Little Girls (12 page)

F
or dinner the three of them ate steak, baked potatoes, and green beans. Afterwards, Ted poured himself a few fingers of scotch from Myles Brashear’s liquor cabinet, and it kept him in a good place for the rest of the evening. After watching a DVD on the laptop, he and Susan adjourned to the kitchen to load the dishwasher while Laurie sat in the parlor going through some of her father’s stuff.

“Mommy seems sad,” Susan said, stacking plates into the dishwasher.

“Well, it’s been a pretty stressful week for her.”

“Because her daddy died?”

“Yes.”

Out of nowhere, Susan wrapped her arms around Ted’s waist and squeezed him hard. “I would be very stressful if you died, Daddy.”

He felt a swelling of emotion inside him. “Thank you. Do you know what ‘stressful’ means, sugar-booger?”

“Does it mean sad?”

“Not really. It means you have a lot of things to worry about.”

“Well, I would be sad if you died, Daddy.”

“I’m not going to die.”

“Not ever?”

He rubbed the top of her head and then gently separated her from him. “Everyone dies eventually. You know that.”

“I do. But it doesn’t have to be for a very long time, does it?”

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

“Good. Because I want you to not die for a very long time. Not for a very,
very
long time!”

He couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll do my best,” he told her. “Now why don’t you hop upstairs and take a bath? You’ve made quite a mess of yourself from playing in the dirt all day. Look how gross and grubby you are.”

Susan crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out. Ted laughed and feigned a grab for the tip of her tongue. Giggling, Susan raced through the kitchen and darted out into the parlor. He finished rinsing the plates, then loaded the rest into the dishwasher. Just as he finished, he heard the faucet come on in the bathroom upstairs.

In the parlor, Laurie sat on the loveseat staring out the darkened windows across the room. On her lap was one of her father’s photo albums.

“What’re you up to?”

Laurie sighed and looked wearily over at him. “Just going through some old photos.”

“There are a few good shots of you and your mom in there. I hope you don’t mind, but I went through it the other day. You might want to keep some of those.”

“I suppose.”

“What is it, Laurie?”

“It looks like some photos are missing. They’re in perfect order otherwise.” She closed the album. “Or maybe I’m just looking too deeply into things. I don’t know.”

“Are you doing all right? Hanging in there?” he asked.

“Yes. Just like the little cat in those inspirational posters. What about you? You’ve seemed stressed since you came back from Annapolis yesterday.”

“It’s nothing huge.” He sighed. “Got a call from Steve Markham while Susan and I were out. He says the high and mighty John Fish isn’t happy with the outline I submitted. I’ve just wasted months of my time writing pages of a play while all along Fish the
wunderkind
wasn’t happy with the lousy outline to begin with.”

“I thought you said the outline was approved?”

“By the production office, yes,” Ted said. “Per his contract, Fish gets final say.”

“Seems awfully negligent of him.”

“Ha. To say the least.”

“Isn’t there a way you can salvage the pages you’ve already written? Maybe you won’t have to change any of it.”

“I don’t know. Markham is going to talk with Fish’s agent, see if we can reach a compromise.” He went to the liquor cabinet, decided against more scotch, and poured himself a glass of wine. “This house feels very cold.”

“It’s been a mild summer so far,” she said absently.

“That’s not what I mean.” He sat down on the sofa and faced her. “This house holds some power over you.”

“It’s not that.” She ran a finger along the edge of the photo album. “Have you been hearing any strange noises in the house?” she asked.

“What kind of strange noises?”

“Noises upstairs. Like someone moving around. Twice I thought I heard a door slam when there was no one up there.”

“I’m sure it’s just Susan.”

“Susan wasn’t up there. And it’s not in the bedrooms.” She pointed straight at the ceiling. “I think it’s coming from the belvedere.”

“That door’s locked.”

“I know. It’s stupid.” She seemed to consider something for a long time. “Susan’s frog,” she said eventually. “The one in the cigar box. It looked like someone squeezed it to death.”

“What are you saying? That Susan did it?”

“No, of course not. I know she wouldn’t do a thing like that. And she was so upset . . .”

He got up, went over to her, and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s stress. This whole thing is grating on you.”

“You’re probably right.”

“There are unresolved issues with your father. It’s going to take some time for you to learn how to deal with them. In the meantime, I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m keeping myself together.”

She’s talking about the highway incident. Because, yes, she seems as peculiar as she had back then, right after that whole thing had happened.
A shiver took him at the base of his spine and traveled up toward his shoulder blades.

“I could take you and Susan back to Hartford, you know. You don’t need to stay here if it makes you uncomfortable. It isn’t necessary.”

“Stephanie Canton’s expecting to bring buyers to the house throughout the week.”

“I can stay here and take care of Stephanie Canton and her buyers.”

“I don’t want us to split up like that.” Laurie frowned and then sat up straighter. “I almost forgot. There’s a rug in the basement that needs to be taken to the trash. It’s big, so it will need to be cut up.”

“All right.” He stood, kissed her on the forehead, and carried his wine out into the hallway. Through the walls he could hear the water pipes chugging. He had yet to descend into the basement, and it took him a couple of seconds of wending through the labyrinthine hallways—and the opening of two hall closet doors—before he located the basement door.

It was cool and damp belowground. There were minimal items down here, much like the rest of the house. The rug was unrolled in the center of the floor. A disconcerting copper stain blotted its center.

There was a tool chest beneath a pegboard under the stairs. He knelt before it, unlatched the lid, and peered inside. Various tools lay in a rusted jumble. Carefully, he sifted through the tools until he located a razor housed in a plastic sleeve. The blade was rusty but still looked sharp enough to do its job. Sliding the toolbox back in place, he went about his business, slicing the stained Persian rug up into ribbons.

Once he had finished, he was sweaty and the muscles in his arm hurt. He filled two larger trash bags with pieces of the rug. He swept up the fibers with a dustpan and brush, dumped the fibers into one of the big bags, then tied both bags closed. Grunting, he lugged them upstairs, down the main hall toward the foyer, and out the front door.

It was cool and windy outside, but the rain had held off. Still, the air smelled of ozone as he traipsed along the lawn and down the long and winding driveway toward the street. Vapor street lamps glowed along the curve of Annapolis Road. Somewhere in the distance, a lone dog barked. On his walk back up to the house, he heard the flat heartbeat of thunder. It sounded very close. When he heard it a second time, he realized it wasn’t actually thunder, but something else.

There was movement by the side of the house. Ted squinted through the darkness. A person stood on the front lawn between the fence and the driveway, small of frame but strangely tall. As he approached, the figure hopped up into the air. Upon landing, the sound the person made was the sound Ted had originally mistaken for thunder.

“Who’s there?” he called.

It was a young girl. The reason she looked so tall was because she was standing on the plank of wood that covered the well. As he watched, the girl jumped up again, the board groaning beneath her feet as she came back down on it.

“Jesus, kid, you shouldn’t be doing that.” He rushed over and extended a hand to her. “Come on down. It’s dangerous.”

She didn’t reach for his hand. Beneath her feet, the old plank made a straining, moaning sound.

“Honey,” he said, his hand still extended.

The girl took his hand and hopped down off the well. She looked to be no older than Susan.

“Are you Abigail?” he asked. “The girl who lives next door?”

“Are you Susan’s daddy?”

“I am. Do your parents know you’re out here?”

“Probably not.”

“Honey, what you were doing . . . you know that’s really dangerous, don’t you?”

“It bounces like a trampoline.”

“I’ll bet it does,” he said, “but if it breaks, you’ll be in a world of trouble.
Capisci?
”

“You talk funny,” said the girl.

“Yeah, well, you should probably get on home. It’s late.”

“I used to throw rocks down there,” said the girl, pointing to the well, “before it was covered up. They covered it up after the old man died.”

“It’s safer that way.”

“Can we take the cover off so I can throw more rocks down there?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’ll just take the cover off when you leave.”

Her impudence shocked him. “Do you know what
trespassing
means, little darling?”

“No.”

He laughed. “Get on home, will you?”

The girl turned and ran along the fence-line at the side of the house. Ted called after her again, but she ignored him this time. After the darkness swallowed her up, the only evidence of her was the sound of her quick little feet whipping through the overgrown grass. He heard something that sounded like the wooden gate slam shut on the fence. The girl’s footfalls were now on the other side of the fence, shushing through the underbrush at a quick clip. For a second the footsteps paused. Ted listened. He could hear the little girl breathing on the other side of the fence. He considered scaring her—perhaps popping up over the fence and roaring at her, as he had once done to some rowdy kids sitting behind him and Laurie in a movie theater—but then he thought he’d feel bad if he actually frightened her. Instead, he turned and walked back toward the house. He was halfway up the porch steps when he felt something small strike his right shoulder blade. He whirled around in time to see a stone the size of a quarter bounce down the porch steps and vanish in the darkness.

The house was quiet upon his return.

Upstairs, Laurie was asleep in the master bedroom. In the dark, Ted stripped off his clothes, considered a shower, then decided against it. He crawled into bed beside Laurie. She stirred and murmured something unintelligible as he draped an arm around her shoulder and started to kiss her neck through the web of her hair.

“Please,” she said quietly.

He rolled on top of her and sought out her mouth with his in the darkness. He kissed her and she kissed him back before turning her head away from him. She smelled warm and like sex. It made his groin ache.

“I can’t,” she whispered, not facing him. “Not in this house. Not in this bed.”

It had been weeks since they’d had sex. Ted groaned and continued kissing down her neck. She was wearing a T-shirt to bed, something she had started doing since the highway incident last year, and again he was struck by a flicker of certainty that she knew about what had happened between him and Marney. If she really did know, would it be better for him to confess it to her? Or was it one of those things that, once spoken aloud, would corrupt everything? Perhaps she could feign ignorance as long as he enabled her to.

“Please,” she said one last time, and set a cold palm against the side of his face.

He rolled over onto his side of the bed, his erection thrusting up beneath the bedsheet like the mast of a sailboat. Sighing, he laced his hands behind his head and stared at the shimmery blue light that came through the side windows and played along the ceiling in geometric surrealism. Shadows of tree limbs danced in the ghostly blue panels.

He hadn’t even realized he had fallen asleep until he awoke sometime later. The house was tomblike in its silence. Rolling over, he found Laurie’s side of the bed empty. He rubbed one hand along the mattress and found that it was cold.

She wasn’t in the bathroom; the door stood open and the light was off. Listening, he could hear not a single sound throughout the house.
It’s like floating through space.
And on the heels of that thought:
Maybe I’m still dreaming.

Naked, he climbed out of bed and went out onto the landing. Peering over the railing, he could see no lights on in any of the rooms downstairs. Around him, the big house creaked like an old whaling ship.