A Quiet Neighbor (11 page)

Chapter
Six:

Friday,
March 16, 2012

12:01
A.M.

Neil Wilcox:

It has become increasingly difficult for me to
fall asleep. Elizabeth is gone and the void beside me too great for comfort. I
got rid of our queen sized mattress and frame and unrolled a sleeping bag on
the floor instead.

Camping was never our activity of choice.
Elizabeth’s strict dislike of bugs and dirt made it easy to nix this activity
from our short list of things to do as a couple. I didn’t mind. I’d rather have
done something both of us enjoyed together than apart.

But I used to enjoy camping when I was a kid.
Making a fire in the great outdoors, hearing the frogs and crickets chirp in
the night, sleeping under the glittering stars, and pretending I was free to be
myself, to live and explore.

Johnny and I used to jump into the lake and
splash around for hours in the scorching heat. We’d tell horror stories around
the campfire while we drank hot cocoa and ate s’mores, and we’d end the night
laying head to head in our sleeping bags, eyes to the stars, and dreaming for a
better tomorrow. Johnny had a lot of dreams. I hope his came true like mine
did.

I dreamed for a purpose, for love, for a reason
to live.

Loral Holmes:

10:50
P.M.

…Unseen, gaping hole beneath…

In our room, no one sleeps.

Tension loomed heavy and placed a damper on
dinner.

The night started out great for once. Brett was
in the kitchen actually cooking a decent meal. I found him digging in the
fridge and was instantly intrigued. Our trash can was starting to look like the
dumpster outside a greasy fast food joint.

Brett found a half pound of ground turkey, a
quarter onion, and some mushrooms that seemed borderline. “Jackpot,” I heard
him say with some triumph. We were all getting tired of take-out cartons,
over-greased and over-salted foods that were molded to resemble real food. Such
food made burps smell grotesquely indiscernible from farts, and seemed to
bubble from both sides to no end. We needed some home cooking, and fast.

He got the water boiling and started chopping
the onion. He paused to check the time on the stove and then all of a sudden he
cursed under his breath and started chopping with more force than the onion
deserved.

“You might want to consider easing up a bit
before you go chopping one of your fingers off,” I said. I stood off to the
side, casually leaning against the counter. I wasn’t thinking of the tension emanating
between us; I wasn’t thinking at all except that the delicious aroma of olive
oil and garlic was making my mouth water. His attack on the onion was so off-color
that I was off my guard and actually relaxed for once. Well, almost.

The knife hung in the air.

Brett’s grip was white-knuckled. I thought he
might have cut himself because he stood stunned and his eyes watered, but when
I saw no blood, I realized his eyes stung from the juice of the onion’s
invisible spray. He wiped his eyes with the edge of his sleeve and placed the
knife back onto the cutting board; bits of onion flew off the board and onto
the floor at his feet.

Tension mounted and my guard came way up.

He molded his hands into strained fists, his
eyes panicked. He took another look at the time and cursed. I think he said
Tess’s name, but I can’t be sure because the exhaust fan above the stove was on
full blast.

He continued cooking, but on overdrive. Quickly
he finished chopping the onion and added it to the sizzling pot of olive oil
and garlic. He stirred the aromatic mixture and when the onions caramelized, he
opened a can of tomato puree and poured it in, setting the heat down to a low
simmer. Then, as if on cue, the water pot came to a boil and he dumped in a
package of noodles, adding a pinch of salt as he stirred the dried noodles
down. He moved aside to set the timer for eleven minutes.

My heart beat faster just watching him. What
the hell was he so stressed about? I moved closer, ignoring the stiffness in
his posture. It’s my kitchen too. I jutted my chin forward, careful to avoid
contact and lifted both lids to peek into the boiling pans. Curiosity wasn’t a
crime.

“Spaghetti?” my eyes widened, intrigued. “I
didn’t know you could cook.” I smiled. There was a distinct hitch in my voice,
but I didn’t care. Someone needed to be the adult and I was trying to have a
normal conversation with my stepdad.

“Yes, well,” he mumbled, “it’s not much. It
might not even taste that good.” He brushed past me, absently dropping the dish
towel in the process.

“I’m sure it’ll be great. I mean it smells
really good and we haven’t really had a decent meal in—”

“Um, Loral, I need to call Tess to see if she’s
planning to have dinner with us. Can you take over for me? Thanks, you’re a
sport.”

Spastically he rushed out of the kitchen to the
bedroom and slammed the door.

Tears burned my eyes.
It’s just the onion,
I
recited to myself as the timer beeped.

Why can’t we just have a normal conversation?
Is that too much to ask? It was just spaghetti. Where was Tess, anyways? Tess
has been acting different lately. Longer days at work, new perfume, watching
her reflection a tad too long, being distracted by her phone…shit. And the
cycle repeats itself again.

Not like I should be surprised, but I hoped
with Brett…since there was Tory and Bella…well, I hoped it would last until I am
gone from here. I feel sorry for Brett. Even though he is kind of a tool, he’s
a nice guy and deserves better. Plus, there is Tory and Bella. They deserve
better.

Dinner was tough. I tried my best to keep the
conversation light by asking the girls about their day in school, if they learned
anything new, played a fun game, heard any interesting stories. But Tory and
Bella were old enough to pick up on insincere conversation and feigned
interest. Sadly, the girls are veterans in the war of dysfunction, of a family
built on tension, secrecy, and denial. In this war, in this house, casualties
and veterans look much alike.

At the dinner table, Brett kept on looking at
his watch, and then his cell, and then the door. His movements were like
clockwork, speeding up as the minutes ticked on. Watch. Cell. Door. Watch.
Cell. Door. Again and again, round and round until it was too uncomfortable to
witness. He was like a ticking time bomb about to explode.

I couldn’t take much more of it, so I got up
and cleared my half-eaten bowl of spaghetti. The noodles were a little on the
mushy side. I guess I let my mind wander too long after the timer beeped. Who
knew there was a short time span between the noodles being
al dente
and
mushy?

Tory and Bella barely touched theirs; they each
used their fork to smear red sauce and bits of fleshy noodles around the plate.
Either the meal was inedible or everyone felt the tension tonight. I figured
why make them eat it if I wasn’t, so I took their plates to the sink and
motioned for them to leave the room.

They obliged willingly.

A loud squeak echoed as they scooted their
chairs back against the linoleum. The girls winced in unison, stealing glances
at their dad who, for the most part, was oblivious to the sound, locked in a
circular trance. Without wasting another minute, they rushed out of the kitchen
and stayed in our room for the rest of the night. No pouts of staying awake
longer, no finagling another
Wiggles
episode, no desire to play hide and
seek.

Turning on the disposal brought a jolt to my
system. The grinding noise was a startling contrast to the eerie quiet. Washing
the dirty dishes distracted me from my own raging thoughts. Normally, I hated
the chore, but tonight I reveled in it, hoping it afforded me a chance to
glimpse Tess’s long-awaited return. I knew it was a longshot, but I hoped Brett
and I were wrong, and Tess would return sober. She’d stroll in with a flair
asking
why the gloom
? and everything would be normal again. The glint in
her eyes would be clear and focused and wide with excitement. I hoped Brett’s
anger was premature and the throbbing in my head was a mere distortion of the
problem at hand.

Tess was late.

There must have been another reason; a better
reason than the ugly picture forming in my head. I couldn’t shake it off, just
like I knew Brett couldn’t. Tess, for all intents and purposes is a drunk and
wields her body like a sexual weapon. It wasn’t the first time she’d used it
and it wouldn’t be the last. She needs action and drama. She bores easily and
everyone in her life just needs to get on board or get out.

I should have said something, but what?

Something to cut the brewing tension and deviate
from the most likely scenario that Tess was drunk and/or having an
act-first-think-later affair.

Mustering up the courage to speak, I continued
scrubbing the same bowl, the sponge losing the white soap suds in the process,
and cleared my throat. “Tess loves you, you know.”

Brett looked up. His eyes were glazed yet dark.
Behind the worry was anger and distrust. For the first time he looked straight
into my eyes, pierced straight through them. My heart thudded in my chest. Fear
etched in my subconscious but hope bloomed. Maybe this was our chance to have a
real conversation, even if it was directed against Tess.

My hope was short-lived. There was a sudden
glitch in his piercing gaze. He sighed and went back to checking his watch.

Distraught, I silently cleared the table around
him. Leaving the lights on so Brett could stew in the thrumming fluorescent
light of the kitchen, I headed upstairs.

I can hear the girls twisting and turning,
restless from worry. I assume their restless thoughts are similar to mine:
Where is Tess? Why is Brett so worried? What is wrong?

And then a car pulls up. The headlights stream
against the curtains, sending long bars of light and shadow across the dark
walls. I know that purr anywhere; it is Tess’s prized Beemer, her moneymaker.
Tess is finally home.

At least she came home.

Holding my breath, I hear the jingling of keys,
the gentle clicks of Tess’s heels on the tile entrance, and then the creaks in
the floorboards as she walks up the straight flight of stairs and heads toward
her room.

I hear muffled sounds coming from Tess and
Brett’s room. The house is dark but everyone in it is awake.

Brett waited up for Tess’s return. Unfortunately,
he isn’t as dumb as I assumed. I continue to hold my breath, waiting for the
tension to erupt into something awful. Amidst the muffled voices in the other
room, I hope I won’t hear the word I fear most: Divorce. It surprises me how
much I want Brett and Tess to work out. I didn’t realize I care that much. I
figured it would happen. But at this moment, even though I don’t believe in
God, I pray for them to make it. I don’t want another change. I don’t want Tory
and Bella to endure what I’ve endured alone for more than eleven years. I want
them to have what I never did: a family.

New sounds emerge, soft whimpering noises from
within our room.

“Bella? Is that you?”

The whimpering heightens to heavy, snot-forming
sobs.

I push the covers and sit up. “It’s okay,
Bella. Everything will be okay. Do you want to sleep with me tonight?”

There is a break in the sobs and a hiccup
emerges. “Can I?”

“Yes. But, just for tonight.” I scoot to the
side to make room for Bella.

“Can I sleep with you too?”

“Tory? You awake?”

“Yeah…I can’t sleep.”

“Sure, come in. It’ll be like one big slumber
party.” I hope my voice doesn’t sound strained, but the girls are too
distraught to notice.

Tory and Bella snuggle up next to me,
sandwiching me between them, and immediately fall asleep. The sounds from the
other room have ended and the house is still. I lay awake a while longer planning
my escape. Every time Tess stumbles in past ten o’clock, I feel the strain from
the growing distrust in Brett’s eyes.

Although silly, I feel responsible for Tess’s
infidelity and alcoholism. Before Brett and the girls were in the picture, it
had always been just the two of us and that connection we shared during those
eleven years was stifling.

“Everything will be okay…” I say aloud, to no
one in particular, maybe to God, maybe to myself. Silence. It is like I am
trying to convince the shadows that hug the walls and lurk in every dark
crevice.

All I have to do is get away. But even as the
first lull of sleep washes over me, I wonder what Tess has been up to tonight
and about the words spoken behind closed doors.