Chapter 10

“Remember that first day on the beach at Mantazilla?” he asked, a lilt of teasing in his voice. “You burned so bad because you never sunbathed in a bathing suit before. And remember you wouldn’t let me rub tanning lotion on your back, because everybody would see?”

Meredith smiled and tried to call up the memory. “I remember faintly,” she said. “I remember the last day best, when we went back to our room.” She looked through the kitchen window and across the lawn. It was another sunny afternoon, but shadows of clouds crossed the lawn. She remembered the shadows of children at play. Elsa Johnson’s house squatted like a troll on the sunny landscape.

It was Thursday. The man had remained with her all of Wednesday. They chatted their way through her chores. Her sense of the man’s presence would expand and flourish when they talked of the happy memories she culled from her dreams: the lodge at Lake Mantazilla, the movie theater where they had first met. Only once, when she mentioned the cocktail party that they had left early, did the air seem to darken. Her awareness of the man had faded and a terrible dreariness hedged in to surround her. She quickly changed the subject. Warmer thoughts drove the chill from the air.

“You do remember the first day,” the man insisted. “You said we could go back to the room, put on the lotion, then go out on the beach again. But we never got back to the beach, did we?” The man chuckled.

Meredith stood working at the sink, peeling potatoes for the evening’s dinner. Gus Halburton would be joining them, and her preparations were well on schedule. By the time Richard arrived home, around six, Swedish meatballs would be simmering on a back burner, their light aroma filling the clean and orderly house. She glanced at the clock and surprised herself as she felt a pang of regret. Yesterday evening, as the hour approached for Richard to come home, her certainty of the man’s presence had faded. He had completely disappeared by the time Richard’s key turned in the lock, and only this morning, when Richard left for work, had he returned.

When she was with him, the closer to him she drew, Meredith understood that she was changing. Her usual bright confidence, the certainty of success that had carried her through college and her courtship with Richard, vanished like a fleeing ghost. With this man, with this illusion or dream of a man, she could not find a confident bone in her body. Instead, her mind swam in a sea of uncertainties, blurry with vague longings and sudden cold currents of fear, rocked and lulled by forces welling up from some deep sea canyon where she tumbled, utterly unsure of herself or even the direction of her fall.

The man encouraged her in every way, of course. He truly loved her. It was she who shied away from speaking out, from taking risks or sharing laughter. She’d put on the brown dress to please him yesterday afternoon, and worn it again today even though it was growing soiled. When she buttoned the long row of tiny buttons the dress seemed a shield against a world she did not understand. In this darker, less vibrant color she knew how to behave, how a not very attractive, plain young woman would act around her husband. Meredith found herself stifling her own thoughts—or, actually, this other woman’s thoughts—and letting them fall unrecoverably to the sea’s floor. And when she spoke, her voice sounded faint. He often asked her to repeat words she had swallowed in timidity.

They had spent the day trading memories. Some of them came back easily, like the lodge and the beach. Others hung back, specters on the edge of her awareness that were unwilling to come to the surface.

“Yes, I do remember,” she said suddenly, a scene from memory filling her mind. “But we went back out on the beach. That night, after dark. And you wanted . . .” She caught herself and the words trailed off. The scene was too embarrassing to recall.

“That’s it, ‘moonburn.’” The kitchen chair creaked as he leaned back in it, laughing. “I wanted us both to suffer third-degree moonburn. On every inch of our bodies.”

He had said the words to embarrass her, and Meredith felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Blushing was one of the odd things about being with him. She never blushed or felt shy in Richard’s company. She loved Richard, and loved making love with him. There was nothing to be shy about. But now, with this stranger, she had not felt so self-conscious since high school.

Nevertheless, it felt pleasurable to have the stranger near her and adoring her. The man enjoyed tossing out flirtatious comments, although he kept his distance, seated at the kitchen table. There were moments when she could almost see him from the corner of her eye. If she closed both eyes and focused on thoughts of him, he would appear, stretched comfortably in the chair, toying with an apple he had taken from the bowl of fruit on the table. Once she had felt so sure of his presence that she turned to make a remark. The bowl of fruit was not there. Nor was he.

“I never wanted to leave that place, Mantazilla.” She pronounced the name wistfully, letting its bubble of sound rise into the light. “It was so elegant. No, so grand, that’s the word. I didn’t think I belonged there.”

She paused, meaning to go on. In these moments, when she felt shy and uncertain, a young girl’s thoughts echoed faintly in her mind. If she caught the words and repeated them aloud, the man seemed to understand.

His deep voice interrupted her thoughts. “That’s what I love about you. Why, even when we were buying this house, you got all embarrassed. I only called the room upstairs the baby’s room.”

Meredith felt a wave of shame surge upward. Why did she feel embarrassed? A flood of memories carried the feeling. She recalled that she and the man were standing in the upstairs hallway, and the real estate man was there. She was uncomfortable as her husband joked with the real estate man about having babies. Her grandmother had always said ladies did not discuss such things in front of men.

“My grandmother, “ she said, dazed. “I just remembered something.”

“Her.” The voice behind Meredith spit the word in disgust. “She belonged in a museum. All those stories, girls getting pregnant from kissing a boy. And then sending you to that girl’s school.”

The man sounded angry and he did not stop. He complained harshly about a woman Meredith felt sure she had never met. The grandmother sounded like a relic of Victorian days, an ancient crone who terrified children with old wives’ tales.

Meredith listened in awe. She recalled both of her grandmothers clearly and they were nothing like this. She remembered the sweet nostalgia of Christmas at their homes when she was a child. But the woman he described was nothing like them.

“I hardly remember her,” she said at last when the man paused. The memories seemed as if they were not hers at all, but those of another woman. And when that woman stirred inside of her, she felt overwhelmed and pushed down, drowning in her own smallness and insignificance. She thought of parents. Surely the other woman, that shadow hazing over each of her thoughts, had parents.

“My mother and father,” she said timidly. “What about them?”

“What a crime.” She heard a sigh at her back. “You were so young when they died, and that witch took over.”

Meredith reflected on what she had learned. This was far more real than the dreams. She wanted to be tough minded, to quiz this man and find out everything he knew. She felt as if a young simpleton were living inside her. This girl had other memories, other experiences, an entire undersea life utterly different from hers.

Nevertheless, she felt afraid. If she turned on him, if she began asking questions and tried to find out too much, he might fade from her thought. She did not want to be without him ever again.

Perhaps if she let the awareness of this other woman well up in her, the memories would return. She would know all about the parents, the grandmother, and the man himself. He would seem real at last, a genuine lover she could see and touch.

“Yes, I was too young,” she said tentatively. She waited for the young girl’s words to take shape in her mind. “I’m glad I’m here now, though. I’m glad I’m with you.”

She waited. The words hung floating in the air. He was supposed to respond but did not. Meredith tried to envision him sitting behind her as he had been only a moment ago. She recalled his gray-green eyes, the sunlight glinting off the red highlights in his hair.

“I love you,” she said, speaking aloud again. The words reverberated through her, and they were true. She heard her own voice, but she felt some other woman’s feelings churn inside her flesh. That woman did love him in every part of her being. Still he did not respond. Instead, darkness and cold momentarily washed over her. Even beyond the windows the day seemed to go dark.

Perhaps she had said the wrong thing. She could no longer feel his nearness. Something had driven him away. Suddenly she heard a harsh rapping. She spun and saw that Elsa Johnson’s red knuckles were rattling the glass window of the back door. The older woman’s pie-round face pressed against the pane, staring.

Quickly drying her hands, Meredith hurried to the door, stunned by the interruption and the man’s sudden absence.

“Well, I should say,” Elsa bustled into the kitchen. “I knocked for a good half minute. Are you losing your hearing?”

“No, I—I must have been dreaming,” Meredith stammered. “Sorry.”

“And talking to yourself, too? I saw your lips move. Oh dear, perhaps I’ve come at the wrong time. Well, look at you, in a new dress, too. Please go right on, don’t let me interrupt.”

In open contradiction to her words, Elsa settled into a chair at the kitchen table. She pulled off her red woolen cap and tucked it into a coat pocket. Then she slipped the coat from her shoulders and let it fall over the chair.

“After all, if you have company, I can go.”

Meredith’s heart fell. Mrs. Johnson had positioned herself for a view of the hallway that led to the living room. She clearly thought someone had been standing in the doorway.

“Oh, no,” Meredith said as lightly as she could. “I do talk to myself sometimes. I suppose I was singing.”

“I see.” Elsa cast a poorly concealed glance toward the hall. “I was only on my way to the store and thought you might want something. Of course you can tell me to leave if you have a visitor.”

“Elsa!” Meredith turned away in exasperation. “If you want to walk through the house, go ahead.” She picked up the last potato from beside the sink and peeled away a shred of skin before dropping it into the pot.

“I only wanted to help,” the older woman said petulantly. “I came to see if you wanted anything from the store.”

“I appreciate your stopping by. It’s just that I’m expecting company for dinner. I have everything I need. But thanks.”

“I suppose you have a lot to do?” Elsa asked tentatively. “You could walk along. To the store, I mean if you wanted to see where it happened.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You know. The incident. What I heard on the radio. I think I know exactly where it happened.”

“You’re talking about a rape,” Meredith said. “It isn’t the first rape around here.” Then a thought occurred to her. “Elsa, are you afraid to walk to the store?”

“I can take care of myself. Only trashy people have to worry about things like that.”

“I’m sorry, but that isn’t true,” Meredith murmured. “There is something awful going on in this neighborhood. In fact, there’s a man who stalks around here at night. I saw him.” She realized that she had made a mistake. Now Elsa would gossip about her, and how she went out at night.

“I see,” Elsa said with grim satisfaction. “But I am not trash, and I don’t need to worry.”

“Then I really do have plenty to do,” Meredith said. “I hope you’ll excuse me.”

“By all means, go on.” Elsa slid her cap from her coat pocket and shrugged into her coat. “Men!” she said with a sigh. “You never can trust them.”

Meredith wanted to let the remark pass, but as she held the door for Elsa she could not help reacting. “I’m not sure what you mean. I certainly can trust Richard.”

Elsa turned, her coat pulled tight around the folds of her waist. “Oh no, dear. I was thinking of someone else. I’ll tell you about it sometime. And of course I was thinking of what happened at Economy Grocery.” She turned away with a bright smile and stepped cheerfully around the side of the house.

Meredith stood for a moment, perplexed, but thankful that Elsa was gone. Then she pulled the door shut against the cool air that was settling in with late afternoon. She leaned against the door, struggling to regain her disrupted train of thought.

Whatever was that woman’s goal? Meredith wondered. Or was Elsa simply full of whisperings and hinted gossip to keep people guessing? She supposed that was it. Anyway, thanks to Elsa’s poor timing, the stranger had vanished. Meredith no longer felt like the young, untried girl whose words she had spoken only moments ago. The whole thing was getting too bizarre. It might be time to talk about it with Richard.

She checked the clock and realized she should go upstairs and change clothes before Richard got home. She remembered Gus. Perhaps now that she felt more at ease with the stranger, Gus Halburton would not find her thoughts so easy to read.

Meredith crossed the kitchen, flicking on the overhead light against the gathering dusk. From the shelf in the hallway, she grabbed a pair of Richard’s jeans and two towels that needed to go upstairs. She stepped into the living room and reached to turn on a light to dispel the gray hovering darkness. Then she stopped. She stood stunned, unable to scream.

The walls were gray. In the dim light, she could see furniture, but it was not hers. A short black couch sat at right angles to the far wall. It faced a pale gray chair in the exact position from which she had moved it last weekend. Between the two pieces stood the dark bulk of a coffee table she had never seen. A row of books lined the mantel, replacing the two silver candlesticks she had polished only this morning. The room was entirely changed, filled with the wrong things, and with an entirely wrong feeling. A spirit floated here, terrible in its agony.

She felt a memory. Grief, like an echo, issued from vast gray emptiness. It was a dark well of cold air, a chasm of grief, and it had something to do with Elsa. It also had something to do with the stranger. The grief was like a vast gulf, trying to absorb her consciousness, and it was fierce with the violence of love. It sobbed with pain, trembled with anger.

Meredith stumbled back against the side of the stairway. The ridged edge of the step cut into her spine. There was death here. No other word could describe the icy fingers that wrapped themselves about her mind. Paralyzed, she felt it gather. The coldness of death seemed a layer across the gray walls, and within the walls—as if she were seeing something happen underwater—the form of a woman stood screaming.

Meredith grabbed the edge of the staircase. She clutched it with her fingers, remembering that it must come to an end. At the lower edge of the stairs was an opening, and she had to get to it. Meredith fumbled along the banister while her mind fought to repel the vision.

It crackled in the air, a dark electricity. It was huge, powerful, and it grasped after her and tried to pull her into that gulf of grief. She reached the step, then spun, reeling into the wall.

The front door stood on the other side of the dark living room, too many steps away and too heavy to open. She pushed away from the wall and stumbled toward the dining room, as though swimming through air that felt far too heavy. The patio doors on the far wall would provide an escape, if only she could reach them. Her hip collided with a sharp edge, and she heard china clatter against silver. She remembered with surreal relief that she had set the table earlier, but it seemed unbelievable that it could still be there. Yet the patio doors were solid and real as she threw her weight against them.

Her fingers struggled with the cold lock, twisted it twice the wrong way, then yanked it back. The door gave. She felt a comforting rush of air as she pushed out onto the patio and slammed the door at her back.

Her breath came in short, desperate gulps. Groping unsteadily toward a chair, she grabbed its cold aluminum arm and sank down. The vision of a screaming woman whirled about in her mind. The face of the stranger, of Elsa, of people she had never known, all surrounded that image. She tried to make some sense of the maelstrom, but nothing fit together. She only knew that she had seen death, that death had been present in that room. The whole thing made no sense. It would make sense if she were crazy, but she understood, feeling the cold aluminum arms of the chair, that the true horror came because she feared that she was sane. She had been like a child playing a pretend game. But this was no game.