Eleanor walked home from school with Midge’s words ringing in her ears. They made her scared and confused. It was a terribly familiar combination of emotions. For her whole long, miserable life she’d been scared, and whenever she interacted with people, she’d been confused. She was not accustomed to kindness. She did not seek it, and when it found her, she didn’t know how to react. Stumbling through diesel exhaust clouds on frozen gravel roads, snow freezing to her face, Eleanor wondered what trick Midge was trying to play on her.
She tried to think which of the girls had put her up to it. Was it Barbara or Alexi? Penelope? Crystal? Midge was friends with none of them. Had they promised to be her friend if she played this trick? But what was the trick? Eleanor attacked the problem from every devious angle she could think of, invented conspiracies including teachers, waitresses, and even the FBI. She fitted each, regardless of how unlikely, to Midge’s warning. Finally, she racked her brain for something she had done to Midge to make her hate her, and, failing that, to like her.
The wind drove freezing rain against her face and she pulled her hood as tight as it would close and soldiered on the deserted roads toward home.
Eleanor had never done anything to Midge but leave her alone. Was that all the kindness needed to earn her a favor today? Midge had said that Eleanor would do the same for her. Sure she’d gone on a limb for David, but would she warn an acquaintance like Midge if something were heading her way, or her “beau’s?” Eleanor didn’t think so. And yet something had made her promise the big girl that she would do it now. Had she been lying? Had it been an emotional response? An instinctive reaction? She valued instinctive reactions much higher than logical ones. Instinct keeps one alive; logic is uncertain. What was she to believe about herself?
By the time she crossed into her yard, Eleanor was sure that something momentous had happened today. A kindred spirit had reached out of the storm and offered her shelter. She gave Midge, the round faced girl, butt of all the fat jokes she had ever heard, a little place in that special room in her heart inhabited only by Tabitha, David, and her dead family.
Eleanor shed her wet coat and shoes at the door but kept her sweater. The house was cold. To save money, they wore sweaters and long johns indoors. Eleanor heard Tabitha hang up the phone in the kitchen, then she came out to greet her daughter.
“Is everything okay, Mom?”
“Fine, dear,” Tabitha said, sitting down. Eleanor waited expectantly for her mother to tell her about the phone call. They got so few calls, and none ever with good news, so she was naturally curious about it. Tabitha didn’t mention it.
“We should have a fire tonight,” she said. “I’d like a fire tonight.”
“Okay,” said Eleanor. Her mother didn’t seem worried. In fact, Eleanor thought she detected a wry smile curl her upper lip.
“Go change clothes, cupcake,” Tabitha said. “Looks like you’ve been walking in a snowstorm.”
“I have.”
“Well, there you go then.”
After changing, Eleanor attacked the mail. The electric bill was down, but the gas bill was higher. A fire was a good idea, she thought. She’d look for more wood to heat the house. Construction sites would be unguarded this time of year. Two by fours burned well. She’d sneak out later and look for scraps.
After dinner, they played cards in silence. Eleanor had moved beyond wondering about the warning to the warning itself. Even if it was a trick, which Eleanor no longer believed, it demonstrated a dangerous mindset. Dwight was in no danger. He was long gone, probably in Texas with his little girl right now, watching college football on his widescreen. No, the danger was to Eleanor. The gossip was not far from the truth, but uglier. Eleanor knew that it would never completely go away. The talk would be passed around like a bottle in a brown bag. In the retellings, in the base minds of the people of Jamesford, it would become verified fact, and Eleanor would be forever branded with a sordid reputation. If she was lucky, it would keep people away. If she was unlucky, it would bring trouble.
As if reading her mind, Tabitha said, “Stephanie Pearce called today. We’re all set to go to Riverton in the morning. A car will be here at eight.”
“She’s not going with us, is she?” The thought of three hours in a car with the social worker made Eleanor want to heave.
“No. But I’ve arranged to do a little shopping after my appointment. You need new clothes. What’s left in the budget?”
“We have some, provided the doctor doesn’t change your pills to something redonculous.”
“Do we have enough for new clothes?”
“Sure, maybe even a pair of socks—one for each of us,” Eleanor kidded. “Why? Do you need something?”
“Just thinking out loud,” said her mother. She placed her last card on the table. “Fifteen for two, and the next crib is yours.”
It was past ten when they stopped playing.
“We got a big day tomorrow, Mom,” Eleanor said. “You should get to bed.”
“I’m not sleepy,” she said. “I’m going to watch some TV. Keep me company.”
Now Eleanor knew something was wrong. Tabitha was tired, she knew it. The pills were knocking her mother out. But she didn’t press for answers. She felt her mother’s reluctance in talking to her about it. Tabitha would tell her when she was ready, Eleanor decided.
“Okay, Mom,” she said. “So what’s on?”
Eleanor cuddled with Tabitha on the couch. They watched an old movie with martinis, murder, a cute dog, and long evening dresses. Eleanor felt her mother drift in and out, and then fall asleep outright before the second act. Eleanor watched until the final moment, never guessing who it was until the killer was revealed at a dinner party.
The next movie was a “B” horror film from the eighties about a scampering pack of puppets terrorizing a small town. Eleanor switched it off and watched the dying embers in the fireplace. In just a few minutes, she fell asleep still wrapped in Tabitha’s arms.
She dreamt poorly. Old memories mixed with new fear; blades, bullets, lies. Murder in the desert, her house on fire, a knife in her side.
She dreamt there was a car outside her house. People furtively got out of it and snuck up to her porch. She imagined their footsteps on the path, crunching the windblown snow leading to her door.
All of a sudden, Eleanor snapped awake. Her heart raced. Sleep evaporated like alcohol on a summer sidewalk. Adrenaline slowed the world. She lay still and listened. She could hear her mother’s breathing, smell smoke from the dying wood fire, and see only shadows on the wall.
Carefully, she pulled herself away from Tabitha and looked toward the door. The streetlight glow was interrupted by a figure as someone crossed in front of the window outside.
Russell Liddle, she thought. He’s out there with his friends. Greg Finlay drove them here. They’re going to kill us, burn our house down. It’s happening again.
She saw a flash of light and then the unmistakable piquant smell of sulfur from a burning flare. Could she smell gasoline?
“Momma,” she whispered. “Momma, get up. There are people here. They’re going to kill us, Momma. We have to run.”
Tabitha blinked her eyes. She saw the flickering red lights dancing on the curtain. And asked, “What time is it, cupcake?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s late. We’ve got to go. Take the blanket.”
Crouching and silent, Eleanor hurried to the back of the house to see if it was guarded.
“It’s midnight,” her mother said, standing up, stretching, and wrapping herself with the blanket, but making no move to follow Eleanor out the back door.
“Come on, Momma,” Eleanor pleaded, her voice panicked and breaking. “We have to go now.”
The doorbell rang.
“Eleanor. Get the door.”
“Momma,” beseeched Eleanor. “Tabitha. Come now!”
Real terror gripped her. She could only gape as her mother just stood there waiting, expecting Eleanor to get the door.
Instinct. Life. Survival. She took a step back into the kitchen. This was it. It was over. She would run. She would figure out this mystery somewhere else, somewhere safe, and she would mourn, but she would live. She would miss Tabitha. Miss David. Miss it all. But she had to run.
She looked again at her mother in a sad horrible farewell. Tabitha grinned. She was mad. She didn’t know what was coming. How could she? Eleanor crept farther away.
Tabitha’s grin melted into concern. Was she beginning to understand? Did she finally recognize the danger they were in? Why did she not run while she still could?
“Come, Momma!” Eleanor said, shifting her weight for a leap. She turned to flee. She could wait no longer.
“Eleanor, no,” her mother said. “It’s alright.”
Ready to spring, knowing she could use the window over the sink if she had to, she paused.
“Trust me,” her mother said.
The words felled her like a shot. She stumbled. The bell rang again. The red flaming lights cast bloody shadows through the drapes. She was scared. She was confused. Instinct said run. Tabitha, her living mother, asked her to trust her and stay. She froze, her body as taught as a coiled snake.
“Eleanor, cupcake,” her mother said. “Trust me and get the door.”
Disoriented and angry, confused by her own insane movement, Eleanor found herself easing back inside. She stepped toward her mother, who welcomed the step with a smile and a nod. “Come on, child,” she said. “Answer the door.”
Against everything she felt, everything she knew that was happening, against her own survival instinct, Eleanor walked to the door as if hypnotized.
At the door, she smelled hell. Outside was cordite, gunpowder, sulfur, and paper—all burning outside the house. Why was she doing this?
She would die now. Die because she had trusted Tabitha instead of her instincts. For love she would die. She was insane.
She opened the door.
The air erupted in fiery light and smoke. Explosions deafened her hearing, her eyes were useless, blinded by magnesium flashes. She gasped for breath to scream, choking on chemical smoke. Before she could let loose and wail her final sound, Wendy Venn stepped onto the porch. She held a piece of notebook paper. Her mother held a flashlight over her shoulder so she could read the text.
“Fireworks are such a sight,” she recited.
“They make the darkness all the bright.
“If you will, if you might,
“Come with me to prom that night.
“I would be your noble knight.
“You would be my shining light.”
Eleanor’s jaw fell slack as she gawked at little Wendy Venn.
“The second knight was a k,” she said. “You know the kind that slays dragons and stuff?”
When Eleanor didn’t say anything, Wendy cocked her head to the side and said, “It’s David. He’s inviting you to go dancing. You don’t need to decide right now. Tomorrow’s okay. Or the next day even. But I hope you say yes. He really wants to go with you. It’ll be so much fun.”
Just then the sky burst into a chrysanthemum blossom of blue and yellow sparks. Roman candles set on the road in front of her house shot blazing whistling fireballs overhead. Eleanor saw David kneeling beside a tube. He touched a red road flare to a fuse, and it hissed to life. A fountain of silver and gold glitter burned away the darkness. David stepped away and squinted in the light. He shaded his eyes with his hand and peered at the house. He caught sight of Eleanor in the doorway, and ducked behind his mother’s parked car.
“Won’t you come in?” offered Tabitha.
“No, thanks,” said Mrs. Venn. “We just came to deliver the message.” Wendy had turned around to watch the pyrotechnics. She squealed and hopped on her toes with each burst of light.
Tabitha stepped outside, and the four stood on the porch and watched the fireworks together. Neighbors wandered into the street to see the last of the show. Eleanor glanced around, expecting a lynch mob to form, but everyone just watched the lights. Eleanor caught sight of one woman pointing her out to her husband. They both waved at her. She waved back without thinking. She knew then that David had told them all what he was going to do. They expected this. They were all part of it. Tabitha, too.
Eleanor’s head buzzed with excitement. Her knees threatened to drop her. Her hands shook like autumn aspen leaves. She was scared and confused again, and, when she felt her mother’s arm lovingly wrap around her, she also felt ashamed.
She rubbed her cheek on the old woman’s hand and looked up at her mother. Tabitha shivered under the blanket. Her cheeks were sunken, her color sallow and made unreal in the firelight, but she grinned. It was the proudest smile Eleanor had ever seen her wear.