The Influence (11 page)

JoAnn was touched. Becky lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the crappiest street in Casa Grande, and for her to invite JoAnn to stay with her really meant something. It was a personal sacrifice that, before today, JoAnn would not have thought her sister capable of making. “Nah, I can’t,” she said. 

“Weston, too. Both of you should come with me.” 

Becky really
was
scared. She had to be, to invite Weston. The two of them had never been able to stand each other. JoAnn felt a wave of love for her sister. 

“There’s something wrong, Jo. I feel it. Something bad’s going to happen.” 

It already did. 

“I’m serious!” Becky said angrily, reacting to the expression on JoAnn’s face. She was starting to sound like her normal self. “Despite what you think, I’m not some flake. I don’t go around…I don’t
do
stuff like this. But it’s like…like…like one of those people who has a premonition, who tells everyone to stay off the plane and then the flight goes down, killing them all. I can
feel
it, Jo. Something’s wrong here!” She seemed almost ready to cry. 

JoAnn put an arm around her sister’s shoulder. “Maybe you should go back,” she said. “If you feel this strongly, it’s probably not a good idea to stay.” 

“What about you?” 

JoAnn thought about it, and despite her sister’s fears, despite what had happened on New Year’s Eve, she actually felt…better. In fact, she felt more optimistic than she had in months. Both personally, with Weston, and at work, things were going well. Very well. And she expected them to improve even more. New Year’s Eve had been horrifying, but it was as though that had acted as some sort of catalyst. That had been the low point and now things were looking up. As strange as it might seem, as illogical as it was, she felt happy, happier than she could remember being in a very long time. 

“Well?” Becky demanded. 

JoAnn smiled at her sister, gave her a big hug. “Call me when you get home.”  

TEN 

Ross was in Lita’s kitchen, borrowing milk for the Pasta Roni he planned to make for lunch, when the phone rang. He debated whether or not he should answer, but it could be Lita or Dave. It might even be an emergency. They might be stranded on the highway somewhere. Maybe they’d tried to call his cell or the line in the shack and been unable to reach him.  

He picked up the phone. “Hello?” 

“Hello. Is this Ross?” 

He didn’t recognize the woman’s voice. “Yes,” he said. 

“This is Jill. From the farmer’s market?” 

“Oh, hi!” Ross was happier to hear from her than he was willing to admit. He’d thought about her several times over the past two days, and he’d found himself hoping that he’d see her at the market next week. While they hadn’t exchanged phone numbers, she obviously knew Lita’s, and he was impressed that she’d made the effort to call him. 

“Are you busy?” she asked. 

“No, not at all.” 

“Do you have time to talk?” 

“Sure.” He put the milk back in the refrigerator.  

“I mean tonight.” 

He smiled. “Are you asking me out on a date?” 

“I guess I am.” 

Ross thought about that for a second. He didn’t recall seeing any restaurants, and there definitely wasn’t a movie theater in Magdalena. “Is there anywhere around here to
go
on a date?”  

She laughed. “No. Not really. But I thought I’d invite you over for a home-cooked meal. We could talk, get to know each other…” 

“That sounds great,” he admitted. 

There must have been an implied caveat in his voice. “But?” Jill prompted.  

“How about a rain check?” 

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Okay.” 

“Lita and Dave are getting back today, and I should really—”  

There was the sound of a car pulling into the dirt outside. 

“Hold on, I think they’re here now.” Ross looked out the window. 

“I’ll call back later,” Jill said. 

“I can still talk. You don’t need to—” 

“I’ll call back later.” 

He was sorrier to say goodbye to her than he had any right to be, but he hung up the phone and went out to greet Lita and Dave. They were both getting out of the car, and they both looked tired. Lita gave him a wan smile. Dave nodded solemnly. Ross didn’t know what to say—asking about their trip seemed too trivial, and they were probably not in the mood to discuss anything heavy right now—so he simply helped them carry their bags into the house then left them alone. “I’ll come back later,” he said. “When you’re settled in.” 

Outside the shack, four hens were standing sentry in front of his door. They had somehow escaped from their enclosure and glared at him belligerently. He felt an irrational flash of fear as he looked at the animals, arrayed in an almost perfect semi-circle and facing outward. 

This wasn’t right. 

He considered shooing them away, kicking out at them as he went into the guest house, but he knew that no matter how much money they had coming their way, Lita and, especially, Dave, would not want him to damage any of their laying hens. Ross was too afraid to pick them up, however, so he hurriedly returned to the house to get Dave, who quickly got a box out of the shed and took each of the birds, one by one, feathers flying, back into the enclosure, while Ross stood near the front door to make sure none of the chickens tried to run away. 

“I wonder how they got out,” Dave mused. “The gate was locked, and I don’t see any breaks in the fence.” He turned to Ross. “Egg production still down?” 

“To almost nothing.” He explained about the odd eggs he’d stored in the cellar and described the overly aggressive behavior of the birds. 

“Yeah, I thought they were acting a little weird, too. We’d better keep an eye on them.” Dave clapped a hand on his back. “Thanks for all your help, Ross. Seriously.” 

“No problem,” he said. He’d offered his condolences after first hearing about the death of Dave’s parents, and he thought it was appropriate to do so again, after the funeral, but Dave was already striding across the yard toward the Big House.  

Later, Ross thought, and walked into the shack. 

Outside, he heard the hens squawking, their agitated voices blending together in a way that sounded almost like human conversation. 

Jill called back after an hour and a half, and she talked to Lita, who came over to the shack and told Ross that he was going out on a date tonight. “I talked to Jill,” she said. “It’s all arranged.” 

“What?” He shook his head, confused. 

“I was afraid you might try to weasel out of it, so I accepted on your behalf. You’ll meet her at her place at six. I have the directions.”  

“Weasel out of it?” 

“I know you.” She leaned against the doorjamb, a smile playing across her lips. “So…do you like her?” 

“I barely know her.” 

“You could do worse,” she said. 

He thought of the summer after fifth grade, when Lita’s family had come to visit and they’d gone to Big Surf, which boasted a wave-making machine that created waves in its lagoon just like those of a real beach. On the sand, he’d seen Shauna Boyd, a girl from his class, lying on a blanket next to her older sister, getting a tan. Shauna was a little bit chubby, and some of the boys made fun of her for that, but Ross had a crush on her, though it was not something to which he would ever admit. Seeing her in a bathing suit, he thought she looked wonderful. His brother Rick, having seen where he was looking, burst out laughing. “Break out the harpoons!” he cried. “Whale ashore!” Ross had felt sick to his stomach, but he hadn’t been brave enough to defend Shauna, and he’d even forced himself to smile at Rick’s joke so his brother would think he was cool. Lita had scowled at Rick. “Jerk.” She put an arm around Ross’ shoulder. “Go talk to her. Apologize for your brother. 

“You could do worse,” she added. 

But he hadn’t been brave enough to approach her, and Shauna had hated him until she moved away in eighth grade. 

He’d been grateful for Lita’s intercession, though, and her understanding, and he smiled at her now. “Still looking out for me, huh?” 

“Always.”  

An image flashed in his mind, the image from his dream: Lita, squatting over him, naked. He looked away, his face hot with shame, wondering how and why he could even have thought of such a thing.  

“Lita!” Dave was calling her from the Big House. 

“Coming!” she called back. “Six o’clock,” she told Ross. “Her place.” 

He left a half-hour early, not secure enough in his knowledge of local geography to risk setting out any later, though Lita told him when she handed over the address and directions that it was less than five minutes away. It took him about ten minutes to navigate the dirt roads that led to her small house, and, as a result, he arrived with twenty minutes to spare. He contemplated driving around for a bit, but figured he’d probably been seen already through the windows. Leaving after that, even if only for a little while, would seem weird, so he pulled into her driveway behind the battered Ford Econoline already parked there. 

Jill lived in a small cul-de-sac just east of Magdalena’s main street, in the shadow of the chimney-shaped mountain with the white “M” on its slope. There were five houses arranged in a semi-circle, and hers was one of three facing away from the mountain, looking out over the desert. He hadn’t realized that the road had climbed, so gradual was its slope, but now that he was here, he found that he could look down upon the church, off to his left. 

Jill
had
seen him, and she emerged from the house just as he was closing his car door. It occurred to him that he should have brought some sort of gift, a bottle of wine maybe, but it was too late for that now and, feeling embarrassed, he greeted her empty handed. 

Jill gave him a quick friendly hug. “Welcome to my home,” she said. “Come in. I hope you like pasta.” 

“Sure. Of course. Who doesn’t.” He cringed inwardly at his own awkwardness. “I would’ve brought something—” he began. 

“I invited
you
. Remember? You don’t need to bring anything.” 

“Still…” He followed her inside. 

Jill’s house was small but creatively furnished. Like the other four residences on the cul-de-sac, it had on the outside a prefab look, almost like one of those double-wide trailers, but inside she had used the limited space wisely and decorated her home with an imaginative hodgepodge of styles and colors: an old steamer trunk being used as a coffeetable sat in front of an orange 1950s couch, next to which stood what appeared to be a fake streetlamp. There was supposed to be a dining room—although it was little more than a wide passage connecting the living room with the kitchen—but as might be expected from someone whose hobby was baking cookies, Jill had made it into
part
of the kitchen, equipping it with a freestanding butcher’s block on which sat a well-used rolling pin, and a Hoosier cabinet with a built-in flour sifter. Though the area opened onto the living room, the lines of demarcation were clear. 

Ross looked around admiringly. “Nice place,” he said. 

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.” 

“No, I’m serious. It’s very creative. Even when I
had
a place to live, it didn’t look this nice. I have no imagination.” He examined a cactus growing in a giant pop-art Planter’s Peanuts container. “You could be an interior decorator.” 

“Thank you,” she said, honestly appreciating the compliment. She smiled. “I think I was right about you.” 

The air smelled of garlic and herbs, and Jill led him through the doorway into the heart of the kitchen, where a huge pot of red pasta sauce was simmering on the stove. “I figured I might as well make enough to last awhile,” she explained. “Since I’m going to all this trouble. Not that you’re trouble,” she added quickly. “I just meant—” 

He laughed. “I know.” 

“Here. Sit down.” She pulled out a chair from the table in the center of the kitchen. 

“Do you need some help?” he asked. “Is there anything I can do?” 

“No. I prefer to be a Lone Ranger. Sit.” 

Ross sat down, watching as she put a pot of water on the stove for the pasta and then started making a salad. He could have felt guilty, probably should have felt guilty, but he didn’t. It was comfortable here, easy, and for a first date, he felt remarkably relaxed.  

“Any more snake sightings?” he asked. 

“That one on my front step? I haven’t seen him, but he’s still around somewhere. Hopefully not in the house. A crow slammed into my bedroom window this morning, though. He didn’t crack it, but he was stunned enough to fall on the ground, and when I peeked out to see what had happened, Puka, my still-missing dog, zoomed out of nowhere, grabbed the crow and hauled off into the hills.” She smiled. “So what’s new with you?” 

They talked of Magdalena, and the conversation came easily. She seemed genuinely unnerved by odd events she saw going on around the town—the subject that had inspired their initial contact. He had to admit that he, too, had some questions, but, her concerns went much deeper, and Ross wondered if she was religious.  

“The thing is,” she said, “I think something happened, something to precipitate all this. I don’t know what, don’t know when, don’t know how, but even with some of my friends it’s like they’re keeping something from me, like they all know something they’ve sworn to keep secret.” 

“Come on. You don’t think that sounds a little paranoid?” 

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But just because you’re paranoid—” 

“—doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you?” 

“Exactly.” Jill put down the knife with which she’d been cutting tomatoes and looked to her left. “Oh. I almost forgot. Would you like some wine?” She picked up a stemmed glass and a bottle of pinot. 

“Yes, thank you,” he said. 

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I’m a terrible host. Can you tell I don’t do this much?” 

“Not at all,” he said in an extravagantly exaggerated voice, and they both laughed.  

Ross took a sip from the wine glass she handed him and nodded his approval. She took a sip of her own and went back to making the salad.