I ring the doorbell, and a dog barks from inside the house. Emerald opens the door, holding a Chihuahua. I know it’s her because she looks like my mother, but her hair is lighter, a silvery blond that touches her shoulders.
“Can I help you?” She smiles at me. The dog pants in her arms.
“Oh, I lost my cat. I was just going around the neighborhood to see if anyone’s seen her.”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry,” she says. “Do you have a picture of the cat?”
“I do,” I say. I grab my phone from my pocket and begin to scroll through my photos.
“Here, come on in for a minute,” she says. She takes a step back to make way for me. “I’m hiding from the pollen today. Allergies.” I walk inside the house, and she closes the door behind me. She puts the dog on the hardwood floor. It runs over to me, sniffing my shoes.
“You’re the Wilcox girl. Abby, right?” she asks. “You live on Honeysuckle?” She walks over to an overstuffed denim chair and sits down. The dog runs over and jumps onto her lap.
“Yes. I’m really sorry to bother you about this. I’m going to put up some flyers. I just thought I’d ask some people on Teal first. I thought maybe she cut through your yard.”
“Oh, it’s fine, really. We don’t mind the company, do we, Lola?” The dog licks her chin in response.
The walls are painted a soft blue. A white ceiling fan whirs above us. “This is a good one,” I say, looking down at my phone. “Here.” I offer it to her, and she takes it, squinting to look at the picture of a long-haired calico on the screen.
“Oh, what a beauty,” she says. “You know, I haven’t seen her, but I’ll definitely keep an eye out for her.” She hands the phone back to me and then starts coughing. “Oh, this damn pollen. My car was completely covered in it this morning. It’s just awful this year.” She stands up, coughs more, holds one finger in the air as if to say, Just a minute, and excuses herself to the kitchen. Lola follows. The metal tags on her collar jingle as she trots behind Emerald.
I can hear Emerald’s movement in the next room, the sounds of her getting a glass, and filling it with ice and water. I slide my phone back into my pocket. “Yeah, my mom has allergies too,” I say loud enough for her to hear. “She’s been really miserable lately.” I stand at the threshold of the living room, just out of her sight.
“Oh really? Your mother?” she calls back. “I thought it was just you and your dad over there.” She walks back into the room, holding a frosted tumbler of water. She takes a long drink from it, keeping her eyes on me.
“Oh, I meant my stepmother. My dad just got remarried.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. How nice for your father,” Emerald says. “I guess Lola and I are out of the neighborhood loop,” she says with a laugh. She sits down, and the dog jumps back onto her lap.
“That’s okay. They didn’t make a deal about it. Didn’t have a big ceremony or anything. It was just the three of us at the courthouse.”
“Now that was my style,” she says. “I never had those dreams of being a bride and having a big extravagant wedding.” She takes another sip of cold water and rests the glass on the coffee table in front of her. “But of course, this was during the Vietnam draft so we wanted to get married quick, in case his number was called. So it all worked out, I suppose.”
“Then what happened? I mean, did he end up getting drafted?”
“Actually, they did call his number, but his asthma made him ineligible. We were lucky. It was a tense process, the whole thing. We were barely eighteen, just kids really. Not much older than you are now.” She looks off in the distance, as if something has caught her eye—a memory of my grandfather, a vision of him in a shirt and tie, reciting his marriage vows in a small courthouse room, the threat of war looming over him like a dark cloud. “I’m sorry. I could bore you all day with stories if you’d like. Lola can attest to that.” She strokes the dog’s fur vigorously and then gives the animal a quick kiss on the nose.
“No, it’s fine,” I say. “I don’t mind at all. Hey, could I use your bathroom real quick before I go?”
“Sure thing. Top of the stairs.”
“Thanks.” I climb the stairs slowly, holding on to the smooth curve of the railing until I reach the top. The bathroom door is open. I stand at the threshold and peer inside. It’s all bright white subway tile with silvery accents. The shower curtain is pale peach. A fluffy white hand towel hangs on a shiny hook. Sunlight streams in through a skylight overhead, making the floor look slick with rain.
I walk down a short hallway to a bedroom that must be Emerald’s. There’s a mirrored vanity in dark cherry wood. There’s a small brass tray full of makeup brushes. There are tubes of lipstick lined up in a row. I could tip one over with a finger, setting off a chain reaction if I wanted to, knocking them all down like dominoes. There’s a hairbrush with traces of Emerald, a few strands of her silvery blond hair trapped in the bristles. There’s a pair of small tortoiseshell hair combs with delicate pointed teeth. I place my hand over one of them, cupping it into my palm, and making it disappear into the front pocket of my shorts.
The telephone rings, a landline with an ancient analog sound. I hear Emerald’s footsteps on the floor below me and hear the echo of her answering, saying hello.
I descend the stairs carefully, and now I’m standing behind Emerald as she dismisses what sounds like a telemarketer on the line.
“No, not interested,” she says. “Sorry.” Her voice is firm but sweet. “But thank you for calling.”
I stand behind her as she places the slim receiver on a cradle anchored to the wall. She turns around, and her eyes get wide when she realizes I’m here.
“Oh my goodness, you startled me, dear,” she says, one hand on her chest. Her skin is thin, bluish veins visible beneath the surface.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The phone cord dangles on the wall behind her. I reach for it, stretch out the smooth curls, and make the cord straight and taut. I wrap it around her throat.
She flails her arms at me, punching me in the stomach with weak fists. I pull the cord tighter and tighter until she can’t breathe. The dog barks. I kick the dog, and she whimpers, running away.
Emerald digs at the cord with her fingernails. She scratches her neck, making a small slice that draws blood. She opens and closes her mouth, a fish out of water.
I remind myself it isn’t real, repeat it over and over in my head, my own voice singing to me—it’s not real, it’s not real. I can’t freeze the frame, and I don’t want to watch. Not this time.
I turn and run to the front door, flinging it open. I hear Emerald’s voice, alive and calling after me, something about looking for the cat. She sounds like she’s speaking through an underwater tunnel, her voice thick and wavy in my ears.
I don’t turn back, don’t say anything in response.
I walk through the door and into bright white sunlight that hurts my eyes. I squint as I walk back to the car. I’m barely able to see, my eyes slow to adjust, but I can feel Clarisse’s presence. I know she’s waiting for me.