Red House Blues (15 page)

As much as you would like me to give this
up, you know I have to at least try to find those notebooks. I owe
him at least that much - but more than that, I owe it to myself.
You and I have been over this endlessly! I can’t come home until I
can say I have done absolutely everything I can do - only then will
I be able to maybe let him go. Sounds like the worst psyco-babble
but it’s true.

As to the money, I’ve taken a cashier job at
a small market a few blocks from here. It’s just part-time and
something I can do. (Bet I never told you I used to work after
school at Safeway back on the island. Can’t believe I’m glad now
for that experience. It was a terrible job!)

The i.d. Tony sent me came in handy for the
job application (thank him again). Nobody ever checks too closely
into part-timers. I will not only make some money but I’ll get to
know the neighborhood and maybe some of the people. Don’t worry, it
will be okay. Okay, I said that before but I MEAN it! Stop freaking
out on me. I promise I’ll keep you posted on my every move and I’ll
come home right away if it looks like I’ve gotten in over my head.
Satisfied? Love - Dumb Blond

E-mail to [email protected]:

Dear Dumb Blond - promise all you want, you
won’t come home at the first sign of trouble. I know you better
than that, girlfriend. And I’m sorry for the mother hen number. I
know you can take care of yourself. But if you need any kind of
help just yell and we’ll be down there in a heartbeat. Yes, even
Tony. The other night he asked how you were doing. That’s a good
sign, don’t you think? Someday maybe he’ll realize that losing one
friend is enough. You guys were friends once and will be again. I’m
sure of it. He’s just stubborn and sometimes a pain in the rear. As
are we all I suppose. I’ve got to go and fix some dinner for that
gloomy rooster of mine so I’ll let you go for tonight, sweetie.
Take care, and let me know how the project is going.

Love - Mommy Hen

P.S. I checked on your apartment and watered
the ficus.

Claire clicked send.
I shouldn’t have lied to her, shouldn’t have led
her to think everything is the same as when she left.
At least not everything was a lie - Tony did ask
about her. And whether I was running off to be with her. Not that
he wanted me to stay. He didn’t say that. “Time alone”, was what he
said. Time to think. He’d get a room in the dorm. I couldn’t have
felt more guilty if he had said it deliberately to hurt me -
couldn’t stand the thought of him camping out in some musty dorm
room - so I pack up a case and go to Suzan’s. Where else would I
go?

She’d come back if I told her - if she knew
I needed her. She’d be coming back for the wrong reason though. Two
more weeks. Maybe by that time I’ll know what‘s going to happen
with Tony. I’ll have to tell her before she comes back. Just not
now. She has enough to deal with without that.

Chapter 13

West from 23rd, Fir Street resembled a
roller coaster, dipping a block down to a Pentecostal church at the
corner of 22nd, where it climbed steeply from the intersection,
cresting and disappearing over the rise toward the water.
Silhouetted against a vermillion sunset at the summit was a monster
of a house. Massive and lumpy. Suzan wanted to say ornate, but that
would imply some attempt at ornamentation. The impression it made
was of a conglomeration, a collection of bay windows and gables
stuck on with no particular design in mind. Less a construction
than an excretion.

With the waning light behind it she couldn’t
determine its color. Something dark. Dreary. But it might have been
the deepening twilight that gave it an ominous air. That and her
own state of mind.

Her second venture to Jax’s with Marla had
come to nothing. The drummer had brushed past them out of the bar
leaving his band mates to put away the instruments, the manager
yelling at him all the way to the door. There had been no time for
Marla to go into her routine, no time to talk to anyone at all
about Sean.

“Never mind, Suzan. Just wasn’t our night,”
she said. “Seems the guys have a few issues. We’ll catch them
another time.”

Having come so far, to get that close to
someone who had known Sean, only to leave empty handed was almost
too frustrating to bear. Suzan thought there must be something more
they could have done but Marla said she’d had enough for one night.
Another lost opportunity, another day with zip to show for the
effort. Suzan knew she was missing crucial information, a void that
nagged her like spinach caught between her teeth. A feeling that
info was being deliberately hidden from herBy the time she got off
work the next day she was half dead after a numbing afternoon
scanning frozen pizzas and keying produce. But it would take more
than swollen feet to prevent her from finally paying a visit to the
house on Fir Street.

That morning she had been tempted to swing
by on her way to work but the timing hadn’t felt right. She wanted
to scope out the lay of the land before she approached. Once she
knew better what she was getting into she would go when the
residents were home from work and had a few minutes to talk. If no
one was home she could always try the next day. It was a
well-reasoned argument but spoke of a spinelessness that
embarrassed her. It was as if she were dragging her feet, coming up
with excuses not to act, which didn’t make a whole lot of sense
since she’d put in a lot of effort and come quite a distance for
the express purpose of talking to people in that house.

Could have been a mistake renting Linda’s
spare room. If I were still camping out at the hostel I’d be
feeling more pressure to push ahead. As it is, I’ve got way too
much room in which to procrastinate.

Suzan decided she’d have to watch that
before she talked herself out of doing anything at all.

She did rather like the room, though it was
aggressively cute. Way too feminine and pink for her tastes but
with its proximity to Fir Street and the inexpensive price tag she
thought she should maybe stop being so critical and count her
blessings.

At least Linda seemed to be
a nice woman. Suzan pegged her as an Earthshoe type, given to
substituting tofu for everything actually edible. She and the other
two women in residence were students at Seattle University. Linda
was studying comparative religion.
Note to
self: don’t talk religion
. The others
seemed to be majoring in a nebulous variety of humanities studies.
Given different circumstances Suzan might have been glad to make a
few new friends. As it was she would mind her own business and let
them mind theirs. She wouldn’t be in town long enough to
bond.

Her first full day in the “’hood” had been
packed with revelations, mostly relating to her own insular
(literally) upbringing. On Whidbey Island and later in Bellingham
she was one of a vast majority of white inhabitants. Standing at
her register in the Apple Market, she was a spectral blond who
found herself empathizing with the odd flounder in an ocean filled
with salmon. The market employees and customers, mostly African
American and Asian, were stringently polite. Almost overdoing the
friendliness to make her feel welcome.

Tia, the senior checker hugged her as she
timed out. “You did just fine, honey,” she said. Suzan wasn’t used
to being hugged and it was unsettling being hugged by someone she
had just met.

“Thanks very much,” she replied with what
she hoped would be seen as a sincere smile.

Selling groceries - something so routine and
ordinary - was oddly comforting even in this unfamiliar setting.
Suzan greeted the sticky toddlers dangling from rusty shopping
carts, sent Leon off to the canned soup aisle for a price check,
sold a Lotto ticket to a shriveled little man with wide hopeful
eyes. It was business as usual and she was pleasantly surprised she
remembered the drill. The experience wasn’t remotely comparable to
cashiering at Safeway back home, where everyone knew her and her
whole family. Where she was Suzan Sullivan Pike, no nonsense and
serious beyond her years. Here her nametag read Ann not Suzan and
she elicited hugs. It was a sort of rebirth.

As she retrieved her jacket and purse from
the break room locker she hummed a tune Sean wrote the first year
they were married. Just a simple happy melody. She longed for the
smallest scrap of normalcy. Claire would say that was a good omen.
Omen or no, she took it to mean she was on the right track as she
set off up 23rd toward Fir Street humming with optimism.

Just before Fir rose cliff-like to the west,
Suzan came to a sort of pocket park carved out of a vacant lot. It
was no more than a strip of worn grass, a few swing sets, and a
bench under an aging weeping willow. Likely the handy work of
parishioners of the church across the street, an example of a
neighborhood providing for its own the best way it could. And, as
an unintended byproduct, it provided Suzan the perfect vantage
point from which to scope out the house at the top of the hill. The
park was situated directly catty-cornered from the house. No need
now to stand gawking from the sidewalk, drawing attention to
herself.

A pair of leggy girls sat in a couple of
swings, giggling, no doubt about boys. At that age it’s always
about boys. It was tempting to envy them. With luck things won’t
get complicated for them for a few more years. Suzan walked to the
rickety bench under the willow and sat. Miraculously it held her
weight. It was stronger than it looked. So many things were. She
hoped she was one of them.

Daylight was fading rapidly
as it does in early spring, the temperature dropping with the
sun.
Soon the two girls will decide to
head home for dinner and I’ll be alone in the park.
Both Claire and Marla would have told her she had
no business being out at night in an unfamiliar part of town.
Especially this part of town. But no part of town is without its
dangers for women alone. No town, even Bellingham. Even little Oak
Harbor
. Marla considers me an innocent
babe, and it’s true I’m not street smart but I’m not stupid
either.

Across the street in that big ugly house
lived people Sean had chosen over her. That knowledge was
inescapable and hurtful. Who were they? Suzan could have
unknowingly seen any or all of them today at the market. For two
years Sean might have been buying groceries from Tia, Suzan’s new
supervisor.

Even without the chill evening breeze
ruffling the willow leaves she shivered. On many levels this was
going to be a pretty uncomfortable surveillance.

A trickle of cars came down the hill, a few
turning the corner toward Jackson, their headlights glancing away.
There was a hint of wood smoke on the air laced with something that
smelled like baking bread. Strange how peaceful it could be on a
scrap of city tucked into the lee of a hill, almost as if it were
encapsulated in some invisible globe set apart from the gritty dirt
and urban turmoil.

A woman’s voice called out
from down the street and the two young girls evaporated into
deepening shadows. Called home so they won’t be out after dark.
Won’t be here when the predators - the drug dealers and worse -
claimed the street. Parents everywhere knew the dangers in the
dark. Suzan thought of her own dad.
He’d
kill me if he knew where I was.

This might not have been the best plan.
Nothing much was visible of the house anyway. As she had that
thought a light went on in an upstairs window of the house,
followed by a yellow light on the wide front porch. Someone was in
the house, though she hadn’t seen anyone go up the steps. So either
they’ve been there all along or they came in the back. What did
that say? Nothing.

Suzan was feeling a little foolish sitting
on a cold bench as the sun set. And hungry. She shouldered her
purse, zipped her jacket and decided to head back to Linda’s for a
hot meal and a good night’s sleep.

Then she spotted him - walking past the park
in the direction of the house. She sat very still on the bench, not
wanting him to notice her. Get a grip. A man from the neighborhood
walking home from work. What could be less threatening than that?
At least he was alone. The last thing Suzan wanted was to have an
unpleasant encounter with the local gangbangers.

The man stopped, as if
listening for something. She was sure it was a man, fairly tall,
wearing what appeared to be a hooded sweatshirt. But it was hard to
make out any details in the gloom. A blade of fear slipped between
her ribs. All the worst possibilities rushed to mind. Marla’s
description of the dead punk singer swept over her in a sick
wave
. Oh, God, what am I doing here?
Please don’t let him see me.

Her breathing stalled as she watched him
turn, looking in the direction of the tree where she sat
imperfectly shielded by a curtain of young willow leaves. For
several heartbeats he stood still. But then unbelievably he
continued along the street.

He didn’t see me. He’s
going on up the hill.
Suzan stayed where
she was as the man reached the house at the crest and ascended to
the porch, heard his footsteps loud on the plank steps. He paused
as if looking through pockets, opened the door and stepped inside,
a harsh orange glow enveloping him. He was in and the door closed
behind him before she could determine whether he was one of the
Scalplock trio she had seen at Jax’s last night, though with the
hood up she couldn’t have seen if he had tattoos on his head. It
was useless.

She hurried out of the park
and back to Linda’s as if the devil were on her tail.
What was I thinking? I’m some pathetic coward, a
sad castoff who can’t let go of what might have been.
If only Marla hadn’t gone back to Portland. Maybe
she should after all take Claire up on her offer to come down and
lend moral support. Right at that moment she didn’t want to see
that house again but she knew she was way too deep to back out. She
had no choice but to return to Fir Street and she would be doing it
alone. She would have to find a spine and quick.