Never Smile at Strangers (17 page)

THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Erica sat on the sidewalk outside of Luke’s with a grilled cheese sandwich and a cold Coca-Cola. She pressed the chilly can against her forehead and neck.

Red ants swarmed in the cracks of the sidewalk and in the gravel, busying themselves with a sandwich crumb. She watched them for a while, until the white glare of the sidewalk grew so intense, she felt it burning her eyes through her cheap sunglasses. She spread her slender legs out in front of her and squeezed her eyes shut.

She was confused by what she’d seen two evenings earlier. When she stopped at Mrs. Anderson’s hoping to ask her a question, Mac’s truck had been parked in front of the house. She had been mildly curious when she first saw the truck, but as she waited and it grew later, it seemed even more bizarre for him to be there. Especially since Tom Anderson didn’t appear to be home.

While she waited, she found a swing set in the backyard. It was set back far enough that it was bathed in darkness and she was confident she wouldn’t be seen. She sat on the swing and watched the house long after the lights had gone off.

Were the two having an affair? No, they couldn’t be. It just didn’t make sense. She thought about Haley.

The rumble of an eighteen-wheeler grew closer and she opened her eyes. The rig pulled into the gravel lot and after some raucous rattling, the engine cut off. The trucker stepped out into the dust the rig had kicked up. He grinned at her.

Through her sunglasses, she glared back.

Why were men such children? Especially truckers who would flirt with anything that moved. Had they always been such horrible flirts? What came first, she wondered, the urge to flirt or to drive big trucks?

“Howdy,” the man said, walking up to the building. He tipped a filthy baseball cap and smiled.

She kept her eyes narrowed until he walked past, her lungs filling with diesel exhaust and dust. She closed her eyes again and wished to be in the city where her mother was. The air bursting with exotic food aromas, blending with the exhaust of stop-and-go traffic. Not an ounce of back road country dust in sight.

She wanted to hear the sounds of the city. Cars beeping their horns, people yelling for cabs, corner musicians playing guitars or violins maybe, change clanking into the money baskets splayed out before them. Street magicians surrounded by crowds of open-mouthed people, oohing and awing at the startling magic they witnessed. To see hookers strutting down the streets, their pimps lying low, smoking cigars and counting their money beneath the shade of giant buildings.

Everyone would be different in their own right. They’d even be celebrated for it. And Erica knew that she’d finally fit in.

HALEY GRABBED A cane pole from its place in the overgrown, wasp-infested monkey grass and stepped cautiously onto the small rectangular pier behind Erica’s house.

Most of the families in Grand Trespass lived on lots that backed up to the bayou. Most only had small piers, splintering and warped from decades of Louisiana sun, the wood jutting up in odd places from rot. Erica’s lot was no different. She lived in a small white clapboard house with black shutters and a black door, a concrete carport and long gravel driveway.

Slender lizards scuttled up and down the siding, some content to be in the sun, others slipping into the slats of the shutters to nap in the shade.

The yard wasn’t well cared for. A row of dead bushes, burnt from the summer sun, lined the front of the house. Moldy pecan husks lay everywhere in the tall grass, and Haley had counted four wasp nests in the few minutes she’d been there.

“Does your father ever cut this grass?” she asked, wiping sweat from her brow. It was past six o’clock in the evening and the air was still heavy with heat and humidity. She sat down and the heat from the dry wood stung the back of her bare legs.

Erica sat in a lawn chair, bent over a notebook. She had on a faded yellow bikini top and a pair of cutoff sweat shorts. Beads of sweat glistened on her tiny copper shoulders. “Sometimes. Depends on whether he has a floozy or not in his life. When he does, the grass gets pretty high.”

Haley gazed at Erica, taking in her petite figure, her long, thick eyelashes and slightly angular face. . . and wished she looked like her.

She liked the way the girl bent over her work, sometimes scrunching up her forehead, deep in thought. The way she silently moved her lips as she pored over what she’d written. She found her intensity and simplicity to be stunning.

Tiffany had been gorgeous, but she was the feminine and dolled-up type: hair meticulously done, makeup skillfully applied. But to Haley, the
au natural
girl next to her, with her razor-sharp wit, focused frown, and glistening sweat was just as beautiful. But perhaps what was most attractive about her is that she knew who she was. Like
really
knew. Haley envied her for it.

“I don’t know why we’ve never hung out before. We’ve always lived so close,” she said.

“Tiffany,” Erica said flatly. “She’s why.”

Haley didn’t say anything, knowing Erica was right. Reaching into the plastic cup, she cornered a plump cricket and pulled it out. She laid it on its back and jabbed the hook into the tough armor of its chest and watched white goo ooze onto her ragged thumbnail. Staring at its writhing body, its antennae twisting in what could only be fear, she felt a wave of guilt. Quickly, she swung the line into the water, sending the cricket below the murky surface.

Out of sight, out of mind.

She ran her thumbnail along the edge of the pier, freeing the goo, and watched the red and white bobber float on the water’s murky surface and bounce gently in the warm breeze. After a little while, she moved her line closer to the seawall. “Mac and I broke up,” she murmured.

Erica looked up from her notebook and tilted her head the way a curious dog would. But she didn’t look surprised.

Haley set her pole on the pier and shifted so she was facing the girl. “A week ago, I caught him in a lie for the first time. It was a stupid one, really, but still a lie. And knowing he lied about one thing makes me wonder if he lies about other stuff, you know?” She sighed. “Then I find something of Tiffany’s in his truck the other day and I flip out. He said that he’d given her a ride a week before she disappeared and that she must have dropped it. You’d think that with that explanation, I’d feel fine, but I don’t.”

Haley thought about the scenario again: Mac and Tiffany together, alone; and she cringed. She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can trust him anymore.”

“He didn’t like her, did he?”

“No, he hated her. Well, at least he said he did. I’m so confused. Everything’s just so crazy. First, my dad. Then, my mom and Becky. Then Tiffany. The prank phone calls. Now Mac. I feel like I could go insane at any second. Just snap and go completely crazy.”

Erica uncrossed her slender legs and let her feet drop to the pier. She leaned forward. “So, what did he lie about?”

“Porno magazines.”

“Yuck. My Dad has some of those, too,” Erica said.

“But Mac always told me he liked his women wholesome and that he
hated
pornography. Yet, I found one in his truck. A really filthy one. It just makes me wonder all kinds of things. Maybe I’m just paranoid, but I’m wondering if something could have happened between him and Tiffany behind my back. I mean, I’ve never had a reason not to trust him or to think he’d cheat on me, but now. . . I don’t know. I can’t get the idea out of my mind.”

A school of ducks glided by. Wary of the two sitting on the pier, the mother duck quacked shrilly at her group of ducklings, warning them to stay close.

Haley glanced at Erica and saw an odd expression on her face.

“What?” Haley asked.

Erica was quiet for a minute, watching the ducks. “I think I should tell you something. Something you’re not going to like,” she said. “It’s about Mac.”

***

IT WAS TWO-THIRTY in the morning and, as always, Haley couldn’t sleep. With a steaming cup of tea in hand, she flipped off the kitchen light and went out to the porch.

A thin sheet of fog hung in the yard. Pale moonlight bathed the center of the bayou. She curled up on a rocking chair and tried to sort everything out.

The anxiety she’d awoken to had been paralyzing and insistent. Erica said she’d seen Mac at Rachel Anderson’s. Late at night and her husband hadn’t been home. Were the two having an affair? If so, when had it started? Weeks ago? Months? Haley was beginning to feel as though she’d never really known him.

She’d also just discovered that neither her mother nor Becky were home and she had no idea where either of them were.

A barn owl called out and she glanced toward where the sound had come. She tensed as she saw something move in the darkness of the carport. Someone. . . was walking toward her.

Unable to move, she held her breath as he came closer. . . now only a few feet from where she sat. An unbidden image of Tiffany’s face passed through her mind’s eye.

Horror-stricken, her tea cup tumbled from her hand and smashed onto the concrete. The crash shattered the ambient night sounds and all went quiet. She sucked in her breath.

***

A FEW MINUTES later, Haley was staring at Charles. He sat on the porch swing, his shoulders sagging, his hands clasped together. But instead of appearing overly anxious as he had been the last time she’d seen him, he just looked exhausted. Resigned. Dark circles framed his eyes and his face appeared swollen. Even so, he looked much thinner than he had during his last visit.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, the bug zapper behind him incinerating an unfortunate mosquito.

Haley laughed, surprising even herself.

“That good, huh?”

She stared at him, not knowing how to respond.

“You don’t look so good,” he said.

“Well, that makes two of us.”

There was a long silence.

“I still look for her, you know,” he said. “I can’t sleep not knowing. Hebert and bullshit Guitreaux aren’t doing a damn thing about her. Their whole investigation seems to be a crock of shit.”

She thought about what Kim had said at the diner a couple of days before. Charles had been visiting the Sheriff every other day since Tiffany had disappeared. So often, that the Sheriff had ordered him to stop. Let the law do their job. Kim said that Charles hadn’t reacted well to the older man’s words and that there had been a confrontation.

“She was my life, Haley. My fucking
life.
” He laughed, but his face looked pained. “I guess the joke was on me, huh?”

Haley was tired and wanted nothing more than to just crawl into bed and pass out. Even so, she knew she wouldn’t be able to.

“This is really taking a toll on my mom,” he said. “Between her being worried to death about Tiffany and the shitty way folks have been treating her at the college. The comments behind her back, the stares. . .” Charles’s mother was part of the custodial staff at Cavelier de La Salle. “People stopping in front of the house and yelling nasty things,” he continued. “Hell, someone even threw a brick into our living room window last night. My little brother got hit with some glass. This is getting to be too much. Way too much.”

He leaned back and sighed. “She’s a wonderful woman, Haley. You know, she left everything in New Orleans to move us here. Her friends from childhood, her sister, a good job. Just to make sure my brother and I were okay. And
this
had to happen,” he said, his left eye ticcing. “Sometimes I think things would be much better for her if I wasn’t around.”

Three bolts of heat lightning pierced the sky like silent screams. Everything about the night became still. Even the crickets.

“I don’t know how much Tiffany told you, but I was getting myself into a shitload of trouble in New Orleans. Going down the wrong path. Running with the wrong crowd. Creating a lot of havoc in her heart. She’s always loved me. You know,
real
love. And I’ve always been such a huge disappointment.

“What’s funny is that I’ve been clean for over a year and now I’m suspected of doing something much worse than I ever even
thought
of doing. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Haley said, realizing that her sentiment sounded hopelessly empty, but not knowing what else to say. She stared in front of her, seeing nothing.

The two sat together in silence for a long while. Inside the house, the icemaker in the kitchen released cubes of ice, and Haley could hear them clink into their plastic tray.

Her eyelids began to droop.

Charles leaned forward and the chains that supported the swing protested. “Want to know why I came here tonight?” he asked.

Haley turned to him, her eyes glassy.

“Because no matter if no one else in the world does, I need for you to believe me. To believe I would never, ever hurt Tiffany. You were her best friend, Haley. I need that from you.”

LATER THAT EVENING, he was having one of his headaches. There were too many thoughts in his head and they were all competing for his attention. They beat at the soft, fragile walls of his mind, pounding so forcefully his skull felt as though it were changing shape. His mother kept screaming at him. More and more each day, and he wasn’t far from coming apart at the seams.

He’d bought new magazines and couldn’t tear the pages quickly enough. Grabbing as many of the glossy pages as he could, he ripped them from their binding: pictorials, advertisements, cartoons, ads for cologne. He ripped until the binding was completely bare.

He picked up another magazine and began shredding it. Images of red lipped, doe-eyed, filthy women littered his floor, their faces and bodies torn to pieces. They peered up at him with dull stares; they had the eyes of the dead. When his hands began to cramp, he stopped and lay against the wall opposite his bed. He tried to remember being inside the Anderson’s and how nice it had felt. But he couldn’t. His mother was screaming too loudly.

There was scratching above his head. The window. Ian. He squeezed his eyes shut. The urges had become undeniable. He’d felt so calm after Tiffany, so calm after his mother. After their deaths, his headaches and nightmares had quieted. . . for a while. He’d felt almost normal.

But he wasn’t normal. He’d
never be
normal.

He’d begun losing it on the outside, his mask slowly slipping away. The woman’s daughter had seen him in the woods. An oak had stood between them and he’d seen half of her face. It was dark, and he hoped she didn’t get a good look at him before she ran off. But it was possible she had.

Tiffany had begun screaming too. Every night from the pond, her cries so loud he could hear them from his bedroom. They were trying to get him in trouble. And they would. After all, it wouldn’t be too long until they figured out for sure just who he was. They probably already had a good idea.

The small room was cramped and its mustiness suffocated him. Ignoring Ian, he went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. Then he moved to the living room. Hoping the beer would calm him, he gulped it down.

The pipes clanked in the walls. Allie was home. He would have to leave. He lunged for his truck keys, but it was too late. Allie’s footsteps sounded behind him and a blaring odor filled the room. She’d sprayed on perfume. He tried to stifle a sneeze but it came out anyway.

“May God bless you,” she said, sweetly. She walked around the couch and was now standing in front of him, obstructing the television. A blue towel speckled with motor oil stains was draped loosely around her. Her hair was dripping, and she had on bright red lipstick.

She pursed her lips. “So,” she teased, “Think your little girlfriend has a better body than me?”

He wouldn’t look at her. Ian had followed him to the front of the house and was now perched outside the living room window, scraping a flea-ridden paw against the smudged glass.

Her tone turned chilly. “I asked you a question.”

“Stop it.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

He was silent.

“I’m only doing you a favor, you know. It’s because I feel sorry for you. Mama was right. You’re pathetic.”

He shot a quick glance at her and saw that she was grinning again. For a quick moment, he remembered the old days. The little kid, dirty faced and tomboyish in her pigtails and little striped bikini, snorkeling in the ditch in the front yard, catching crawfish and tadpoles.

She used to follow him out to the pond, and into the woods. She used to be his little admirer. But that was so long ago. That Allie was dead and gone.

“Look, this is for you. All of it.” The towel fell before he could look away and he took in her naked body. Her bare breasts, full and taut. Her tiny waist and flat, smooth stomach. “You can have this, you know,” she said. “It’ll be the best you’ll
ever
have.”

For a long moment, his eyes were glued to her and he couldn’t breathe.

She was. . . beautiful.

The beer quickly soured in his stomach. “Christ!” he yelled, hurling his beer across the room. The bottle smashed into the living room window and glass shattered.

She screwed up her face. “I know you want me!” she shouted. “
Everyone
wants me, don’t you know that?”

Fighting the urge to shake her naked body until she could no longer breathe, he lunged from the recliner and shot out the front door. He had to get away. Far, far away. . . from everything.

***

BRANCHES SNAPPED AS he snaked through the dank woods. Owls screeched above him. He cursed the owls and the voices from the pond.

“How can I hear you way out here?” he screamed into the night. “Leave me alone, you fucking bitches!”

They’d been screaming so much, too much. His mother was angrier than ever. She wanted to be found. She wanted to get her revenge. Tiffany was frightened. She kept shrieking, asking where she was. She cried that she needed to go home.

Sometimes, rare times, he was able to smile at their pain. Pain, something they’d never known before. But he wasn’t smiling now. He picked up a pine cone and hurled it into the air in a vain attempt to quiet the owls’ screeching.

Something rustled behind him. He turned and crouched, prepared to twist Ian’s neck if he had followed him. But he’d left without his flashlight and the brush was so dense, the night too dark for him to even see his own hands.

He waited for a long while and heard nothing, so he moved forward again, his jaw clenched.

If only Allie knew what he was capable of. If only she knew how close he was to doing something unspeakable to her. Something he’d never forgive himself for.

Fifteen minutes later, he was at the opening in the woods. His heart fluttered beneath all the noise in his head. The Anderson’s house was lit, and someone was in the living room. Just what he’d hoped.

It was frustrating when they went to bed early. And when they were away from the house. He needed them, didn’t they know that? He needed them to be close.

He crab-walked past the swing set. The father was in the living room, talking to someone. They were standing, facing each other.

He lowered himself to the ground, the night earth cool against his t-shirt. He watched as they embraced and then—.

His body tensed. Rage ripped through his skull, and the thoughts rushed back, everything twisting inside his head. He sprung up.

His mother screamed:
I told you they weren’t so fuckin’ perfect!

“No!” he shouted, his wail bouncing off the trees. He stood in the darkness, trying to gather air into his lungs.

Two faces now peered out the tall, rectangular window: Rachel’s husband, Tom, and the teenager who until last year babysat Rachel’s son.

The night flooded with light and Tom stepped out the back door.

“Hello?” he said. “Someone out here?”

He backed closer to the woods, taking shelter in the anonymity of the night.

Tom stepped tentatively forward. One step, two steps. “I can see you standing there,” he said, his arms by his sides. “Do I know you?”

He tried to breathe. Air trickled into his lungs as if it were being tunneled through a straw.

“I’m going to go in and call the sheriff now. You can’t be doing this, you know. Standing in people’s yards. Looking through their windows. That’s what you were doing, right?”

“Do you know what you’re fucking doing?” he screamed.

“Pardon me?” Tom said.

“How could you do this to her?” he bellowed.

The man went silent. When he spoke next, his voice had lost its accusatory tone. “Who are you?” he asked, soberly. “Do we know you? Do you know Rachel?”