Evenfall (2 page)

“Um, good morning?” the boy says. Gert’s about to speak, but it’s the other woman who answers first.

“Try something else,” she says. “Like who are you, and what are you doing here?” She’s dressed simply, in denim shorts and a man’s white shirt tied at the waist, long brown hair pinned up in a knot. I should know her, I know, but she’s so young, has so much energy, it’s hard to keep her in focus. She strides up to within spitting distance of the boy, and for a second I think that’s exactly what she’s going to do. He’s staring at her openmouthed, and in disgust she turns from him to Gert. Just before she speaks, the boy finds his voice.

“Andie? Andie Murphy?”

And like that, her molecules click into place for me, like the piece of a puzzle that makes the whole recognizable. It’s my niece Andie, child of my heart, fully grown.

“Who the hell else would I be?” she’s saying. “Do I know you?”

“You probably don’t remember, but you used to babysit me sometimes. We used to catch frogs down the creek,” he adds lamely. There’s just the faintest flush of red around his collarbone.

“Oh my God,” she says. “Little Cortie McCallister. All grown up!”

His flush deepens, but he manages a grin. “Over six feet. Taller than you, finally.”

“Let’s see, you’re what, twenty-two now?”

“Um, no. Twenty-three.”

“Great. Make me feel old.”

She smiles, and for the first time I catch a glimpse of the little girl I knew, the one who spent summers running wild on this farm. She’s got Murphy written all over her; Gert’s strong jaw, softened by Clara’s eyes and her daddy’s—their brother’s—wide, easy smile.

She turns to Gert. “Aunt Gert, you remember Cort, don’t you?”

“I do indeed,” she says, and at her tone Cort shifts uncomfortably. “But that doesn’t explain what he’s doing up here today.”

It’s an excellent question, and we all turn to look at him. “I, ah, I heard Evenfall might be for sale,” he says. “I wanted to take a look before it got bought up, so I just took a ride out here. I’m sorry if I caused any trouble, Miss Gert.”

“There’s a modern device called the telephone,” Gert informs him. “Old-fashioned as some people may think I am, I happen to have one. Next time, try using it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Andie crouches down and holds her hand out to the dog, who comes out from behind Cort, wagging her tail. “Cute pup you’ve got here—what’s its name?”

“I dunno. I thought she was yours—I mean, Miss Gert’s.”

“Certainly not,” Gert says. “You mean the mangy animal doesn’t belong to you?”

“Nope. It looked like she came out of the house.”

“That’s impossible.” Gert’s clear gray eyes flick to the door, and I catch myself stepping back, although there’s no way she can see me. “And I’d swear that door was locked tight when I left last time.”

He shrugs. “Well, it’s open today.”

“It certainly is.” She looks at him. “Andrea, excuse me. I think I’ll check the house. And while I’m at it I might as well call the pound. I’ve seen this animal running loose before, and it’s high time someone took responsibility for it.”

“Sure, Aunt Gert.”

I’ve been watching Gert so intently that I’m not prepared when she steps into the house. There’s no time to move, no time to even think about moving. She steps firmly across the threshold and into me.

I feel her warmth first, just as she must feel the coolness of the air where I am. Her hands come up as if she’s blind and bumped into a wall. They reach just to my shoulders, the way she used to hold them when we danced. With all my might I think of those days and whisper her name.

She sighs and stands still. Her long gray hair is pulled back in a loose braid and she grasps the end, a nervous habit I recognize from her youth.

I reach out to stroke her cheek, but before I can touch her, I hear Andie’s voice.

“Everything okay, Aunt Gert?”

Gert drops her braid, startled, and the connection is gone. “Just waiting for my eyes to adjust,” she calls, then strides off toward the kitchen and the phone.

For a second I debate going after her. But even if she can sense me, it doesn’t mean she’ll listen. It’s not as if she ever has before. And besides, Andie’s here, for the first time in I can’t remember how long. My funeral doesn’t count, of course. So I stay and watch.

She looks good. She’s thinner than I remember, and there’s a look in her eyes I don’t like, as if she’s seen plenty of what the world has to offer and is tired of most of it. But she’s still a beauty, with that same wide-open face she had as a little girl. She could never hide when something was wrong, and she always gave me way too much credit for being able to read her mind. It was all right there, for anyone who cared to look.

“Sorry to hear about Frank,” Cort’s saying. He bends down to pet Nina, sprawled at his feet.

“Thanks. Frank and Clara really felt like my folks, you know?” She’s quiet a moment, then turns and looks at the farm, waves a hand to take it all in. “This place hasn’t changed much. It looks exactly like it did when I was a kid.”

“You think?” He turns and looks with her. “It must seem like the ass end of nowhere to you. I heard you’ve been living overseas.”

She laughs. “Henry still reading the mail down at the post office?”

He smiles back. “Just the return addresses. Anything else would be a federal offense. He told me the stamps were pretty, though. You were in Italy, right?”

“Yep. I finished my doctorate in art history this week, then hopped the first plane home to give Aunt Gert a hand. We were behind you on the road, coming in from the airport, when we saw you pull in here.”

“My lucky day,” he says.

They talk about Andie’s flight, about the two-week camping trip the boy just took, and then the people they both know who are still in Hartman. All the while I’m seeing the place the way it must look to Andie. Ass end of nowhere, indeed. There are weeds sprouting through the gravel driveway and the lawn is almost knee high, sure, but it’s nothing a few afternoons of hard work can’t fix. Finally the boy circles back to the part that interests me.

“So you’re really going to sell it?”

She nods. “You know how hot the market is right now. A couple of developers are already pretty eager. Aunt Gert thought you were another one poking around up here without permission. She’s kind of had it—she was ready to call the police on you.”

“She did seem pretty ticked,” the boy says, and I snort. If Gert’s worst threat is calling the police, she’s mellowed considerably.

“She wants to get the house cleaned up and painted
before she calls an assessor in,” Andie says. “I keep telling her, once it’s sold, the house will probably be gone, but she doesn’t want to hear it. You know how she is.”

I’m still chewing over that one when the boy asks if the whole parcel is for sale.

“Aunt Gert will probably keep the cottage and an acre or two, but that’s it. She can’t handle more. That’s why she’s putting it on the market in the first place.”

“Huh. What about you?”

“Me?” Andie says. “Right. There are still skid marks on the road, I left town so fast. I’m here to help out, nothing more. Then I’m out of here and back to civilization.”

Her words remind me that Gert’s still inside, trying to find somebody to collar my dog.
You
, I say to Nina.
You need to go hide
. She’s sprawled in front of Andie, happily panting, and makes no move to get up.
Shoo
, I say.
Shoo. Quickly now
. I think of the pound, all concrete and chain link, and she reluctantly shakes herself to her feet. But still she doesn’t run. Instead, she stands in front of the boy and gives two sharp, commanding barks. My niece jumps, but the boy doesn’t flinch.

“Hey there, easy,” he says. “What’s the problem?”

She looks at me, and I could swear there’s an apology there somewhere. Then she runs to his truck, stands there for a second, and runs back.

“I think she’s telling you it’s time to go,” Andie says.

“I think she’s saying she wants to come with me,” he says. “How mad will your aunt be if I take off with the dog?”

Andie considers. “It’s hard to say.”

“Well, live dangerously. That’s my motto,” he says, squatting and looking Nina in the face. “Come on, girl. We’d best organize a breakout for you now, before Gert comes back with the law.” He stands and stretches. “It was nice seeing you again. How long are you staying?”

“I’m not sure yet. Awhile—there’s a lot to do.”

“Well, if I can give you a hand at all, just holler. I’ll be around.” He starts toward the truck, Nina following. He opens the cab door and she leaps inside, moving over to make room for him and to claim the passenger window.

Cort turns the truck around, then brakes near Andie. He’s grinning.

“Hey, tell Miss Gert I said good-bye—and thanks for not pressing charges.” Before she can reply, the truck is rolling down the driveway, stirring up little clouds of sand-colored dust. Nina leans out the window and barks once. Andie and I watch them go.

ANDIE is leaning against a birch tree, idly stripping bark off its trunk, when Gert comes out of the house.

“Where did that boy go?” Gert says, shading her eyes and gazing around as if she expects him to pop out of the woods at any minute.

“Home, I guess. He took the dog with him.”

“Then I spent the past twenty minutes on the phone for nothing. Although I suppose it will serve Roscoe right if he comes up here on a goose chase—cantankerous old fool.”

Gert starts off toward the guest house, her sneakered feet slapping briskly on the path. Every now and then she pauses to swat at a mosquito. Andie trails along behind, fingering the branches and leaves that reach out to block her way.

When Andie was a child, sleeping over at Aunt Gert’s
was an adventure. Clutching her overnight bag, she walked the trail between the two houses, pretending to be a fairy-tale character—Gretel, perhaps, or Little Red Riding Hood, or, on her more melodramatic days, any one of the endless sisterhood of cartoon princesses who had managed to lose their mothers at birth like her. By the time the front of the cottage came into view, partially screened by a stand of pine trees, she’d scared herself into thinking that every shadow, every twig that snapped underfoot, had ominous overtones. She’d have to stand on the front porch, shivering in the summer sun, until she got up the nerve to face whatever waited inside—witch or big bad wolf.

By now though, Andie has had too much personal acquaintance with wolves of the grown-up variety to be scared by the make-believe type. Instead, she sees the cottage for what it is—a faded, shabby structure—and her throat swells with sadness.

Gert plows up the steps, tugging open the screen door and letting it squeak shut behind her. Andie lingers on the porch, absently pulling off long curls of peeling paint until she realizes what she’s doing and stops, appalled. She tamps down the piece she’s been working with her thumb, but the curled edge won’t lie flat. She kicks the corkscrews of paint that have already come off into the overgrown shrubbery around the porch railing, then goes inside before she can do more damage.

The afternoon sunlight is dim inside, filtered through the branches of the trees all around the cottage. The light casts shadows on the white walls, and as Andie’s eyes adjust, she
can see that not much has changed. The same blue sofa is positioned parallel to the door, dividing the living area from the kitchen. The cushions on the rocking chair in the corner are worn, but comfortably so. Postcards from Italy are tucked along the fireplace mantel, propped between pinecones and stones from the creek. A few more are stuck to the front of the kitchen’s refrigerator with magnets.

Gert is standing over the white enamel sink, scrubbing potatoes for supper. Andie groans. Her aunt is a notoriously bad cook who believes food should be heated as long as possible, to kill germs. Andie has come to the rural southeastern end of Connecticut with hopeful visions of take-out pizzas and Chinese food, and armed with a secret stash of soy granola bars.

“Here, Aunt Gert. Let me do that.” She moves to take over the chore, but Gert blocks her with the brisk efficiency of someone used to being in charge.

“Nonsense. Go unpack, if you feel the urge to do something.”

Dutifully, Andie wanders into the guest bedroom, where she’d thrown her suitcase before rushing off to the big house with Gert. Her aunt has placed it neatly on the single bed, a towel underneath to prevent dirt from staining the white bedspread.

With a sigh, she unzips the bag, then takes a look around. There’s a chest of drawers, wedged kitty-corner against the far wall. The closet—really an old-fashioned cupboard, with hooks set into the back—will hold perhaps a third of the clothes she’s brought. The walls are bare, painted the same
flat white as the rest of the cottage. Idly, Andie runs a finger along the top of the chest. No dust. Sitting on the bed, she recalls that, as exciting as her visits to Gert’s were, as a child she was always glad to go back to the big house and Aunt Clara. After a meal of Gert’s plain oatmeal, she’d fly along the path to the big house, in time for a second breakfast of pancakes with real maple syrup and butter. Her room there was wallpapered with a riot of yellow and pink roses, so realistic looking that as a child she swore one morning she could smell them.

She puts off unpacking. Instead, she takes her toiletry bag into the bathroom. There’s a claw-foot tub with a handheld shower attachment. An aluminum tray attached to the tub holds a neat assortment of items: Dial soap, a man’s safety razor, a can of shaving cream, a small bottle of generic shampoo.

The rim of the tub is too narrow to hold any of Andie’s things, so she opens the medicine cabinet. There’s not much inside. A container of Bayer aspirin, a tube of toothpaste, some Ben-Gay, a bottle of roll-on deodorant. There’s also a bottle of prescription medication. Feeling faintly guilty, she picks it up. The drug name—metoprolol—is unfamiliar. Gert hasn’t mentioned being sick, but that’s not surprising.

There’s a knock at the bathroom door, and Andie jumps.

“Just a second,” she calls. She turns the water on, then puts the vial back in the cabinet and shuts it. She splashes cold water on her face, dries it on the scratchy white towel laid out on the sink, and opens the door.