There was an apple core on the picnic table on Friday morning.
I scuttled outside, when I'd screwed up the nerve. I picked up the apple core and whipped it as hard as I could over the back fence.
I vowed I would never speak of it. Not ever.
“You're sure Angela can stay with you, Dixie?” my mother asked, not for the first time. She flipped a clean white sheet across the other twin bed in my room and waited for an answer. I counted to three.
“Yes, Mom. Her dad said she could stay over till you get back.”
She went on to tell me, also not for the first time, that it wasn't every day Dad got the chance to take her along to a conference. And Grandma said she'd take Jeffrey for the night, and we all knew how seldom that ever happened. And I could go to Grandma's too, but with my summer job and having to be at that blasted glass factory by the crack of dawn, it didn't make sense. And how Dad said I was sixteen and would be fine for one night with Angela.
“And it is only one night…. You'll be okay for one night.” She smoothed the sheet and finished with the comforter on top. She looked up at me, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
Jeffrey zoomed into the room and said, “Can I take these?” He held an armful of toys and junk, including an aeroplane as big as a jumbo jet.
“No, Jeffrey, pick two.” Mom put a hand on top of his head, swung him around, and hustled him off down the hall.
I flopped down on the freshly made bed. The stereo was playing in the living room. Paul McCartney's soft voice sang to me about love.
I couldn't wait for Angela. I couldn't wait to tell her about Harry Long today at work. Coming out of the change room, I heard him ask Warren Crocker about me.
“Which way does Dixie go home?” Harry asked. I panicked and leapt back into the change room before I could hear more. I pressed myself against the pink brick wall as the little Italian ladies who worked the line filed past, smiling as if we did this every day. I counted to 1,023, then poked my head out the door. The coast was clear. I swallowed and ran for home, deliberately taking an alternate route.
Harry Long…!? Omygawd!! This would take all night to talk about. My heart skipped the tiniest bit of an extra beat at that. Not at the thought of Harry, but of the empty house, just me and Angela tonight.
The phone jangled out in the kitchen.
“I'll get it.” I walked past Jeffrey's room. Jeffrey was crying, sitting on the floor with Mom. Toys were everywhere.
I grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi. I can't come over,” blurted Angela.
I moved to the corner of the kitchen and turned to the wall. “You can't? How come?”
“My dad.”
I should have known. Her dad was also Italian, but not sweet and friendly like the ladies at Marquis Glass. He had this thing about his daughter venturing more than two feet from home.
“Does he know I'll be alone?”
“I'm really sorry, but he just changed his mind. No reason,” she said. Her voice was all watery
“It's okay.” The night alone reared up in my head and blanked out every other thought. “I have to go. I'll call you later.” I hung up.
I could hear Mom humming down the hall. A sweet, happy humming that decided me. If I told Mom about Angela, the whole reason for humming would be canceled, and I couldn't do that. So I kept my mouth shut.
Dad loaded up the car, including Jeffrey and the jumbo jet, a box of Lego, and his army men. “C'mon, Dot.”
Mom, standing on the last step of the porch, didn't budge. “You're sure Angela's coming? I thought she'd be here by now.”
“That's why she called, I told you. She'll be here in about a half hour.”
She looked into my eyes without saying anything. She could smell the lie on me like a mother bear sniffing the air for danger. But Dad grabbed her by the hand and gently tugged her toward the car. “Let's go, she'll be fine.”
“There's potato salad and hot dogs for dinner. And don't be late going to bed.” She waited at the car door, giving me one more chance to save myself.
I let it slip away. “No, we won't.”
She climbed into the car.
“And no parties,” Dad said, grinning.
“No parties.” I cracked a smile.
The Cutlass started to roll out of the driveway. Mom blew me a kiss and waved. Dad honked the horn. He turned and said something to Mom. Whatever it was, they both laughed and looked away from me. Then they were gone and that was that.
I went back into the house. It had suddenly become a stage set. Everything in the living room was the same, of course, but it all looked slightly different. As if it had been moved over an inch. I was out of place here alone. My family usually took up some of the space, doing stuff, making noise and smells. It wasn't the same as coming home fro school when no one was there. Or when I baby-sat Jeffrey for part of an evening. Those times, you knew that just at the moment when the boogeyman was about to attack, Mom or Dad would arrive back home. This was different.
I thought about phoning Mom at the hotel and telling her about Angela. But then I heard her humming, and saw them laughing in the car. Forget it. Surely I had the guts to tough it out for one whole night.
I went to the kitchen and looked at the clock over the stove. It was almost dinnertime. Might as well eat. That will pass some time.
I got out the pot, filled it with water, and boiled up two hot dogs. I spooned out some of the potato salad. Is there anything worse to eat by yourself than hot dogs? So round, soft, and chewy. Saved for nights when Mom didn't feel like cooking. Bun and meat sat in my mouth. I was surprised by tears pricking at the backs of my eyes. “Oh, snap out of it,” I told myself. “It's one stupid night. What can possibly happen?”
But why had I never noticed the sound of my footsteps when I was not alone in the house?
I couldn't think of what I usually did at this time. I turned on the tv and sat on the couch. I watched Bowling for Dollars. A guy was bowling for the jackpot of $1,000. He lost. Shows rolled across the screen one after the other. I could feel my eyes glazing over.
The phone rang.
Please be Angela … please be Angela….
“Hello, sweetheart. Just want to make sure you girls are doing okay,” Mom said.
I choked back what I wanted to say. “Yeah, we're good. Just watching tv.”
“Oh, that's fine then.” She sounded relieved. “Well, I won't keep you. We're off to dinner now. The number for the hotel is there by the phone, if you need us for anything.”
I looked at the pad by the phone and saw Mom's tiny writing, as if a small bird had hopped across the page. “Yup, I see it.”
“Okay, well, I guess we'll see you tomorrow then. We won't be late.”
“Okay.”
“Night night.”
“Night.”
She left with a click, a disconnect, a last last chance.
I could see through the living-room window that it was now twilight, almost dark. A guy on a bike zipped past. I closed the drapes. The house was as still as church. The quiet made it creepy.
I went back to the oasis of the couch and pulled my feet up. (You never know what's under there, ready to grab your ankles.) I turned all my attention to the tv, my link to the outside world. There was a mouthwash commercial on. Guy and girl kissing cinnamony sweet. Guys were a mystery. I didn't know what to say to them. My skin goose-pimpled just thinking about it. But today Harry Long asked Warren Crocker about me. Harry Long handsome, exotic, long black hair flying on the lacrosse court, president of the Boys Athletic Association … that Harry Long asked about me! And I ran like a scared rabbit. Tomorrow I wouldn't. Tomorrow I would force myself to look at Harry and smile. (Oh, God.) I'd wear my green sleeveless dress and my hair down, instead of up in a ponytail. Maybe, someday, Harry would come over and we'd sit right here and watch tv. And if nobody was around, he'd take my face in his hand, tilt it up toward his, and we'd look at each other for one soft moment….
I reached back, grabbed a pillow from the couch, and pressed it against my face.
Soft hungry lips touch mine.
Heat flowed into my cheeks and surged down to my toes. The possibility of that kiss was awful and electrifying at the same time. I felt all mixed up inside. Like I was floating. There was a knock at the door.
I sat bolt upright. Could it …? Omygawd … Harry!? Maybe he'd found out where I lived.
I checked myself in the hall mirror, raked fingers through my hair, and scrambled for some witty thing to say as I opened the door.
It wasn't Harry.
It was a man in a navy Windbreaker and white shirt, with a trim haircut. A stranger.
“Hi,” he said, pretty friendlylike.
“Sorry to bother you at night like this. Is your mother or father here?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Okay well … you know what, then? Thanks … I don't want to trouble you.” He turned to leave.
I just stood there like a dummy not saying anything. He turned back to me.
“I can't really ask you….” He let the “you” dangle.
“What?” I took the bait.
He looked up and down the street, then back at me. “Well, maybe it would be okay….” He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a leather wallet, and flipped it open. There was some kind of gold badge inside. He snapped it shut and returned it to his pocket. He lowered his voice, “I'm a police officer. I've been working in this neighborhood lately, undercover. I'm trying to catch this creep who's been looking in people's windows. You haven't seen anybody, have you?”
I took a step back and shook my head, saying, “No, no, I haven't seen anybody.” I started to close the door.
“No, wait!” His hands shot straight out, parallel to the ground, as if surprised. “I hate to ask this. You're just a kid….”
“What?” The night air was damp, musty smelling. My skin quivered.
“Well, I hate to ask, I really do….” He hesitated.
I waited.
“Okay, here's the thing. I've been trying to catch this guy in the act.” He stepped closer. “So I've been patrolling at night through the backyards around here.”
Oh, God. He's been patrolling. Here. My street. Coburg Road. The chill passed right through me. I shivered noticeably this time, but he didn't say anything.
“I wonder if you could do me a small favor.”
“What's that?” The potato salad began a slow curdle. He was so close now, I could see the threads of his frayed shirt collar.
“I need to draw this guy out. I think part of the problem is, I never know where he will be. If I could set something up, maybe he'd come out of the shadows and I could catch him. What do you think?”
“What do you want me to do?” My heart was pounding.
He smiled at me. We were in this together. A team. “Okay, if you could just go to your room and turn on the light. And get ready for bed, like you usually do. Take your time. Don't rush. And maybe, if we're lucky, he'll see the light, and even before you can take off an earring, I'll have the guy in the car.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Okay.”
“This is great. Thanks a lot. I mean it. This really helps me because I've come up empty-handed so far and this might do the trick.”
He turned and all but skipped down the steps. When he reached the bottom, he pulled an apple out of the pocket of his Windbreaker and took a big bite. “Dinner,” he said, grinning up at me. I smiled back. He saluted me with the apple, said, “See you,” and headed off along the sidewalk. I closed the door and locked it.
I went down the hall, insides awash in some kind of sick euphoria. I was working undercover, alone in my own house. I turned on the light. My perky little bedroom was like a daisy in a field, all yellow and girlish. A poster hung on the wall behind my bed, a child's painting of a big flower, with the hand-painted words War Is Not Healthy for Children and Other Living Things. My floral bedspread matched the ruffled curtains, right out of Seventeen magazine, now the scene of a secret police operation.
I wouldn't allow myself to look at my window. I stood in the center of the room, not knowing what to do. Get ready for bed, like you usually do, he'd said.
I reached up and undid my shell necklace and slipped it into my hand. The hard edges of the broken shells dug into my palm. This was really happening. I walked over to my dresser and twirled the necklace into the china cup that held my jewelry. I didn't look in the mirror; I was afraid to see my own face. My eyes tugged in the sockets to look over at the window, but I stared into the jewelry cup, at the pile of hair elastics on my dresser top, and at the fly floating in a half-empty glass of Kool-Aid.
I sat down on my bed, with my back to the window. I undid my sandals and took them off slowly. I was doing this for the police. Me. They picked me to help with this. Me, of all people. This was pretty cool, wasn't it? My nose started to run.
I popped the buttons on my blouse, one by excruciating one. Pop, pop, pop, until all ten buttons were undone. I stood up, going through the motions as if I were in a play. I wondered what was happening outside my window. Had the policeman I didn't even know his name caught the guy by now? Are they out there fighting each other? Is he hurt? Dead? I couldn't hear anything. My window was thankfully closed. This gave me the tiniest morsel of comfort.
I pulled at one sleeve and then the other, and my blouse fell away. There I stood in my white bra. I wasn't usually too conscious of my breasts. They're a tad larger than I'd like, but not so much that I gave them much thought. Now they felt like two colossal watermelons strapped to my chest. But I was helping. I needed to do this if they were going to catch the guy. I wiped away an unexpected tear with the back of my hand.
The tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes and dribbled down my face. I reached behind me … he was a policeman … he wouldn't ask me if it wasn't important. … I grasped the clip at the back and tried to undo the hook and eye. It wouldn't budge. I tugged, but it wouldn't give. He wouldn't ask if it wasn't necessary, and I… tugging … I can … tugging … I can do this.
I could not.
I snatched up my blouse from the floor and hurled myself to the wall. Stuffing myself into my shirt, I fumbled with the buttons. Please close. I reached out and yanked the curtains shut, all but tearing them right off the rod. I slammed off the light and ran from room to room, making sure every window and door was locked. I could hear myself wailing, but felt like I was watching the hysterics from a distant corner.
Back in the living room, my breath heaved out in great weeping sobs. I made for the safety of my couch and sat there, numb. I thought I would crawl right out of my skin. Every creak, every movement of the wind, was the man trying to get in. I prayed hard that the good policeman had found the bad boogeyman outside and, by now, were miles from here on their way to a big concrete jail cell. Please let him be caught and far away. I'm alone here.
I needed something normal, so I turned on the tv. A comedian laughing, telling a joke. I couldn't hear a thing. I hugged the Harry Long pillow and buried my face.
The early-morning light found me slumped over the pillow, with one foot on the floor. I guess, at some point, despite everything, my body insisted on falling asleep. But I'd had my foot ready in case I needed to make a run for it. That thought made me laugh a little, and my mood lifted as the sun came into the room.
I got brave and walked into my bedroom. I went to my closet and took out the green sleeveless dress. Then, as if it was nothing, I went to the window and tucked the curtains carefully behind the brass hooks that held them open. I took a breath and looked out.
The backyard was empty the way it always looked. Just your average backyard, with one plum tree, two strips of flower beds, and a wooden picnic table. Except the picnic table wasn't where it was supposed to be.
It had been moved out from under the plum tree, dragged up close to the house, and placed right in line with my bedroom window.
The green dress slipped out of my hand and pooled on the floor. I sank onto the bed and thought about what I was seeing. I didn't want to believe it. I lay back and rolled onto my side, away from the window.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. You could be dead.
On the picnic table, sitting there plain-as-you-please, was an apple core.