Chapter 56
Morning was Sheila’s favorite part of the day. She loved her run; the hour or so she took to clear her mind and get her body moving was like meditation or prayer for her. But this morning she was excited that Donna would be home for the week. Her daughter, who had given them such fits as a teenager, was now a star student at Carnegie Mellon University, where she was majoring in design. She was getting good grades and applying for internships, doing everything she should be in order to keep up that scholarship.
Rusty, Sheila’s oldest son, was sitting at the kitchen table when she walked in, his earbuds in his ears, listening to music. He looked up, smiled, and nodded. He planned to go to the local community college and major in business, wanting to join Steve’s company. He was a great guide and knew the mountains almost as well as his dad. It was a solid plan. Sheila liked that.
Steve was in the living room with Gerty, their fifteen-year-old daughter, watching the morning news. She waved at them as she ran up the stairs to get her shower.
Sheila was feeling better today. After a few days at home, in her own bed, surrounded by most of her family and friends, she felt more at ease. She had even talked herself out of thinking the man she spotted the other day was the creepy guy from the cruise. She had a doctor’s appointment today, as a precaution, to check her over post-concussion. After that, as far as she was concerned, good riddance to bad vibes about the cruise. She had plenty of time to talk to Steve about the new job opportunities. David’s Designs was giving her until the end of January to sign on.
Showered and dressed, Sheila was ready for her and Steve’s day of last minute Christmas shopping. Christmas was still two days away, Sheila told herself; no need to panic.
“Hon, you ready?” Steve called up the stairs.
“Yes, yes. I’m looking for my purse. I don’t see it up here.”
She came down the stairs.
“Do you need your purse?” Steve said.
“Yes, I do,” Sheila said.
“I don’t see it in here, Mom,” Rusty called to her.
“Let me think,” she said, sifting through her memories of the past few days. When was the last time she had seen her purse? “Ah-ha,” she said. “It’s in the basement.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “I’ll meet you in the car,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her.
Sheila looked over at Gerty. “We’ll be back soon, honey. Call your dad’s cell if you need anything. Mine is probably dead.”
She descended the basement stairs, flipped on a light switch, and gasped. Her uber-organized scrapbooking room had been tousled. What the hell?
Papers were splayed all over the floors, embellishments scattered everywhere. Her eyes traveled along a path of red paper to her glass sliding door, where there was a crumpled heap at its edge. There was someone in her basement, lying on the floor!
She backed up the stairs, her legs trembling, heart pounding against her rib cage. This could not be. This could not be.
Backing up, she smacked into a body coming up behind her, causing her to scream.
“Mom?” Rusty said. “You okay?”
She swallowed and tried to breath, which took way too much coordination than what she had at the moment.
“Get your father,” she managed to say.
“What’s wrong?” he said, and started to go down the stairs.
“No!” she said. “Get your father.”
“Mom?” Gerty was off the couch now and headed toward Sheila.
“Get back, both of you,” Sheila hissed. “There’s someone in the basement.” She closed the door behind her.
“I’ll call nine-one-one,” Gerty said.
Rusty was out the door to get his father in a split second. Steve came back in the house, bewildered and holding his keys, jingling in the sudden silence. Then came Gerty’s voice: “Yes, that’s the right address.”
“What is it?”
“There’s someone in the basement,” Sheila said.
“In our basement?”
She nodded.
“What are they doing?” Steve asked. He was moving toward the gun cabinet.
“Just . . . just lying there,” Sheila said between breaths.
“The police are on their way,” Gerty said. “Mom? You okay? You don’t look so good.”
“Get your mother some water,” Steve said, opening the cabinet and getting one of his rifles out. “Sheila, please go and sit down. I’m going downstairs to see who the hell is in the basement. I think you all need to wait outside on the porch.”
“No!” Sheila said. “Let the police deal with it, please.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Gerty said, sidling up to her mother.
“They will be here any second, Dad,” Rusty said. “Please put the gun away.”
The four of them stood in the dining room, with the gun cabinet door swinging slowly back and forth, creaking. Gerty held a glass of water. Rusty stood with his hands at his sides, pleading with his father.
“Please, Dad.”
Steve held the rifle with both hands. He was trembling with fear and anger as he looked at his family. Finally his eyes found Sheila’s. “Okay,” he said. “But if they are not here in five minutes, I’m going downstairs. I have a right to protect my family. Sheila, I’ll put the gun away and you go outside and wait with the kids, please.”
The room sighed with relief when Steve put his gun back in the cabinet and looked at his watch. They heard sirens in the not too far off distance.
Gerty handed Sheila the water and led her mother to the porch, where they both sat down on the lawn chairs. Rusty and Steve followed behind.
Sheila drank from the glass. Water. Glass. Daughter. Son. Husband. She tried to focus. But it all blurred and then melted together as she oozed back into the wicker chair pillows.
“Sheila!” she heard her husband say before she closed her eyes.