The Whisper, page 7
“These are your parents?” she asked.
Jasper nodded faintly.
“Do they still live in the city?”
“They’re dead.” The words came off his lips like a brief honk of a car, almost as if they were one word.
Jasper had come to accept the deaths of his parents a long time ago. As a result, he tended to answer questions about them with apparent boredom. Still, Jane’s eyes were full of sympathy.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Another thing that bored Jasper was being comforted by those who couldn’t care less.
“Thank you,” he said with no particular sense of gratitude.
“Would it be too intrusive of me to ask what happened to them?”
“You really care about being intrusive?”
“Sometimes I do.”
Jasper knew she wouldn’t get off his back easily. He didn’t even try to make her.
“Have you heard of the train crash near Rosaline Park?” he asked.
Pine Ridge Road basically marked the eastern border of the park, so no occasion that took place there in the last fifteen years would’ve escaped her notice.
“Which one are you talking about?” she said. “I know about at least three rail accidents there before they made the tunnel through the West Mountain.”
The railroad in that area was like a snake slithering around the chain of mountains—a pathetic attempt by the mayor to provide Acheart with a transport system without making significant investments. It had cost many people their lives before a three-mile tunnel was made thanks to Owen Arlington’s donations.
“It happened almost fourteen years ago,” Jasper started. “We lived in Summerhold at the time. You know, the town…”
“I know that town,” Jane said.
“The last time I visited it, I wondered if somebody could actually live there. My father was a very introverted person, never liked crowds of people around. That’s probably the only thing he and I would have in common. Almost every day, he had to get through a two-hour train ride to get to work.” Jasper fell silent for a moment. “They were a little different people, my parents. I mean, my father liked Summerhold, the quiet, the environment, but my mom…”
“I can’t even imagine being trapped in a place like that,” Jane pointed out.
Jasper thought that their situation in Summerhold was not much different from Jane’s on Pine Ridge Road. He opted to keep that thought to himself.
“I wouldn’t say my mother despised Summerhold. Sometimes everyone needs to feel like a part of civilization, but neither our few neighbors nor the rare trips to the city gave my mother that feeling. What happened to them could’ve happened any day. Luckily for me, it happened the day they left me at home. One of our neighbors, Patty Burk, was supposed to look after me. It’s kinda weird that the old nagging bitch is one of the few things I remember about that place. Anyway, my parents went to Acheart and spent a wonderful night together, or maybe not. I’ll never know because they never came back to tell me.”
“And the assholes from the city department had to wait till a few more trains crashed before they finally did something about it,” Jane said.
“I don’t really care now. I haven’t visited Summerhold in a long time.”
“Don’t you have any other relatives?”
“Grandpa on my mom’s side. Guess he was too busy mopping floors in jail to take care of his grandson.”
“Why was he in jail?”
“Another long story. Let’s save it for another time.”
“Another time, huh?” Jane winked at him.
“Forget it. What about your family?”
“My aunt and uncle raised me on a small farm in Vermont, not much to talk about. Before I met Owen, they were the only family I had. My mother died of pneumonia when I was too little to remember her. I’ve never known my father. That’s pretty much it. See? We also have something in common.”
“And what’s that?”
“We both know what it’s like to be alone.”
Jane looked at the picture once again. Now, that she knew the story of the people on it, they seemed to her like characters in one of the novels among which the picture stood.
“Why was it turned over?” she asked.
“I must’ve…” Jasper meant to say he accidentally knocked it over, but the words got stuck in his mouth.
He thought, if Jane already knew about the cocaine, why couldn’t he get candid about something else? He took a deep breath and sat down on the couch. Jane kept standing by the bookshelves. If only she knew how big of a deal it was for him to reveal even that small part of his personality.
“It might sound weird,” Jasper said, “but every time I look at the picture, I feel like they’re watching me. I wouldn’t want them to see me do something bad.”
“Something bad?” Jane tossed a glance at his hand clutching the plastic bag. “Oh, right.” She put the picture back down, and the smile returned to her face. “You still up for something bad?”
Jasper blew out a cloud of smoke. He was lying on the pull-out couch, his head propped up on the armrest, watching Jane move her thighs leisurely as she was dancing to Bobby Darin’s “Dream Lover.” The song came in cracking waves from an old phonograph. Jasper had only two records, but he thought that, under the circumstances, Elvis Presley’s “Hard-Headed Woman” might sound too ironic, maybe even offensive.
Jane was dancing with her eyes closed and a cigarette smoldering in one hand. The t-shirt Jasper had been wearing an hour ago hung on her like a nightgown, her clothes piled up on the floor. Jasper himself had only the pair of boxers on. He was staring forward, past Jane, taking silent drags on his cigarette. Jane didn’t make a big deal out of what had happened. He didn’t expect her to, but to him it was a disaster. The line had been crossed, no way back. No excuses, no explanations counted anymore. He hadn’t cheered up the devil’s wife. He hadn’t helped her fight the feeling of loneliness. He had fucked her. That could never be undone.
Jane was the cheater, but that wouldn’t matter to Arlington if he ever found out, would it? Jasper had had no second thoughts when he had felt her bare skin under his hand. He knew he’d regret it, but for the time being he thought any regret would be worth it. The longing had pushed away all his doubts and fears.
He no longer thought so. Jane was Owen Arlington’s property, and Owen Arlington, as it was known, hated to share anything with anyone.
Jasper nervously pinched his lower lip. His eyes looked like they were made of glass. Jane turned around, slowly waving her hands in the air, and looked down at him. She was mouthing the lines of the song, keeping her eyes fixed on him. Jasper pulled himself together and looked back.
He promised himself no more regrets.
BOOK 2: CHOICES
SUMMER, 1973
5
THE HOUSE OF SUMMER
He kept his forehead propped against the window, struggling to fall asleep. It was the first time Jasper went by train in four years, not because his past had left him afraid of railroads or anything but because it was the most inconvenient means of transportation. As soon as the train departed from Acheart, Jasper was mentally preparing himself for the time it would hit the city outskirts, where the railroad twisted so sharply that every turn made you feel like the train was about to turn over. Jasper had found himself a quiet spot at the end of the half-empty car.
He didn’t want to put up with the intrusiveness typical of some passengers. All he wanted was for this ride to be over.
The summer heat strangled him. He felt wet under his armpits, his thin cotton shirt stuck to his back. The August of 1973 was the hottest month he had ever experienced, but it was fine with him. Jasper wanted to get every last bit of the current summer before it ended.
Once the train gained full speed, falling asleep turned out to be impossible. His suitcase was shifting left and right underneath his seat. Jasper had made quite an effort to fit everything he needed into it and even more effort to get the damn thing onto the train. His clothes occupied about ten percent of the suitcase; the rest was filled with groceries. He was planning on spending a week in Summerhold. The first thing he needed was not to starve to death. The second was to make his parents’ house—at least, the interior—look as less haunted as possible.
Minutes away from his stop, Jasper looked out the window. At that point, he felt like a kid first going to a Boy Scouts camp. Anticipation sparkled in his eyes. At a quarter to five, the train arrived at the station, if you could call a single platform with no signs and pointers a station. At first glance, Summerhold hardly looked like a place that could be inhabited. The railroad stretching through the thick woods seemed to be the only connection with the outside world, and you’d have to cover nearly half a mile to reach the nearest house. Luckily for Jasper, it was the house he needed.
The nature was utterly quiet that day: not a single gust of wind, no leaves rustling, no birds chirping. The world seemed to stop to let him enjoy the serenity he lacked in Acheart. By the time Jasper found the familiar trail, the woods started thinning. Tree shadows were surrendering to the blinding sunlight.
Everything remained exactly as he remembered: the same two-story house with a few spots of white on the front, where the paint hadn’t peeled off, the same porch with the same decrepit rocking chair that got rocked only when the wind made it, the same broad, darkened windows that looked as if you could see a ghost through one of them once you blinked.
Overgrown grass tickled his knees as Jasper strode through the front yard toward the porch. He left the suitcase outside and ascended the steps. The old wood screeched under his feet—even that hadn’t changed. The door was unlocked, and the second he stepped inside an instant smell of mold hit his nose. Cobwebs hung in each corner of the living room. Someone’s footprints trailed all over the dust-covered floor. The foot size was almost half of his. Jasper followed the footprints past a mantelpiece, past a large oak closet, and out the back door.
He went to a moisture-rotten dock that adjoined a small lake. Willow tree braids hung above the mirror surface. The water was so still that it seemed like you could quite easily walk on it. Jasper made a few steps toward the edge of the dock and took a good look at the Newmans’ lake, the property as valuable as the house itself.
He remembered vividly his very first dive into the lake. Jasper was at that age when childish curiosity left no room for caution. His legs were not even long enough to reach the bottom of the shallows. He remembered how desperately he was crying for his mother to help, how badly he wanted to feel her warm hands around him.
As he contemplated the memory, the quiet grew thick, almost artificial, as if there was a tall glass wall around the house. At some point, Jasper felt a gentle touch on his back. His heartbeat fastened as someone’s hands slowly shifted on the fabric of his t-shirt until the fingers were locked on his belly.
Jasper didn’t turn around to look Jane straight in the eye, though it was no challenge for him anymore. He’d had plenty of time to make himself feel less vulnerable around her. Jasper didn’t turn around because he wanted that moment to last a little longer.
He put his hands over hers, wishing she wouldn’t break the silence, not for a few more seconds at least. But it was Jane Arlington, a person with an extraordinary ability to ruin every remarkable moment. In the past ten months, Jasper had learned to be content with it as well. He had learned a lot from her. Sometimes, he wondered if Jane had learned something from him as well.
“I suppose this is the least shitty part of the whole place,” she began.
“You didn’t expect a five-star hotel, did you?” Jasper said.
“I expected that I wouldn’t have to draw water from a lake to flush the toilet.”
“We’ve got a week to get the house in order.”
Her hands tightened around him.
“No fucking way. That’s not how I’ve been planning to spend this week.”
“Then get two buckets to draw water for both of us.”
She pinched his nipples. Jasper let out a cry of pretend pain.
“How was your ride?” he asked.
“Couldn’t have been any worse.”
“Mine wasn’t that pleasant either.”
“At least you didn’t have to take a bus to Northport, wait two hours for a train in the middle of nowhere, and lie to a psycho with ears and eyes all over the city.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Don’t you already know what I told him? We’ve been planning this trip for a month.”
“Checking if everything went according to the plan.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Did he really believe you so easily?”
“I bet he’s been waiting for me to leave him for a few days as much as I have so, hell yeah, he believed me. Right now, I’m supposed to enjoy my favorite lasagna and listen to Aunt Frances talk about the quality of crops this year. He doesn’t even know she died almost two years ago.”
“Does he know where she lived?”
“He doesn’t know anything when it comes to my relatives.”
“Sometimes I feel like…we’ve gotten too careless over the past few months.”
Jane took a deep breath and let go of him.
“If you’re gonna spend the whole time looking around in fear, let me leave you to it, okay?”
Jasper turned to meet her eyes.
“Don’t be mad,” he said as he wrapped his hands around her.
“Don’t make me mad,” she whispered into his ear, responding to the embrace.
Jasper kissed her lips and led her by the hand into the house. Once again, he looked around the living room that could be mistaken for a tomb.
“Where do we even start?” he said.
“Please, don’t tell me we gotta clean up the whole place,” Jane pleaded. “What about the second story? We don’t need it, do we?”
“Jesus, you’re the laziest ass I’ve ever met.”
“I’m the tightest ass you’ve ever met.” Jane winked at him. “Wait a minute. Is it…” She pointed to the cuckoo clock at the opposite side of the room.
The cuckoo itself seemed to have choked on the dust. When it had last made any noise was a mystery. The hands were fixed at nine-thirty.
“Is it from that picture of your parents?” Jane asked. She approached the clock. A bookshelf next to it, though now half-empty, looked familiar, too. “Do you even remember this?”
“What?”
“All of this.” Jane looked around the whole room.
“Some things can never be forgotten.”
“Have you ever thought of settling down here?”
“Summerhold is too far from the city.”
“Exactly. Perhaps, right here, you could live a normal life.”
Jasper released her hand.
“Doing what? Harvesting crops? Raising cattle like your Aunt Frances did? It was my father who wanted this house, not me.”
“Have you ever asked yourself what you want?”
It had become her thing to drive any conversation with him to the pressing issues of existence.
“Right now, I want to make this place look livable,” he said.
Jane seemed a little disappointed by the answer but let it go.
“The kitchen and hallway are yours,” Jasper said. “The living room and bathroom are mine.”
“Why don’t you handle the faucet first?”
“The shut-off valve is in the basement.”
“Good luck.”
Jasper didn’t need luck to turn on the water or electricity. He brought his father’s old phonograph from the attic, and once it started playing the work turned into fun for both of them. Jane was dancing around with a wet rag in her hand, wiping the dust off wherever she saw it. She had to change bowls of dirty water as often as she had to change the records. Jasper knew the trick: play the music, and she would do whatever he told her to. As he was trying to scrape spots of dried dirt off the living room floor and listening to Jane sing, he smiled at how well he knew her now. He was happy to watch her being happy doing something as simple as cleaning. Jasper was so caught up in the moment that he didn’t notice as he began to sing himself. With her moves, Jane dared him to get as loud as he could.
At one point, she took him by both hands, and their voices merged into a raging unison. Elvis Presley’s “You’re the Devil in Disguise” took them both over. The lines of the song were slipping through the open backdoor, and the vastness of the woods spread them far away.
The cleaning took longer than Jasper had expected. Only when they played all the records twice did the first floor look semi-presentable. They had thrown out the moth-eaten carpets, and the ones they managed to save were on the floor, wet and smoothed out. The windows were clear, like perfectly polished crystal. A vague scent of detergent and wet wood filled the air.
Jasper wiped the sweat off his forehead, appraising the job. The house had never looked so nice, not in his memory. It still hardly looked like a place where you could throw a party or invite a few friends for dinner. They couldn’t do anything about the cracked ceiling and screeching floors, but for a hideaway vacation the place would do just fine. Jasper was proud of their teamwork. Although he felt tired, Jane wasn’t out of energy yet. She was like a clockwork toy: once she got wound up, she couldn’t stay still.
“Excuse me, your highness!” Jane exclaimed, as she glimpsed Jasper lying on the couch in the living room. “Would you be so gracious as to help me make dinner?”
Jasper sighed with exhaustion.
“Do you think you can handle it on your own?”
“You called me the laziest ass in the world.”
“I take my words back.”
“I don’t care. Get your ass off the couch.”
Jasper groaned as he rose and followed Jane to the kitchen. The last beams of daylight were fading away, and they turned on the lights in the house. Today’s menu was simple. A while ago, Jasper had learned that an everlasting love for pasta was one of the things he and Jane had in common. The cooking started with a bottle of wine, an expensive one—Jane couldn’t have brought any other. It was the present her husband had provided for this trip without knowing.
Jasper nodded faintly.
“Do they still live in the city?”
“They’re dead.” The words came off his lips like a brief honk of a car, almost as if they were one word.
Jasper had come to accept the deaths of his parents a long time ago. As a result, he tended to answer questions about them with apparent boredom. Still, Jane’s eyes were full of sympathy.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Another thing that bored Jasper was being comforted by those who couldn’t care less.
“Thank you,” he said with no particular sense of gratitude.
“Would it be too intrusive of me to ask what happened to them?”
“You really care about being intrusive?”
“Sometimes I do.”
Jasper knew she wouldn’t get off his back easily. He didn’t even try to make her.
“Have you heard of the train crash near Rosaline Park?” he asked.
Pine Ridge Road basically marked the eastern border of the park, so no occasion that took place there in the last fifteen years would’ve escaped her notice.
“Which one are you talking about?” she said. “I know about at least three rail accidents there before they made the tunnel through the West Mountain.”
The railroad in that area was like a snake slithering around the chain of mountains—a pathetic attempt by the mayor to provide Acheart with a transport system without making significant investments. It had cost many people their lives before a three-mile tunnel was made thanks to Owen Arlington’s donations.
“It happened almost fourteen years ago,” Jasper started. “We lived in Summerhold at the time. You know, the town…”
“I know that town,” Jane said.
“The last time I visited it, I wondered if somebody could actually live there. My father was a very introverted person, never liked crowds of people around. That’s probably the only thing he and I would have in common. Almost every day, he had to get through a two-hour train ride to get to work.” Jasper fell silent for a moment. “They were a little different people, my parents. I mean, my father liked Summerhold, the quiet, the environment, but my mom…”
“I can’t even imagine being trapped in a place like that,” Jane pointed out.
Jasper thought that their situation in Summerhold was not much different from Jane’s on Pine Ridge Road. He opted to keep that thought to himself.
“I wouldn’t say my mother despised Summerhold. Sometimes everyone needs to feel like a part of civilization, but neither our few neighbors nor the rare trips to the city gave my mother that feeling. What happened to them could’ve happened any day. Luckily for me, it happened the day they left me at home. One of our neighbors, Patty Burk, was supposed to look after me. It’s kinda weird that the old nagging bitch is one of the few things I remember about that place. Anyway, my parents went to Acheart and spent a wonderful night together, or maybe not. I’ll never know because they never came back to tell me.”
“And the assholes from the city department had to wait till a few more trains crashed before they finally did something about it,” Jane said.
“I don’t really care now. I haven’t visited Summerhold in a long time.”
“Don’t you have any other relatives?”
“Grandpa on my mom’s side. Guess he was too busy mopping floors in jail to take care of his grandson.”
“Why was he in jail?”
“Another long story. Let’s save it for another time.”
“Another time, huh?” Jane winked at him.
“Forget it. What about your family?”
“My aunt and uncle raised me on a small farm in Vermont, not much to talk about. Before I met Owen, they were the only family I had. My mother died of pneumonia when I was too little to remember her. I’ve never known my father. That’s pretty much it. See? We also have something in common.”
“And what’s that?”
“We both know what it’s like to be alone.”
Jane looked at the picture once again. Now, that she knew the story of the people on it, they seemed to her like characters in one of the novels among which the picture stood.
“Why was it turned over?” she asked.
“I must’ve…” Jasper meant to say he accidentally knocked it over, but the words got stuck in his mouth.
He thought, if Jane already knew about the cocaine, why couldn’t he get candid about something else? He took a deep breath and sat down on the couch. Jane kept standing by the bookshelves. If only she knew how big of a deal it was for him to reveal even that small part of his personality.
“It might sound weird,” Jasper said, “but every time I look at the picture, I feel like they’re watching me. I wouldn’t want them to see me do something bad.”
“Something bad?” Jane tossed a glance at his hand clutching the plastic bag. “Oh, right.” She put the picture back down, and the smile returned to her face. “You still up for something bad?”
Jasper blew out a cloud of smoke. He was lying on the pull-out couch, his head propped up on the armrest, watching Jane move her thighs leisurely as she was dancing to Bobby Darin’s “Dream Lover.” The song came in cracking waves from an old phonograph. Jasper had only two records, but he thought that, under the circumstances, Elvis Presley’s “Hard-Headed Woman” might sound too ironic, maybe even offensive.
Jane was dancing with her eyes closed and a cigarette smoldering in one hand. The t-shirt Jasper had been wearing an hour ago hung on her like a nightgown, her clothes piled up on the floor. Jasper himself had only the pair of boxers on. He was staring forward, past Jane, taking silent drags on his cigarette. Jane didn’t make a big deal out of what had happened. He didn’t expect her to, but to him it was a disaster. The line had been crossed, no way back. No excuses, no explanations counted anymore. He hadn’t cheered up the devil’s wife. He hadn’t helped her fight the feeling of loneliness. He had fucked her. That could never be undone.
Jane was the cheater, but that wouldn’t matter to Arlington if he ever found out, would it? Jasper had had no second thoughts when he had felt her bare skin under his hand. He knew he’d regret it, but for the time being he thought any regret would be worth it. The longing had pushed away all his doubts and fears.
He no longer thought so. Jane was Owen Arlington’s property, and Owen Arlington, as it was known, hated to share anything with anyone.
Jasper nervously pinched his lower lip. His eyes looked like they were made of glass. Jane turned around, slowly waving her hands in the air, and looked down at him. She was mouthing the lines of the song, keeping her eyes fixed on him. Jasper pulled himself together and looked back.
He promised himself no more regrets.
BOOK 2: CHOICES
SUMMER, 1973
5
THE HOUSE OF SUMMER
He kept his forehead propped against the window, struggling to fall asleep. It was the first time Jasper went by train in four years, not because his past had left him afraid of railroads or anything but because it was the most inconvenient means of transportation. As soon as the train departed from Acheart, Jasper was mentally preparing himself for the time it would hit the city outskirts, where the railroad twisted so sharply that every turn made you feel like the train was about to turn over. Jasper had found himself a quiet spot at the end of the half-empty car.
He didn’t want to put up with the intrusiveness typical of some passengers. All he wanted was for this ride to be over.
The summer heat strangled him. He felt wet under his armpits, his thin cotton shirt stuck to his back. The August of 1973 was the hottest month he had ever experienced, but it was fine with him. Jasper wanted to get every last bit of the current summer before it ended.
Once the train gained full speed, falling asleep turned out to be impossible. His suitcase was shifting left and right underneath his seat. Jasper had made quite an effort to fit everything he needed into it and even more effort to get the damn thing onto the train. His clothes occupied about ten percent of the suitcase; the rest was filled with groceries. He was planning on spending a week in Summerhold. The first thing he needed was not to starve to death. The second was to make his parents’ house—at least, the interior—look as less haunted as possible.
Minutes away from his stop, Jasper looked out the window. At that point, he felt like a kid first going to a Boy Scouts camp. Anticipation sparkled in his eyes. At a quarter to five, the train arrived at the station, if you could call a single platform with no signs and pointers a station. At first glance, Summerhold hardly looked like a place that could be inhabited. The railroad stretching through the thick woods seemed to be the only connection with the outside world, and you’d have to cover nearly half a mile to reach the nearest house. Luckily for Jasper, it was the house he needed.
The nature was utterly quiet that day: not a single gust of wind, no leaves rustling, no birds chirping. The world seemed to stop to let him enjoy the serenity he lacked in Acheart. By the time Jasper found the familiar trail, the woods started thinning. Tree shadows were surrendering to the blinding sunlight.
Everything remained exactly as he remembered: the same two-story house with a few spots of white on the front, where the paint hadn’t peeled off, the same porch with the same decrepit rocking chair that got rocked only when the wind made it, the same broad, darkened windows that looked as if you could see a ghost through one of them once you blinked.
Overgrown grass tickled his knees as Jasper strode through the front yard toward the porch. He left the suitcase outside and ascended the steps. The old wood screeched under his feet—even that hadn’t changed. The door was unlocked, and the second he stepped inside an instant smell of mold hit his nose. Cobwebs hung in each corner of the living room. Someone’s footprints trailed all over the dust-covered floor. The foot size was almost half of his. Jasper followed the footprints past a mantelpiece, past a large oak closet, and out the back door.
He went to a moisture-rotten dock that adjoined a small lake. Willow tree braids hung above the mirror surface. The water was so still that it seemed like you could quite easily walk on it. Jasper made a few steps toward the edge of the dock and took a good look at the Newmans’ lake, the property as valuable as the house itself.
He remembered vividly his very first dive into the lake. Jasper was at that age when childish curiosity left no room for caution. His legs were not even long enough to reach the bottom of the shallows. He remembered how desperately he was crying for his mother to help, how badly he wanted to feel her warm hands around him.
As he contemplated the memory, the quiet grew thick, almost artificial, as if there was a tall glass wall around the house. At some point, Jasper felt a gentle touch on his back. His heartbeat fastened as someone’s hands slowly shifted on the fabric of his t-shirt until the fingers were locked on his belly.
Jasper didn’t turn around to look Jane straight in the eye, though it was no challenge for him anymore. He’d had plenty of time to make himself feel less vulnerable around her. Jasper didn’t turn around because he wanted that moment to last a little longer.
He put his hands over hers, wishing she wouldn’t break the silence, not for a few more seconds at least. But it was Jane Arlington, a person with an extraordinary ability to ruin every remarkable moment. In the past ten months, Jasper had learned to be content with it as well. He had learned a lot from her. Sometimes, he wondered if Jane had learned something from him as well.
“I suppose this is the least shitty part of the whole place,” she began.
“You didn’t expect a five-star hotel, did you?” Jasper said.
“I expected that I wouldn’t have to draw water from a lake to flush the toilet.”
“We’ve got a week to get the house in order.”
Her hands tightened around him.
“No fucking way. That’s not how I’ve been planning to spend this week.”
“Then get two buckets to draw water for both of us.”
She pinched his nipples. Jasper let out a cry of pretend pain.
“How was your ride?” he asked.
“Couldn’t have been any worse.”
“Mine wasn’t that pleasant either.”
“At least you didn’t have to take a bus to Northport, wait two hours for a train in the middle of nowhere, and lie to a psycho with ears and eyes all over the city.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Don’t you already know what I told him? We’ve been planning this trip for a month.”
“Checking if everything went according to the plan.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Did he really believe you so easily?”
“I bet he’s been waiting for me to leave him for a few days as much as I have so, hell yeah, he believed me. Right now, I’m supposed to enjoy my favorite lasagna and listen to Aunt Frances talk about the quality of crops this year. He doesn’t even know she died almost two years ago.”
“Does he know where she lived?”
“He doesn’t know anything when it comes to my relatives.”
“Sometimes I feel like…we’ve gotten too careless over the past few months.”
Jane took a deep breath and let go of him.
“If you’re gonna spend the whole time looking around in fear, let me leave you to it, okay?”
Jasper turned to meet her eyes.
“Don’t be mad,” he said as he wrapped his hands around her.
“Don’t make me mad,” she whispered into his ear, responding to the embrace.
Jasper kissed her lips and led her by the hand into the house. Once again, he looked around the living room that could be mistaken for a tomb.
“Where do we even start?” he said.
“Please, don’t tell me we gotta clean up the whole place,” Jane pleaded. “What about the second story? We don’t need it, do we?”
“Jesus, you’re the laziest ass I’ve ever met.”
“I’m the tightest ass you’ve ever met.” Jane winked at him. “Wait a minute. Is it…” She pointed to the cuckoo clock at the opposite side of the room.
The cuckoo itself seemed to have choked on the dust. When it had last made any noise was a mystery. The hands were fixed at nine-thirty.
“Is it from that picture of your parents?” Jane asked. She approached the clock. A bookshelf next to it, though now half-empty, looked familiar, too. “Do you even remember this?”
“What?”
“All of this.” Jane looked around the whole room.
“Some things can never be forgotten.”
“Have you ever thought of settling down here?”
“Summerhold is too far from the city.”
“Exactly. Perhaps, right here, you could live a normal life.”
Jasper released her hand.
“Doing what? Harvesting crops? Raising cattle like your Aunt Frances did? It was my father who wanted this house, not me.”
“Have you ever asked yourself what you want?”
It had become her thing to drive any conversation with him to the pressing issues of existence.
“Right now, I want to make this place look livable,” he said.
Jane seemed a little disappointed by the answer but let it go.
“The kitchen and hallway are yours,” Jasper said. “The living room and bathroom are mine.”
“Why don’t you handle the faucet first?”
“The shut-off valve is in the basement.”
“Good luck.”
Jasper didn’t need luck to turn on the water or electricity. He brought his father’s old phonograph from the attic, and once it started playing the work turned into fun for both of them. Jane was dancing around with a wet rag in her hand, wiping the dust off wherever she saw it. She had to change bowls of dirty water as often as she had to change the records. Jasper knew the trick: play the music, and she would do whatever he told her to. As he was trying to scrape spots of dried dirt off the living room floor and listening to Jane sing, he smiled at how well he knew her now. He was happy to watch her being happy doing something as simple as cleaning. Jasper was so caught up in the moment that he didn’t notice as he began to sing himself. With her moves, Jane dared him to get as loud as he could.
At one point, she took him by both hands, and their voices merged into a raging unison. Elvis Presley’s “You’re the Devil in Disguise” took them both over. The lines of the song were slipping through the open backdoor, and the vastness of the woods spread them far away.
The cleaning took longer than Jasper had expected. Only when they played all the records twice did the first floor look semi-presentable. They had thrown out the moth-eaten carpets, and the ones they managed to save were on the floor, wet and smoothed out. The windows were clear, like perfectly polished crystal. A vague scent of detergent and wet wood filled the air.
Jasper wiped the sweat off his forehead, appraising the job. The house had never looked so nice, not in his memory. It still hardly looked like a place where you could throw a party or invite a few friends for dinner. They couldn’t do anything about the cracked ceiling and screeching floors, but for a hideaway vacation the place would do just fine. Jasper was proud of their teamwork. Although he felt tired, Jane wasn’t out of energy yet. She was like a clockwork toy: once she got wound up, she couldn’t stay still.
“Excuse me, your highness!” Jane exclaimed, as she glimpsed Jasper lying on the couch in the living room. “Would you be so gracious as to help me make dinner?”
Jasper sighed with exhaustion.
“Do you think you can handle it on your own?”
“You called me the laziest ass in the world.”
“I take my words back.”
“I don’t care. Get your ass off the couch.”
Jasper groaned as he rose and followed Jane to the kitchen. The last beams of daylight were fading away, and they turned on the lights in the house. Today’s menu was simple. A while ago, Jasper had learned that an everlasting love for pasta was one of the things he and Jane had in common. The cooking started with a bottle of wine, an expensive one—Jane couldn’t have brought any other. It was the present her husband had provided for this trip without knowing.
