It was still raining after we’d put away the groceries, but Beck declined my unusually generous offer to drive her to class. “I rode over here, Emily,” she reminded me. “And as long as I don’t have a wet seat, I’ll be fine.”
“There’s no wet seat in my car.”
She grinned. “I wouldn’t be too sure.”
I turned away to hide my blush, unwilling to contemplate if the double entendre was intended or if this was a weather-related observation. After the sound of her engine died away, I fretted around the house. Everyone had their hard-luck stories, including me. Why should I care what one twenty-something had gone through? I wrote stories of death in gruesome circumstances, of those who partook in murder and mayhem and those who tried to avenge the lost. Any romance was an afterthought, something added to keep the pages turning for those poor folks who hadn’t known what they were getting into. I made a pot of coffee, sat at my computer, and wrote the most horrific scene I could imagine. I was shaking when I finished but told myself I’d simply had too much caffeine.
It wasn’t totally dark, but it would be soon. I grabbed a flashlight after I put on my raincoat and made my way toward Reefside, hoping company would lift my mood. Only a few lights were on, but Mel’s car was there. I knocked, pressed my face against the glass, and waited. I was desperate enough to knock a second time, though I suspected they wouldn’t answer. I’d already turned away and was three stairs down when the door opened. June stood in a T-shirt I recognized as Mel’s, and possibly underwear, though I wasn’t sure. The annoyed expression on her face changed when she saw me.
“Hey, stranger. What are you doing out in this weather?”
I laughed shakily. “Honestly, I have no idea. I suppose I was wondering what was going on tonight.”
She scratched her head and yawned. “What time is it?”
I looked at my bare wrist. When had I taken my watch off? I tried for a smile before stepping away. “Probably time for me to let you guys enjoy your evening.”
She reached for me, and I let myself be pulled inside. “No, no, no. Mel and I took a nap, but it’s time to get up. Let me rouse the guys too. It’s always party time when the famous author is in the house.”
I didn’t remember the walk back. My last clear memory was of June, her pretty face close to mine, asking, “Are you sure? You’re kinda loaded. You could stay here, you know?”
Apparently, I’d declined her offer, and then William, ever the gentleman, was helping me open the door. “You’ll get to bed all right?” he asked.
By way of answer, I kissed his cheek and stumbled into the house.
I was under the covers in my childhood bedroom, and that man was in the room. I knew it by the fetid, rank scent of him and by the way my insides twisted. The subconscious, animal part of me recognized him and had awakened me for fight or flight. Fight? Not me. Abby would, but I’d never been a fighter. Fear, coppery and sharp, flowed through my systems. Don’t look. Don’t look and it won’t be true.
He had Abby. And his hand was over her mouth as he held her close against his body. “Not a word,” he snarled in my direction, “or I’ll come back for you.”
My sister’s eyes were begging for help. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I tried to gather air into my lungs, but nothing happened. The door was closing. I had to do something. With supreme effort, I forced myself upright as a scream ripped the air. Mine? Abby’s?
I blinked uncertainly against the roiling remnants of fear in my gut. Then I ran instinctively to the bathroom of the Guest House where I heaved up dinner and entirely too much to drink, well aware I’d never be rid of the shame and the self-loathing, no matter how long I vomited.
* * *
For the next three days, I wrote like a woman possessed. When Mel came by, I ignored her knock until the worry in her voice brought me to the other side of the still-locked door.
“Please go away, Mel. I’m fine, but I’m working right now, and I don’t want to be distracted.”
“Are you sure, Em? You sounded all kinds of crazy the other night.”
Shit. I had no idea what I might have said. “Look, call it creative license, okay? Now beat it so I can make us both some more money.”
“Okay. But call me tomorrow, understand?”
I didn’t call, but she left me alone. Once or twice, I might have heard Beck’s scooter coming or going, but nothing else penetrated the fever of my concentration. By the end of the third day, I’d drafted a new ending which I liked much better and had smoothed over several rough spots in the story. I wasn’t finished, but I was closer. I’d fallen asleep at my desk with my head on my arms, when I was roused by the sound of soft tapping. Acting on autopilot, I opened the door to find Beck looking like everything young, healthy, and vibrant. When the smile on her face faded to something resembling worry, I knew I must look bad. I stepped away, intending to close the door, but she stepped forward at the same time, sniffing the air as though searching for something.
“Hi, Emily.” Her usual greeting was quieter than normal. “Have you been sick?”
“I’m fine, Beck. I’ve been working a lot, and I wasn’t expecting company.” That hint was probably too subtle, but I thought I’d try.
“I wasn’t expecting to have today off, but I do. I thought you might like breakfast and a grocery store run.” She gestured down the stairs, beaming again. “We’re going to need more kitten chow soon. Have you seen them lately?”
Those damn cats. I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice. “I haven’t, but look…if you’re going, why don’t you grab a few things for me? Whatever you think I’d like.” A quick glance around failed to turn up anything resembling my purse. “I’ll pay you when you get back.”
Her face fell. “I guess I could do that.” She glanced toward the dirty dishes littering the kitchen. “But wouldn’t you like to have coffee and some breakfast? It might make you feel better.”
“I feel fine,” I snapped, my temper giving evidence to the contrary. “Look, why don’t you ask one of your girlfriends out to breakfast?”
The corner of her mouth lifted, and her eyes took on a mischievous glint. “I thought I was asking one of my girlfriends out to breakfast.”
If I’d been anywhere near my normal, quasi-social state of mind, I would have laughed at the idea of Beck flirting with me when I could have been a character in Creepshow’s “Weeds” story. Or I could have been charmed by her obvious attempt to lift my spirits. But part of me was caught in the disturbing world of my fiction, and the reminder that I wasn’t anyone’s girlfriend seemed a painful jolt of reality. “I would recommend you ask one who’d actually have sex with you.”
For a few seconds, she simply looked at me, all emotion gone from her expression. “Here’s the thing, Emily. If you don’t want to go, just say so.”
I replayed our conversation as best I could. She was right. I’d never specifically said no. She already turned to go, disappointment obvious in her slumped posture. “Look, Beck, I…” I trailed off, not sure of what I would say in my defense. I simply became a bitch when I wrote too long? I hadn’t recovered from the latest round of nightmares, and I didn’t think I ever would?
She wasn’t stopping, and my stomach soured even more. I’d acted like one of those sick kids who tore the wings off butterflies, damaging a beautiful thing for no reason. “Hey, I’m sorry.” I caught her at the door, my hand on her shoulder. She stopped but didn’t turn. “Listen, I’m not really—” In mid-sentence, my stomach growled loudly.
“Not really hungry?” Beck filled in, and I caught the slightest hint of humor in her tone.
I managed a chuckle as I tried to remember when I’d last eaten. And what? Cereal? Ice cream? Nothing particularly nutritious, I was sure. “I’m not suitable for the public at the moment, and it would take me an hour to get ready. You don’t want to spend your day off waiting for me.”
Beck still hadn’t turned, but she straightened slightly as if breathing in some faint hope. “But the thing is, I’m really good at waiting.”
Sighing, I assessed the situation. I could say no now, nicely, and Beck would forgive me for my earlier rudeness because she was like that. But in an hour, I would be hungry, and my pantry and fridge were certainly empty or close to it. Fine. “If you’re sure you don’t mind…”
She turned, and we were closer than I’d realized. Her hand came to rest on my waist, its warmth matching her smile. “I honestly don’t. You’re so worth it.”
You’re so wrong, I almost said, but I didn’t want to see disappointment on her face again. What I wanted was to take another step and put my head on her shoulder, drawing her sweetness inside me to do battle with the dark. “I’ll try to hurry,” I said, stepping away quickly.
“I’ll be here.”
* * *
I was pleased with myself when I walked into the living area, calculating it was less than forty minutes. Beck looked up from the small kitchen table where she was sitting with a glass of water, the notebook I’d seen before, and a pencil. Her expression suggested clean hair and makeup had brought me several steps along the Creepshow makeover.
“Wow. You look very nice,” she said, shoving the pad into her back pocket as she stood.
I became aware that the mess I’d made in the living area and kitchen had been cleaned. I glanced in the direction of my work desk. I regularly left myself notes in a variety of ways, from Post-its to shredded napkins, and any disturbance in my disorganization could take me hours to recover. Thankfully, everything looked exactly as it had.
“I didn’t touch anything over there,” she said, following my gaze. “I know a work in progress when I see one.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And you didn’t have to clean up.”
She shrugged. “It’s what I do. It comes naturally, I guess.” Moving quickly into the kitchen, she added her glass to the dishwasher. “I didn’t want to use the hot water while you were in the shower, but I’ll run this now, if that’s okay.”
Had her mother taught her to be so considerate? Or was that something else that came naturally? “That’s fine.” Once I heard the old machine grind into life, I held out my keys. “Can you drive a car, Beck? I’m still feeling a bit shaky.”
She looked at me with wide eyes. “Sure, I can drive. Or you can ride with me on my scooter.”
No fucking way. “Maybe some time, but for now, I’d prefer doors and a windshield.”
“Got it.”
It didn’t take long for me to relax into the ride. Sunglasses on, Beck handled the car skillfully, driving with the same care and thoughtfulness she seemed to apply to everything else. She was polite but not passive, navigating confidently but not recklessly. The perfect chauffeur. I couldn’t help wondering what she saw herself doing in five or ten years. Surely not still cleaning houses. I started to ask before catching myself. It was none of my business, and I certainly wasn’t in the mood for her random version of twenty questions in return.
We pulled in at the Edge diner where we’d eaten before. It was late enough for the breakfast crowd to have thinned out, but I stopped at the Please Seat Yourself sign, waiting for Beck to suggest a place. She touched my lower back lightly, but her warmth penetrated my blouse. Without consciously meaning to, I leaned into her.
“Let’s take that same table by the far wall,” she murmured.
“Show me,” I replied, walking slowly, feeling her steer me with that touch. I’d seen her dance by herself, and now I had the sense of how she’d be as a partner. Really, really good. After we sat, I reached across the table and touched her hand as she toyed with her empty coffee cup. “Thank you for talking me into this. You’re the best kind of friend to have.”
An adorable pink crept across her cheeks. “Thank you for agreeing to come. Do you mind me saying I’ve missed talking with you?” She turned her hand so the tips of her fingers grazed mine. Although calloused with work, they felt warm and wonderful. I shook my head in answer as the sensation reverberated through me.
Luckily, Barbara chose that moment to make an appearance. She beamed at Beck and began clapping. “We are so proud of you, honey. You’re gonna put this place on the map.” The counterman was clapping too, and he yelled, “Go get ’em, Becka!”
A few other people scattered around the diner joined in the applause, though some seemed as confused as I was. Beck’s hand had made its way into her own lap, and the slight blush that had been present earlier had become a full-blown reddening of her tanned face. After blinking furiously for a few seconds, she waved at the man across the way and grinned at Barbara. “Thanks, Jack. Thanks, Barbara. You remember my friend Emily? We’re in serious need of coffee and one of your great breakfasts.”
Barbara nodded at me and said, “Sure thing, honey.” Turning over our cups, she looked to Beck. “I bet your mama’s about to bust a button. You tell her to come by soon so we can brag on you together.”
“Okay,” Beck said, paying careful attention to smoothing her napkin in her lap.
Barbara poured our coffees and left menus. Beck was studying hers as if it contained the secrets of the universe.
“Do you want to tell me what that’s all about?” I asked.
Beck shook her head, not looking up. “Let’s eat.”
“Which means you’ll tell me later?” I pursued.
She shrugged, not meeting my eyes. “If you honestly want to know.”
Which of us would be the judge of that, I wondered? We ordered, and after a few minutes of quiet coffee drinking, Beck asked again if I’d seen the kittens lately. When I said no, she began to describe their most recent behaviors and appearances. She’d named them all, of course, and spoke as if I was well acquainted with them as individuals. Her animation brought me back to my earlier train of thought. “Have you ever thought about being a vet? Or at least a vet tech? That way you could be around animals all day.”
She sighed. “I used to say I wanted to do something like that. But it’s a lot of schooling, especially reading and stuff. Besides, sometimes vets have to deal with sad things, like animals who are really sick and won’t ever get better. I wouldn’t like doing that.”
It was in my head to say that even the best things had some sadness with them, and that was something we all had to deal with, when the hypocrisy of my philosophical offering struck me. Who was I to tell anyone about dealing with sadness? Our food arrived, and I looked over to see Beck studying me closely.
“Now, this is on the house,” Barbara announced. “Yours too, Emily. You were in here with Beck before, so we know you’re not a fair-weather friend.”
“Oh, Barbara, no,” Beck protested, but the waitress gave a dismissive wave before topping off our coffees and leaving.
“What did you do?” I asked, genuinely intrigued.
“What made you unhappy just then?” Beck countered.
“I was thinking how ridiculous it is for anyone to give advice to someone else.”
“Why is that sad?”
I sighed, knowing I could never explain. “Don’t you think it is?”
She didn’t reply for a while. We ate in silence. Our plates were nearly empty when she said, “I don’t know how to answer you because I’m not sure I agree. Some people give good advice. Others are good at taking it. And there are probably a hundred shades of in between. I suppose the sad thing would be if you had a giver paired with not a good taker, or vice versa.” She held up her last strip of bacon as if considering it seriously. “Don’t you love it that we have a phrase like vice versa? It’s Latin, you know.”
And just like that, I was laughing. Sharing word play was one of my favorite pastimes, and no one else I knew enjoyed it. “Did you know the German word for cell phone is ‘handy’?”
From there we moved on to idioms in both English and other languages. Beck pulled the notebook from her pocket and wrote down a few of my favorites. She contributed some I hadn’t heard, including “He that makes himself an ass must not take it ill if men ride him.”
“Did you first hear that from your mother?” I asked, still chuckling.
“No, from my papa.” She tried to smile, but her eyes had turned sad. The combination was such that I almost couldn’t catch my breath. How did she not have a serious girlfriend?
Tables at the area around us were beginning to fill in, and I realized it must be lunch time. Our game came to an end, and we began our shopping in the produce aisle, where she admired the fresh asparagus, telling me of a favorite recipe.
“Some people say casseroles are poor folks’ food, although Erik is about as impoverished as it gets, and he’s real picky. He won’t eat asparagus.” She blinked, and a hopeful expression replaced the brief unhappiness. “But if you like it, I could fix it for you tonight.”
“Only if you’ll stay and eat it with me.” Seconds later, I was mentally kicking myself. I’d already spent more than enough time with Beck. Why had I asked her to stay? I wasn’t social like that, but something in me warmed to her presence. This could be trouble.
Before I could put my mind to finding a way out of my invitation, Beck had put the asparagus in the basket after nodding to a tiny old woman who was waving vigorously. We stood in the checkout line without speaking. Thankfully, Carla was either not working or on break, and her father was nowhere to be seen. I closed my eyes on the ride home, grateful Beck wasn’t the kind of person who felt obliged to make small talk. After we arrived at the Guest House and put the groceries away, she stood at the counter with her back to me. “That lady in the grocery store was Mrs. Parrish, my first art teacher. She taught me a lot.” Her voice was quiet. “But she never could stand up to those kids.”
Even from behind, I could sense her working to keep her emotions in check. I imagined she was experiencing unwelcome memories of cruelty at the hands of her classmates. Our youthful experiences hadn’t been that different, in some ways, and I understood very well how a person’s reactions to present circumstances were shaped by lingering childhood sorrow.
Was that commonality why Beck seemed to be the exception to my antisocial tendencies? Not once on the drive home had I worked on a reason for her to leave. Instead, I’d pondered how there were moments when she was incredibly open, and other times, she was completely closed. I was never as open, but what was I longing for at those times when pain closed me into a tight fist? Was the certainty that I didn’t deserve comfort the reason I shied away from most friendships, let alone the caring touch of a lover? As sure as I was of my own guilt, I was equally convinced Beck deserved whatever consolation I could give her. I moved behind her, resting my hands lightly on her shoulders. “I think I’ll nap first and work before we share our dinner. Thanks again for getting me out of the house.”
I felt her inhale deeply, as if it was the first full breath she’d taken since the grocery store. “Thanks for hanging out with me, Emily. I’m going to make that recipe and go check on the cats. I’ll be as quiet as I can, but if you’ve decided you don’t want my company, I’ll leave when I’m finished. Then you can eat whenever and with whoever you like.”
I squeezed and dropped my hands to her shoulder blades, rubbing lightly. “I know how mean kids can be. And it hurts no matter how tough you are.” I was running my hands along her arms, enjoying the way her body felt. I should have stopped, but if I moved away now, it would seem strange.
“I’m sorry you know about that,” she said, half turning. “Sometimes, I get the feeling you got hurt badly, and I hate that for you.”
I did move my hands away then. “Feel free to lie on the couch if you want to. I’m going to nap in the bedroom.”
* * *
I didn’t think I’d drop off with someone else in the house, but the domestic sounds of utensils against bowls and the soft closing of cabinet doors gradually lulled me to sleep. The slant of sunlight looked like late afternoon when I awoke, dressed, and wandered out into the den. The house smelled wonderful, and my stomach growled appreciatively when I opened the oven, admiring the bubbling casserole Beck had made. At the sound of an exclamation followed by a loud crash from the garage, I slammed the oven door and moved quickly onto the deck.
“Beck?” I called over the railing. “Beck, are you all right?”
When no answer came, I pulled on my shoes and hurried down the stairs. A dozen things went through my mind: Would she or her mother sue me if she was injured? Did she have medical insurance? Was there a hospital near here?
The light was on, but I couldn’t see her as I stepped into the musky room, urgently calling her name again. As I took another step, I heard a moan and a shuffle. A faint voice from the far corner said, “Yeah, Emily, I’m okay,” and I moved in that direction. Beck was picking herself off the floor; all around her was a tumble of boxes containing what appeared to be ancient paperwork. The kittens cowered in the far corner, and the mother cat was nowhere to be seen.
“I found a door,” she said, brushing dust and shredded cardboard off her clothes. She gestured, and I saw it, a regular-looking door with a rusty doorknob.
“Where does it go?”
She looked up, and I followed her gaze. “I figure the room we’re in is about half the size of your house. This door must lead to the other part.” Rubbing the side of her head, she looked apologetically at me. “I’m really sorry about the mess. I swear, I wasn’t going to go in there without your permission. I was trying to move these boxes that were blocking it so we could get it open if you said it was okay.”
Did she think I was mad? “As long as you’re okay, I don’t mind you looking. But should we ask Mr. Guest first?”
She frowned, eyes darting from side to side as she considered the question. “Maybe we could call Mama and see what she thinks.”
I couldn’t have explained why I balked at that suggestion. I’d been willing to revise my opinion of Mrs. Janser on more than one occasion, but for some reason, I didn’t like the idea of turning to her for this.
“You know, I’m renting the house. The whole house. I don’t see why I couldn’t go anywhere on the property if I wanted. There were no restrictions in our agreement.” To be honest, I didn’t recall much about the rental contract, other than signing it.
Beck lifted her shoulders. “Okay. Let’s take a look.”
Let’s? Somehow, I hadn’t seen myself in the role of co-take-a-looker. “Are you sure you feel like it?” I stalled.
“Oh, sure.” She grinned and rubbed her head again. “I’ve had way worse than that little bump. Do you have that flashlight?”
“No, I didn’t bring it.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got a small one in my scooter. Wait here.”
I followed her out, having no intention of staying inside that nasty, feline filled garage by myself. While she went to her scooter, I walked around the back side of the garage, a place I had never been or even thought about. There I found one huge, thick slab of wood, wider and taller than my arm span, with a heavy-duty handle on each side. There were wheels at the top mounted on a track; the piece was obviously designed to slide open. The only problem was a large padlock holding the door in place. I heard scuffling from inside and called to Beck.
“That door in here is locked,” her muffled voice told me.
“Come around here and see this,” I replied, and she joined me, gawking at the size and design of the door.
“Wow,” she said, eyeing the building above. “This must open into the same area as that door inside.”
“What do you suppose is in there? Maybe we’d better rethink this. Someone seems to have gone to a lot of trouble to keep it locked up.”
Beck grinned at the worry in my voice. “I think you spend too much time with your scary stories.”
I was about to snap a response about her being overly naïve, when it occurred to me that the likelihood of this being a recent torture chamber or ancient burial site was probably rare. At the worst, it held something like musty old records of shady business dealings. I gave Beck credit for knowing what there was to be worried about in Windsom, so I was willing to trust that the elusive Mr. Guest wasn’t some psychotic killer. Instead, I responded with my best Wicked Witch of the West cackle and said, “We shall see, my pretty. We shall see.”
Beck’s laugh made me glad I had chosen that response. “I was twenty years old before I could watch that movie and not be terrified of those flying monkeys,” she said.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I’m still terrified of them.”
Now we were both laughing, and it felt good. The sun had lost its scorching heat and was gently sinking into evening. It must have been high tide because I could hear the ocean even from behind the house. I let myself enjoy the moment, admitting that Beck’s company added to, rather than detracted from, my pleasure. Before I could spend any time considering what to do about that, one of the kittens appeared from around the side of the house, making its way cautiously toward us.
“Hey, Carrot Top,” Beck crooned softly, crouching and rubbing her fingers together. “What are you doing out here?”
The creature mewed, and I observed how its fluffy orange head and white body did give it some resemblance to the entertainer. I tried to remember what the rest of them looked like, wondering if all their names were so aptly chosen.
“This one’s always been the troublemaker,” she told me, waiting as the kitten approached her hand. “First one out of the box, first one to try the dry food, and it looks like he’s the first one to…Hey!” She was looking up from where she squatted, in line with the large door. “This lock isn’t fastened to the other side. It’s only closed on itself. Look!”
I moved to her other side, examining the area. She was right. I’d seen that the lock was closed and had assumed it was threaded through the hasp on the other side. But it wasn’t. Beck had collected the kitten, who was purring in her arms.
“What do you think?” she asked excitedly. “Don’t you think the two of us can push this open?”
Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. My Aunt Sharon’s frequent advice echoed in my head. But we’d never gotten along all that well. “Sure. As long as you’ll fend off anything weird that comes jumping out of there.”
“That I will, my lady,” Beck drawled, flexing her muscles like a bodybuilder. The thing was, she had great definition in her biceps, and my stomach clenched. In many ways, she was the total package—sweet, kind, generous, and very well-built. In a bigger city, she would have had girls crawling all over her. Here, she had to settle for her dysfunctional girlfriends and one terribly messed up writer’s fantasies.
“Okay, I’m in.”
“Yes!” She pumped the air with her fist as she returned the kitten to the other side of the garage, pushing him into the room with a gentle swat on his behind. Returning, she took a position near the lock. “Can you pull while I push?”
I looked at the far side of the door. She was putting me farthest from where the opening would be, where I’d be safer. Had she sensed my uselessness, my desperate cowardice? I moved resolutely, pretending confidence as I grabbed the handle on my side. “Say when.”
“On three.”
At her count, I pulled with all my strength, determined to redeem myself as much as possible. Whether from our combined efforts or because it wasn’t really stuck, the door moved with relative ease, though it did make a loud screech. At the end of its track, the movement stopped abruptly, and I slid unceremoniously onto my butt. I looked to Beck, expecting her to at least ask if I was okay. Instead, she was staring, spellbound, into the opening.
“Oh wow,” she mouthed, stretching a hand out into the opening.