Hole?” Abby made a face. “I couldn’t get away from him. Finally, I told him to back off.”
I wished I could be so bold. “What do some women see in him?” I asked.
Abby shrugged. “Irene, you know, the fluffy blond one, I saw her at the Comm. She couldn’t stop talking about him. She says he’s the squadron heartthrob. ‘It’s his energy. The tension vibrates off of him.’ You can stop laughing. She did say it just like that.”
“In that same breathless way?”
“Yes.” Abby’s defensive face broke into a smile. “It cracked me up too, at the time. I think he’s a jerk.”
“You weren’t with him when he met me in the hall at the parking lot door,” I said to Abby.
“No, I don’t know where he went after I ditched him.”
So there was a window of time he was unaccounted for. Maybe alone in the parking lot before Mitch went out there. “What about Diana? I wonder if she stayed in the squad.”
“I don’t know, but I did see her while Brent was hanging around me. She didn’t say anything, just stood on the other side of the room and gave him the evil eye over the rim of her Coke.”
At that moment, a rumbling sound came from the darkness beside me, then I collided with a dark green trash can. Helen’s tiny, stooped form emerged from behind it. She clutched her flat chest. “Oh, it’s just you girls. You gave me a fright. I thought you were the Peeping Tom.”
“What?”
“Well, you see, I forgot to put my trash can out before dark, and I’ve been inside fretting about it. The truck comes at different times. I’m afraid I’ll miss getting it out. So I finally decided to run it out here as fast
as I could and get back inside. So sorry I bumped you. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Helen, this is Abby, a friend of mine.” I performed the introduction and crossed my arms to keep warm in the frigid air.
“What Peeping Tom?” Abby asked.
“That man over there. He’s been parking there for days. He leaves in the middle of the night and comes back early in the morning.” Helen flapped her hand at a gray Ford parked a little up the street. “In fact,” her voice stopped quivering and grew stronger, “I’m getting damn tired of worrying about what he’s going to do next. I’m going to tell him to get out of here, or I’m calling the police.”
“Helen, don’t. That’s not a good idea,” I said.
“You girls are here. He won’t do anything with witnesses.” Helen was spry for her age. Before I could grab her arm, she trotted off across the street and banged on the driver’s window. “Get out of here or I’m calling the police,” she shouted.
We crossed the street. “Helen, let’s go inside,” I said.
“He’s ignoring me. Won’t even look at me!” She jerked on the handle, the door opened, and a bundle thudded into the street at our feet. A human bundle.
If a moving company is packing your household goods, find out what items they will not pack. Banned items usually include
Plan to move these things yourself, give them away, or dispose of them.
A
bby put her arm around Helen and pulled her back. I tentatively touched the pale wrist a few inches from my ankle. Cold. I jerked my hand back and said, “Let’s go back to your house, Helen. We need to call the police.”
She nodded and leaned into Abby as they crossed the street. In her living room, she collapsed into her threadbare rocker-recliner. “You call.” She pointed to an early cordless phone. “I’m too shaky.”
I picked up a phone the size of a brick and dialed. Abby watched out the window until the first flashing light disturbed the still street and then she went to make coffee.
An officer arrived, took our names, got the basic facts, and said he’d return. In the kitchen, Abby opened
and closed cabinet doors. “Did you see his face?” I asked. “The man that fell out of the car?”
She paused with a coffee filter in her hand. “No.”
“I did when I checked for a pulse. It was his profile. I think it was the man who talked to Gwen in Tate’s.”
“Oh, boy. We’re a few houses down from Gwen and Steven’s.” She added two more scoops of coffee. “It’s going to be a long night.”
I moved a rusted push mower over an inch to make room for a wheelbarrow brimming with water hoses and decrepit gardening tools. It was Friday, one day until G-Day, garage sale day, and I was in my garage trying to make room for the old baby strollers, knickknacks, and beat-up furniture that had been dropped off during the last few days in preparation for the garage sale. I knew some early bird bargain hunter would knock on my door at six tomorrow, asking to look around “real quick.” I paused to rub my eyes. I was still tired from my late night with the police two nights ago. They had more questions than I could answer.
Today was overcast and chilly, so I’d kept one of the garage doors closed. Livvy snoozed limply in the compartment of the front carrier. She jerked at the screech of tires in our driveway but didn’t wake up. I went outside. Jill slammed her car door and hurried down the sloping driveway to me. She said a breathless greeting and dropped two grocery bags inside the garage. “Last minute donations,” she explained on her way back to her car. I stood still in her flurry of motion. “It took me forever to get up Rim Rock Road. Some sort of accident had traffic backed up for miles. I’m behind schedule now.” She pulled two card tables from her trunk and
carried them inside. On her way back she paused beside me, pulled a tiny notebook from her fanny pack, and checked her watch. “I was supposed to pick up some more dishes from Gwen for tomorrow, but I’m not going to make it to the bank if I do that. Run over there and pick them up for me, will you?”
It was more a command than a request. Jill, already walking backward to her car, flung instructions as she went. “It’s third from the corner on Twentieth. Brick, red door, black trim, and shutters. Everything is in boxes on the back porch. No one’s home. Just grab it and go. Thanks.” She hopped in the car and roared out of the driveway, barely missing Mabel, who was on her walk. Mabel waved to me, never breaking her stride, which sent her orange poncho fluttering out behind her.
I set up the tables and arranged the last-minute items, muttering under my breath the whole time. I need to learn to say “no” more often. Of course, Jill hadn’t given me a chance to get a word in edgewise.
I was too polite. I need to learn to interrupt. I sighed and went to get my keys. “Two more days,” I muttered, “and this will be over.” I gently transferred Livvy from the carrier to her bed with only a few grunts and a half-cry. A miracle.
On my way out, I leaned over Mitch’s shoulder. “I’m going to pick up some last-minute donations. Livvy is sleeping.” He was off this afternoon: no flying and no paperwork to be done in the squadron. One of the benefits of being active duty was that he had a lot of time off from the squadron, which helped to balance his weeks-long TDY trips and his ever lengthening deployments. In the middle of paying bills, he dropped his pen on the open checkbook and turned to me. “Where are you going?”
“Just up a few blocks. Then I’m going to run by the grocery store. We’re out of milk again.” I didn’t want to mention Gwen’s house. He probably wouldn’t want me to go there by myself, but no one was home. I wanted to get everything for this garage sale done and over. And a little time to myself would be great. Leisurely shopping at the store sounded heavenly. I never thought I would think of going to the grocery store as a relaxing escape, but that’s motherhood for you. I gave Mitch a quick kiss, said, “I love you,” grabbed my funky patchwork tote bag, and shrugged into my hooded coat in case it rained.
Cruising up Twentieth Street, I passed Brent and Diana’s house. The Winnebago was gone. I wondered if Vera had decided to keep touring the country after the limp welcome from her daughter, or if house-proud Diana had found her somewhere else to park the monster. I found Gwen’s house, backed in the driveway of the detached garage, and quickly loaded the boxes into the back of the Cherokee. I didn’t want to spend any more time here than I absolutely had to. I shoved in the boxes between the box I needed to drop off at Diana’s and several packages of bulbs and seeds I’d wanted to plant. I’d meant to give Brent’s box to Mitch to take to the squadron, but I kept forgetting. I’d drop it off at Diana’s on the way home from the store. I slammed the hatchback door, rounded the corner of the Cherokee, and ran into Gwen.
“Oh, Ellie, it’s you.” She grabbed the door handle to steady herself. “I didn’t recognize the Cherokee and I came out to see what was going on.” She made no move to let me get to the driver’s door, but she looked just as startled and uneasy as I felt. “I was expecting Jill. As long as you’re here why don’t you come inside and have
a cup of coffee? I’d like to talk to you.” She glanced inside the tinted windows of the Cherokee. “Your daughter’s not with you?” she asked as she turned and headed back to the small porch at the back of the house.
“No, she’s with Mitch right now. In fact, I’d better call him.” I whipped out my cell phone from the console in the Cherokee and dialed home. If Gwen wanted to talk, I wanted to hear what she had to say, but I didn’t want to go into her house alone, especially after she checked to make sure I was alone. And I wasn’t going to mention the body in the street.