Paper Alley, page 6
Dan reached for her hand. He knew he’d never deal with these same issues, as his parents had died in a wreck on the interstate highway when he and his brother were young men.
Julie sighed. “Today she must have asked me five times why you weren’t with us. I saw in her newspaper that a woman she had grown up with had died. I told her I would take her to the visiting hours, but she insisted she didn’t want to go. I found a condolence card for her to send, and signing her name took a lot of effort on her part.” Julie held Dan’s arm and snuggled in closer. “I just thought there’d be more quality time with her once we moved here. I’m not even sure yet how much she has put away for assisted living.”
For lack of anything more hopeful he could tell her, Dan simply responded, “We’ll take it one day at a time.”
SIX
Weeks passed with Dan absorbed by demands at work coupled with remodeling projects. The boys had a less than enthusiastic commencing of classes at their new school. Even though they’d moved several times, they had always had plenty of other military kids as their classmates. Julie signed up for two graduate courses at the university. She began researching genealogy since they were now living in the general area of their ancestors. She visited her mother each week to organize her meals and to take her to visit assisted living facilities. Life fell into a rhythm of normalcy.
Julie arrived home from her morning class one Tuesday just before lunchtime as Mary Knight walked onto the driveway. She carried a basket of laundry from the backyard. So far Mary had been cordial with Julie if not a little standoffish. Julie decided to use the encounter to extend warmth on her part at least. She stepped out of the car smiling, then strode toward Mary.
“Hey, Mary—what a beautiful day. How have you been? We’re so busy. Time flies by. Would you like to come over for lunch?”
“Thank you, but I have a lot of housework to do before Ed gets home.” Mary avoided eye contact with Julie as she walked toward her garage door.
“Come on, you have to take a lunch break anyway. I’ve got a chopped salad ready to go. You can come in and see what Dan’s done to the place. Is Ed coming home for lunch today?” Julie stood her ground, and Mary stopped.
“No, Ed has a lunch meeting at the university today.”
“Then come on.”
“I’ve never been in the house. I wouldn’t notice the difference.” Mary turned to face Julie. Her face was pocked with scars from adolescent acne. She was slight in build with mousy hair. Julie sensed a lost and abused soul. It appeared she had endured a difficult life.
“What—in all the years you were neighbors with the Goldmeadows you never visited each other?”
“Ed’s not sociable. He says a good neighbor lets it go at hello and good-bye.”
Mary—so thin and having such an unfortunate face—made Julie want to offer her joy. Does Ed abuse her, not physically but mentally? It drew her to try to engage her, if for no other purpose than to understand her. Julie persisted with her invitation.
“Come on, Mary, drop the basket. Have a salad with me. Nobody needs to know. Do you drink coffee?”
“I prefer tea.”
“I’ve got a basket full of assorted teas. Come on.”
“Well . . .”
“The salad is made. I have homemade dressings to die for. Nothing I made; Dan’s brother makes them.”
Mary set the basket down inside her garage, then returned to Julie wearing a crooked little smile. She held her hands in an impish childlike manner. Julie touched Mary’s shoulder to reassure her all was well. The two entered Julie’s kitchen through the back door.
“Oh my! This kitchen is beautiful. I love the porcelain tile floor.”
“Dan did it. We like the light color and the fact we can see dirt on it so we know if it needs cleaned.”
Mary’s hand skimmed the island work station Dan had built. “It’s so bright in here.”
“Oh, Mary, I wish you could have seen this place before. Dan’s been a busy guy. I am beginning to love this house now.” Julie fetched the salad and dressings as she talked. She filled the teakettle with fresh water.
“Ed’s not handy. He hasn’t done a thing to our house since we moved in. When something breaks, he calls a repairman. Nobody ever taught him how to do things around the house. He is rather particular about neatness and cleanliness, though.”
“Really?” Julie paused to look at Mary. Mary had turned her back, gazing toward the dining room.
Julie pursed her lips as she continued to prep. “Dan and his brother just seem to be able to do everything—cook, clean, build, and repair. Dan says it’s because they always admired the cowboy heroes they had when they were kids. He said those guys could stitch themselves up, cook, ride, mend fences, build barns, mine gold, whatever it took, and then get the prettiest gal. He can even sing.”
“Well, you are pretty.” Julie’s face flushed at Mary’s comment.
Mary stepped into the dining room. “You know, when the Goldmeadows lived here, their drapes were always closed. I don’t think they ever washed the windows. What a difference the sunlight makes. Don’t you think?”
“For sure. We used steel wool and vinegar on some of the windows. Why don’t we sit on the screened back porch? It’s too nice of day to be indoors. Clean windows are great, but nothing beats being outside.” Julie led Mary out to the back porch. A wrought iron dining set with a ceiling fan over it invited them to sit, a cool lunch setting on a warm afternoon. Mary sat silently as Julie shuttled the lunch necessities out to the table.
“This is my favorite part of the house,” Julie said as she sat down.
“Ed doesn’t understand why you are spending so much money and time on this place,” Mary said as she filled her salad bowl.
“It’s our home. Dan has high standards.” It’s what Mary had said about Ed. “We could have never lived in this place the way it was.”
“Then why did you buy it in the first place?”
“We had never bought a house before, since we moved so often with the military. Dan let me pick the house because he wasn’t discharged yet. He trusted my judgment. I guess I looked at the potential rather than the reality of what it was going to take. I didn’t even know I should have done a final walk-through. Maybe old Harry is slipping, because he never mentioned it.” Julie’s mood brightened as she continued, “But Dan thinks this town’s real estate is going to rebound over the next ten years.”
“Oh, Ed thinks the landlords are running things into the ground.”
“Landlords?”
“Student rental landlords. They buy all the single-family houses and turn them into student flop houses. You’ll catch on when you’ve lived here awhile. My Ed knows about these things. He knows the biggest landowners. He says they aren’t friends; they just all hang out down at the fire department.”
Julie didn’t respond, and Mary offered no more on the subject. Julie felt too ill at ease to ask.
How bad can things be? So far it hadn’t been too bad, other than the foul language she heard around campus or at the convenience mart service station on the corner where the college crowd gathered to buy instant cappuccino, coffee, and donuts. Julie wasn’t impressed with the students she had met. The two professors she’d been assigned seemed set on pushing an agenda right from the start. She hoped that her understanding of the world from her military travels was what tainted her opinion of this new environment. Mary had just added a new element to the mix.
Her salad finished, Mary stood without giving Julie a chance to offer dessert or more tea. She made fleeting eye contact with Julie. “The salad was good, I liked the dressing. Thank you, but I must get back home. Ed calls about this time every day. He doesn’t like it if I’m not there to answer.”
Julie remained seated. “Maybe the four of us could go out to dinner some evening.”
Julie was startled by the look that came over Mary’s face. Mary’s gaze, always avoiding direct eye contact, now locked onto Julie’s.
“It seems so logical. It would be a normal second step, wouldn’t it? But it won’t happen. There is nothing I would like more than to have a friend, but Ed won’t agree to a dinner out. I know . . . he won’t.”
“Then let’s work on him. We can break him down.”
Mary shifted toward the door, her expression one of panic.
“No, Ed would never go. He won’t approve of me wasting time on such things. I have to go now, Julie. Your house is lovely. Dan must be a wonderful husband. I will pray for you. Hope all this turns out for you. Please sit . . . I know the way out.” Mary held up her hand in a stop position.
“Mary . . . I’ll be praying for you too.”
Mary shook her head. In fact, she shook all over.
Julie stepped to the door and watched Mary walk away. What an odd woman. How does she put up with Ed’s demands? In two months of living in Stony Grove, no one had made her feel welcomed, not even at the three churches she had visited. Julie walked to the side of the porch to view Mary entering the garage until the door closed. Again, she thought, Is Ed abusing her? Mary seemed like someone who had never known normal, even as a child.
The difference between Julie’s years in the military and this new situation contrasted sharply. She had taken for granted the ease with which one could befriend people in the service. There had been the common ground of deployments, constant change, and mobility. There were likely few in Stony Grove who had ever experienced the immediacy and needs of a life disrupted so repeatedly by their employment. There seemed to be no common bond with newcomers offered in this town. A new arrival was an intrusion. The locals were entrenched, seemingly content with generations of sameness.
Julie gazed toward the woods behind the backyard. Dan’s foray into the Gorge had probably been the first anyone had taken there in years. Deep in thought, she began to clear the table. This new town they were living in seemed so alien, devoid of spirit. She avoided depressive moods, yet she couldn’t help herself. She performed a little self-analysis as she was prone to do. Her conclusion was sadness, not for herself—for the town, where people apparently chose to live a small life, including her fellow students, who seemed obsessed only with their next tattoo, and the professors, so caught up in their own notions, often ungrounded and unfounded. Everyone, for the most part, appeared lost in some distrust of anything new or different. Julie felt sad for them all. She carried the dirty dishes into the kitchen, confident in her ability to switch gears if this didn’t work out.
Rinsing dishes one by one, she then placed them in the dishwasher. The sun through the kitchen window felt comforting. She daydreamed of a foreign country she had considered home for a time. A noise upstairs startled her. Then another, a thud overhead—then the creaking of floors made her heart race. She stopped, turned off the water to listen. She stepped toward the entryway to the living room. She tilted her head, straining to hear. Dan would have left for work just before she arrived home from the university. Zane and Trent were at school.
Julie and Dan had always kept a gun in their bedroom, and she knew how to use it. It wasn’t an option with someone already upstairs. The intruder might already have it in their possession. Then came a muffled sound so faint it had to be from the spare bedroom in the attic. Julie grabbed her cell phone, slipping out the side door to call 911. With the call placed, time pacing in the driveway lasted an eternity. She wanted to run to Mary’s house but stopped herself. Mary was not a person she felt confident with. Eternity ended. Five minutes later the police arrived. Five minutes wishing she had a gun.
“Are you the owner of this home, ma’am?” the first officer asked as he approached Julie. She glanced at his name tag: Pete Peterson.
“Yes, I called because there is someone in my house. I was in class all morning, and when I came home for lunch, I heard noises upstairs, in the attic, I think.” She had a difficult time controlling her voice.
“I’m Officer Peterson, and this is my partner, Jack Monroe. In your attic, you say?”
“The attic is finished off as a bedroom.”
“We’ll look around. Stay out of the house. We’ll report what we find. Are there guns in the house?”
“In the master bedroom on the second floor, locked in the nightstand.”
“Good to know. We’ll call you when we’re satisfied it’s safe. The college brings in a lot of transients. Some of them are strung out on whatever. It makes them do stupid things. They’re of no danger other than to themselves.” The officer spoke with a voice of authority and self-assuredness, comforting Julie.
“The gun is loaded, but it’s secured in a locked drawer.”
“Thanks, ma’am, we’ll be extra cautious.”
The two officers entered the house, guns drawn. Julie continued to pace in the driveway. Two minutes passed before Julie’s cell phone rang.
“Police dispatch, is this Julie Winslow?”
“Yes, this is Julie Winslow.” Why is the dispatcher calling me?
“Ma’am, the two officers responding to your call have detained a suspect in your attic. They have him restrained. Would you please enter the house for ID verification?”
“They want me to go into the house?”
“Yes, ma’am, correct. The suspect is cuffed and on the floor. I am assured there is no danger to you, but the officers would like your assistance.”
“I’ll head right in.” Julie clenched her phone in her fist as she entered the house. She dashed up the stairs toward the attic.
She cleared the last step and found herself staring into the suspect’s flushed face, his hands bound behind his back. Officer Peterson’s knees pressed hard into the small of his back, and his gun was drawn. Officer Monroe, his own gun still holstered, stood back, out of the suspect’s reach. Every bit of Julie’s energy washed from her. She couldn’t catch her breath, let alone speak.
“He claims he’s your son, ma’am, but he put up quite a fight. He was in the closet when we grabbed him.”
“Mom! Tell them who I am! Why’d you call the cops on me?” Zane pleaded, but Julie just stared, shocked at the sight. “Mom! Say something.”
Officer Peterson holstered his gun without Julie’s spoken verification. The boy’s pleas and Julie’s body language said it all. Peterson let his suspect up. He released the cuffs as Julie took a deep breath. Peterson snickered. Monroe shook his head, indicating disapproval of Officer Peterson’s overzealous police work. Monroe was the junior officer.
“Zane, what are you doing home? You should be in school. You could have been killed. What were you thinking?” Julie’s final words were coated with tears. She felt a loss of trust. Neither of her sons had ever given her any reason to doubt their honesty or trustworthiness..
“I slept in and missed the bus.”
“What?! The school’s less than a mile from here. You could have walked.”
The police officers backed away. Peterson secured his equipment. His grin had an evil glimmer to it. Julie caught enough of a glimpse of it to know Peterson had used the situation to amuse himself. She instantly disliked him.
“I was trying to get dressed when they grabbed me. I thought I was being attacked, so I fought back.” Julie offered Peterson a hard stare. He returned it with a smirk. She was the one who had to break the eye contact. What a real piece of work.
“Zane, I’m speechless.”
“Mom, I can’t stand this school. The kids are weird. The teachers are lame.”
“Zane, enough. Get dressed and go to school right now!”
“By the time I get there, my bus will be leaving to bring me home.”
“Would you rather go with these gentlemen?” Julie looked at Officer Monroe, whose face offered compassion.
Zane grabbed his clothes and ran from the room. He hit every other step as he fled down the stairs. He emerged into the street a few moments later, heading toward the high school, but he turned to look back as Julie watched from the window. She saw a look of disbelief and anger on his face she would not soon forget.
“Sorry, ma’am, we have another call. Are you all right?” Officer Monroe’s voice sounded sincere.
“Sure, I’m fine,” she muttered. Officer Peterson had already started down the steps. Julie could hear his chuckling.
“We’ll show ourselves out. You take care now.” Officer Monroe gave Julie a little nod.
“Thank you, I’m so sorry about all this.” Julie’s voice was weak and trailed off as the officers descended the stairs. She walked to the stairs, collapsing onto the top step. She leaned her head against the wall. This might turn into a long school year.
SEVEN
The next morning Dan came home from work to find his boys sitting on the front porch steps waiting for the school bus. He rubbed their heads as he walked past them. He gave Zane a playful push. Zane didn’t respond with his usual counterattack. Neither of the boys spoke when he said hello; they just returned with grunts. He went on into the house. Having just finished working an afternoon-to-midnight and midnight-to-morning double shift, he was transitioning into a couple of days off. Julie stood at the kitchen sink cleaning up after breakfast.
“What’s up with Zane? He doesn’t seem like himself.”
“He’s not adjusting to the new school very well, I think.”
“He’s always gotten along fine at other schools they’ve gone to. I wonder what the problem is.”
“Dan, you have to be dead tired. Get some rest before we discuss him, and maybe we can talk with him . . . when, tomorrow?”
“Do you know, neither one of them even spoke when I said good morning to them.”
“They’re acting like teenagers, is all. How about you take another day off from house remodeling? You get to bed, and when you get up, go do whatever you want. You’ve been working too much. You enjoyed your hike down Stony Creek so much, why don’t you go fishing, sit along the creek, and nap? Go talk to Lee, the fellow you met.” She hadn’t had the inclination to tell him about the police incident over the phone while he was at work.
