Home Improvement: Undead Edition (11 page)

Eve.
That was what she heard,
Eve
. Joe calling her name,
Eve
, dear Joe, he felt bad for her, or maybe he wanted her, which was fine, she couldn’t sleep anyway. Smiling, she raised her arms and embraced air. She opened her eyes. He was lying on his back, fast asleep.
Thanks for the concern, Joe.

The voices were louder now, sharper. Not
Eve
, she realized with a start, not
heave
.

Leave.

That was it.
Leave. Leave. Leave.

Oh God, Eve thought, lying rigid with fear on the bed, what was happening? Ohgodohgodohgod.

At some point, when the first hint of daylight began tinting the gray walls green, the noises stopped. Eve slept. At five forty-five her alarm rang. She slammed the snooze button. Fifteen minutes later the alarm rang again. She slammed the button again. Joe, running his electric shaver over his chin, said, “Ken’ll be here by seven, babe, so you may want to get up.” She wanted to smack him. She crawled out of bed.

When she entered the breakfast nook a half hour later, Joe was sitting at the table reading the
Times
, a large mug in his hand. He put down the mug and pulled out a chair for her.

“Hey.” He smiled. “I picked up doughnuts for Ken and his guys, like you asked, babe. They’re on the counter. I found the coffeemaker
and
the coffee. Plus two mugs, hot cups, plastic spoons, and paper plates. I think you’re set.”

“Congratulations. I’ll submit your name to the Nobel committee.”

He ignored her sarcasm and patted the chair. “Sit. I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. You’ll feel better, I promise. The coffee’s pretty good, I have to say.” He rose and took a step toward the kitchen.

“I’m glad you’re all sunshine and joy. I slept an hour.
One hour.
Coffee isn’t going to fix that.”

“I’m so sorry, babe.”

“I could pack all our stuff in the bags under my eyes. I look like crap, Joe. I
feel
like crap. There was almost no water coming out of the damn showerhead, and what did tinkle out was lukewarm.”

He took her hand. “Eve, honey—”

She yanked her hand away. “Don’t ‘Eve honey’ me. The shower in the guest bathroom sucks, Joe. I’m sure it was hot when you showered, so of course you don’t have a problem with it. The shower sucks. This house sucks.” She started to cry.

In a flash he was at her side, his muscled arms hugging her to his chest. “I feel terrible, Eve. I wish I could help.”

“Something’s in the wall, Joe. Something alive.”

Joe sighed. “Eve—”

She pulled away and glared at him, her blue eyes intense. She clenched her hands. “I heard it, Joe. Over and over and over, so many times I stopped counting. So don’t you
dare
tell me I’m imagining things. Because I. Will. Scream.”

Joe placed a hand on her shoulder. “I hear you, Eve. I’ll call an exterminator.”

“I don’t know if an exterminator can help.”

Joe frowned. “You want to ask Ken to open the wall, see what’s in there? Whatever it takes.”

She took his hand. “Promise you won’t think I’m crazy.”

“Okay,” he said, drawing out the word, his tone wary.

“The voices I’ve been hearing?” She tightened her grip on his hand. “Last night they whispered what sounded like ‘Leave.’ And I felt something breathing on my face, Joe.”

Joe covered his mouth with his free hand and forced a cough. Eve knew he was struggling not to laugh. She felt a twinge of anger but couldn’t blame him.

He dropped his hand to his side. “What are you saying, Eve? That there are ghosts in the house?”

“The people who owned it before us . . . The woman killed her husband, Joe. She killed herself. What if their troubled spirits are here? I know we’re not supposed to practice witchcraft, but that doesn’t mean spirits don’t exist. It’s possible, isn’t it?”

Joe drew her close. “You know what I think, honey? I think you and I had way too much wine the other night, and we were talking about the people who owned the house, being disrespectful. So that’s on your mind. Plus our parents scared us with all that talk about bad
mazel
.”

“I heard the voices, Joe. I felt them breathing on me.”

“Maybe you did, Eve,” he said, his voice soft as cotton. “And maybe you had a nightmare that seemed incredibly real. Isn’t that possible? Hasn’t that ever happened to you? It has to me.”

She’d had those kinds of dreams, more than once. “You’re right. I’m being silly.”

“You’re not silly. I’d be frightened, too.” He released her and cupped her face in his hands. “Look, if it happens tonight, wake me right away. I’ll stay up with you.”

The bands around her chest loosened. “I love you, Joe.”

“I love you, too, babe.”

“I’m sorry I was such a bitch.”

“You? Never.” He smiled. “Gotta go, babe.”

Fernando and William arrived on time. They thanked Eve for the coffee and doughnuts, which they hurried to finish when Ken showed up minutes later. Eve ate a glazed doughnut with her coffee and slipped a cruller into a plastic bag to take to work. She was walking to her Corolla when Ken called her name. She turned around.

“Show you something?” He looked stern.

“Is there a problem?”

“You tell me.”

She followed him down the hall into the bathroom. He pointed to the shower floor.

“I thought I made myself clear,” Ken said.

She stepped closer. The gray-brown mortar with its perfect slope showed markings and cracks in several areas.

“I have no idea how that happened,” Eve said. “We didn’t go
near
the shower, Ken.”

Ken harrumphed.

She peered closely at the markings. “Doesn’t that look like a bird’s feet? We left the windows open all night, because it was so warm. Maybe a bird flew in.”

“Through the screens?”

She sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Ken.”

“We lay tile on that surface, you’ll have cracks, that’s a guarantee. We’ll have to redo the mud. That’s half a day’s work, and it’s not coming out of
my
pocket.” Ken was scowling.

“Of course not.” Eve wondered how much a half day’s work would cost. Not that they had a choice. “So when will you be able to install the marble?”

“You’re looking at Tuesday at the earliest—unless you have more birds visiting.”

EVE SHOWED JOE
the marks on the mortar.

“That
is
strange,” he said. “You’re right. The marks
do
look like they were made by a bird. Or maybe a chicken.
Bock, bock, bock.
” Joe flapped his arms. “Is that the noise you’ve been hearing?”

She stared at him, wounded. “I can’t believe you’re making fun of me. I haven’t slept in two days, Joe.”

His handsome face turned red. “I’m really sorry, Eve. I was trying to get you to see the humor in this.”

“The shower’s going to cost us hundreds more, Joe. Where’s the humor in that?”

Wednesday night Eve took a whole Ambien instead of a half and fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed she was at a grave site where she saw somber-faced people, most of whom she knew. Gina, the staff and teachers from her school. Her mother and father, Joe, Joe’s parents. Everyone was crying. She didn’t see herself, and it took a few seconds before she realized that it was
her
funeral. Her chest ballooned with sadness. She wanted to cry, too, but the voices were back,
leave, leave, leave, leave, leave
, and she couldn’t wake Joe, couldn’t move because something was pressing against her chest, breathing on her face, its odor foul and musty.

In the morning Joe said, “I watched you, babe. You were sound asleep. Feeling better?”

“A little,” she lied. She’d had another nightmare. That was the only rational explanation, so why worry Joe? There was nothing he could do.

She was sluggish at work, but the kids didn’t notice. An hour after she returned home her mother, Ruth, arrived with bags of fruits and vegetables. She had brought dinner—a large pan of eggplant parmesan—and homebaked chocolate cake, Joe’s favorite.

“You’re the best,” Eve said, and kissed her mother’s cheek.

Ruth smiled. “I try.” She noted the dark circles under Eve’s eyes. “You didn’t sound like yourself on the phone, honey. You’re not sleeping well, right?” She nodded. “It takes time to get used to a new house.”

“It’s not that.” Eve told her mother about the dream, but not about the voices. She braced for a comment about the house’s bad
mazel
, but Ruth said, “Your own funeral?
Chas v’sholom
”—God forbid—and shuddered. Eve’s grandmother, Rivka, would have spit on the floor.

“It’s just a bad dream, honey,” her mother said. “Try chamomile tea before you go to sleep. Or a glass of red wine.”

Eve’s eyes teared. “You warned us, Mom. You all said the house has bad
mazel
. I should have listened.”

“Evie.” Ruth hugged her daughter tight. “Don’t let a nightmare ruin your happiness.” She moved back and lifted Eve’s chin. “You loved the house, right? You bought it. You’ll make your own
mazel
. Okay?”

Eve tried a smile. “Okay.” Her mother always made her feel better.

“So, show me what they’ve done. This is
very
exciting.”

“They finished demolishing the bathroom.” Eve led the way and was surprised to find her spirits and enthusiasm reviving with each step. “They’re working on the shower, and they installed a moistureproof backing on the walls for the marble. It’s going to be so beautiful, Mom.”

“I’m sure it will.”

In the bedroom doorway Ruth came to an abrupt stop. She
tsked
.

Eve turned to face her. “What?”

Ruth was frowning. “That’s your bed?” She pointed to the bed close to the windows that looked out on the yard.

“Yes. Why?”

“That explains the dream, Eve. Your bed is directly across from the doorway. Your feet are pointing to the door.”

Eve crinkled her forehead. “So?”

“It’s bad
mazel
, honey. When a person dies, he or she is carried out feet first. You probably heard it before and forgot, and your dream is reminding you.”

Jewish feng shui. That explained the sounds Eve had been hearing.
Leave.
It was her subconscious nudging her into protecting herself. The feeling that something had been breathing on her, pressing against her—that had been a nightmare, like Joe said.

That night after Eve and Joe enjoyed the eggplant and two servings each of the cake, she helped him move the beds closer to the closets. The beds were off center now. That bothered Eve, but off center was better than bad
mazel
. Eve debated and took an Ambien. She lay in her off-center bed with a light heart and fell asleep within minutes.

She was at her funeral again. Her heart ached for her parents and Joe’s, all of them weeping as her casket was being lowered into the grave. She was most concerned for Joe. He had stepped back from the grave and was standing with his head bowed, his shoulders heaving. How she wished she could comfort him. He turned around and looked up, as though he sensed she was watching him. She saw him lock eyes with a tall, brown-haired young woman prettier and slimmer than Eve would ever be. Then Joe, her Joe, I-love-you-more-than-life-babe-I-can’t-live-without-you Joe, gave the woman the lazy smile that had won Eve’s heart. He winked at the woman, and Eve had no choice but to watch that lying bastard flirt
at her own funeral
. The voices started again:
Leave, leave, leave, leave, leave . . .

Not the house—no, the house was fine, the house was not the danger.

Leave Joe.

FRIDAY MORNING SHE
woke up with a migraine and nausea. Joe notified the school that she wouldn’t be coming in and offered to cancel Ken. Eve reminded him that Ken and his crew wouldn’t return until Tuesday.

“That’s good, then.” Joe arranged a cool damp washcloth on Eve’s forehead and kissed her cheek softly. “I don’t want to wake you if you’re sleeping, so call me when you can, okay, babe? If you need me, I’ll come home.”

She nodded, her eyes shut to block out the soft filtered light that, with her migraine, felt like an assault. Joe was so tender, so solicitous. She could tell he wasn’t faking. She felt guilty having harbored hateful thoughts because of a nightmare that seemed ludicrous when she was awake.

“Don’t worry about cooking for Shabbos,” Joe said. “Your mom is taking care of everything.” He kissed her again before he left.

She lay in bed until the migraine’s accompanying zigzagging aura stopped and the ferocious pain receded to a dull ache. She made her way gingerly to the kitchen and saw that Joe had filled the hot-water urn and set out tea bags and dry crackers. And a note:

If you’re up, that means you’re feeling a little better. Call me. I love you, babe.

The tea and crackers settled her stomach. She showered in the guest bathroom and washed her hair, careful to avoid sudden movements that made her feel as though loose parts were rattling around in her skull.

She craved fresh air. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and sunglasses to protect her still-sensitive eyes, Eve walked out the front door. A thirtysomething woman with curly red hair was in front of Eve’s walkway, pushing a stroller back and forth while she kept her eyes on a redheaded boy furiously pedaling a tricycle up the street.

The woman smiled at Eve. “You’re the new neighbor. I’m Sandy Komin.”

“Eve Stollman.”

“Nice to meet you, Eve. I planned to introduce myself before, but with three kids under eight, my intentions rarely pan out. If I can take a shower, I consider it a good day.” Sandy smiled again.

Eve smiled back. “How old is your baby?”

“Lily is eight months.” Sandy beamed at the infant asleep in the stroller. She pointed to the toddler on the bike. “Michael’s two and a half. Our oldest, Geneva, is seven. She’s in school, thank God. Do you have kids?”