Housebreaking (18 page)

And then she screamed—a scream so loud he would not have thought it possible. He waited for the sound to stop, unable to move. Yukon barked and jumped up to investigate. At that moment, she ran up the stairs and disappeared into his father's bedroom. Benjamin went after her. “Hey, come back here!” As he reached the doorway, he caught sight of her rushing into his father's bathroom, the door slamming behind her.

When he banged on the door, she called out, “You hurt my arm, asshole.”

“I'm sorry.”

She didn't answer.

He tried the handle but it was locked. “Are you okay?” He heard water running in the sink. After a while he called her name.

She didn't answer.

He sat on the edge of his father's bed. The way she had screamed—like a madwoman. His neighbors had probably heard. Why would she yell like that? He had gripped her arm, but not hard enough to hurt her. Why had she locked herself in the bathroom? He couldn't make sense of anything she was doing.

He knocked again. “Can you hear me?”

“Leave me alone,” she called. “I've got cramps.”

He couldn't decide what to do, so he just waited. After a while he seemed to lose track of time. He paced around the room. He hadn't done anything wrong, yet he felt sick with guilt. He should have called Audrey the moment the girl showed up. Why hadn't he? Should he call her now? Otherwise, what—knock down the door?

As he was getting ready to dial Audrey's number, the door swung open and Emily emerged. She'd put her sweatshirt back on, the hood around her head.

“If you tell my mother I was here . . .” The words came out heavy. “If you tell her any of this, I'll say you raped me.”

“She won't believe you.”

“Maybe not. But my father will.”

She brushed past him and went out of the room. He followed her to the top of the stairs and watched her go out the front door. Yukon appeared and stood in the open doorway, looking after her.

“Stay, boy,” he said, coming down the stairs.

This was the bill, he realized; this was the consequence for getting involved with a married woman: a visit from a deranged girl, threatening to accuse him of rape.

He looked out toward the street, but she was already gone from sight.

* * *

HE WENT INTO
the den and turned on the TV. His hands, he noticed, were trembling. He felt jittery, unable to concentrate on the show. When he heard a car on the street he jumped up and went to the front window to look out. The car pulled into a driveway a few houses up. He needed to calm himself with a drink or, better yet, a joint. He realized he didn't want to stay in the house, so he jumped up and got his keys and drove into town.

He parked on the street outside Max Baxter's Fish Bar. Getting out he heard loud voices, and he turned to see a businessman, ranting into the pay phone on the corner. It was that kind of night, Benjamin figured. He went in and sat at the bar, ordering a scotch. It was a Monday, approaching 11:00
P.M.
, and the dining tables were empty, the kitchen closed. A group of waiters and dishwashers, dressed all in white, talked rowdily at a rear booth.

After the first scotch, Benjamin felt his nerves begin to loosen.
To pay you back for fucking my mother
. How could she know? Audrey, of course, would never tell her daughter something like that, but maybe the girl had overheard one of Audrey's phone calls and figured it out. But how would she know about
him,
specifically, where he lived? Had Audrey written something in a journal, which her daughter had discovered? In any case, he didn't believe that the girl had broken into his house. Her face had changed when he'd mentioned the boy's name. Maybe this kid Billy was behind the entire crazy stunt. But why? What did she—or they—hope to gain by confronting him like that? She said she didn't want money. And why had she given back the ring, the only valuable item they'd gotten away with?

The door opened and the businessman from the pay phone came in and sat at the other end of the bar, looking disheveled and red in the face.
He ordered a tequila but the bartender refused. Benjamin felt for the guy. Drunk as he looked, he seemed to need it at least as badly as Benjamin needed his second glass of scotch.

As he sipped, a waiter appeared next to him and ordered a draft beer. He stood watching the basketball game. After a few quick gulps, he hiccuped loudly. A moment later he hiccuped again, as if making a joke.

Benjamin turned to him.

“Sorry,” the waiter said. “I can't get rid of them.”

He was a young guy with curly blond hair. He reminded Benjamin of one of those guys back in college who could kick a Hacky Sack for five minutes without letting it fall. “How long have you had them?”

“Three days.”

“You've had the hiccups for three days?”

The kid nodded. “I haven't slept more than a couple hours the whole time.”

“Have you tried chewing a lemon?”

“I've tried everything you can think of. I even went to the hospital. The doctor yanked on my tongue and had me drink three seltzers—” A hiccup ripped through his body, causing him to wince. His voice was hoarse and dry. “Didn't help.”

“That's all they did for you?”

“Yep.”

Benjamin noticed the bags under his eyes but still couldn't help smiling when the kid burped and hiccuped at the same time. “That sounds awful.”

“Everyone thinks it's funny. It's not. Feels like my chest is gonna bust open.” The kid finished his beer and placed the glass on the bar. “Take it easy,” he said, heading for the door.

A few minutes later the bartender passed Benjamin his bill. “We're closing soon,” he said.

Benjamin finished his drink and left before they turned up the lights. Outside, Wintonbury Center was silent, the traffic lights flashing yellow, the streets deserted. He stood on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette. He noticed the waiter, sitting at the bus stop near his car. The kid hiccuped, the loudest yet, like an otter's mating call.

“Good one,” said Benjamin.

“Thanks, I guess. I just tried holding my breath for the hundredth time.”

“How about getting high? You try that yet?”

The kid smiled. “It's funny you should mention that. I've been trying to get an angle on some weed ever since this started.”

Benjamin dropped his cigarette and stamped it out. “I can help you out in that department.”

“Seriously?”

Benjamin unlocked his car and signaled the kid to join him. The kid opened the passenger door and stuck his head inside. “You're not a narc, are you?”

Benjamin laughed. “I'm a fucking car salesman.”

The kid climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door behind him.

Benjamin said, “Open the glove compartment. Look inside that yellow envelope.”

The waiter reached in and produced the joint.
“Dude.”

“For medicinal purposes only.”

“Seriously? You got a prescription?”

“Nah. I get it from a mechanic in my shop. Fire it up.” Benjamin started the motor and turned on the heater. He fiddled with the radio, looking for music. The kid produced a Zippo and lit the joint, inhaling with a skilled ease, slow and deep.

“Yo,” he said, passing it over. He hiccuped an enormous cloud of smoke.

They both laughed. Benjamin brought the joint to his lips and sucked in. Just what the doctor ordered.

They sat with the headlights off, passing the joint. A Motown song came on the radio. Benjamin felt high almost immediately, listening to Marvin Gaye—the old Marvin, before he got divorced and bitter, before he went celibate, before he beat his old man and shot him to death. Or did he have that mixed up? Did Marvin shoot his old man? Or had the old man shot Marvin?

He passed the joint, and the kid dragged on it, and hiccuped.

“That didn't work,” said Benjamin.

“But still,” said the kid. “A good try.”

Benjamin took a final puff and stubbed the roach in the ashtray. “Good luck with those hiccups.”

“Thanks, man,” the kid said, getting out. “You gotta be the coolest car salesman ever.”

“Yeah, let me know when you're in the market for a Cadillac.”

What now? The thought of returning to the house brought on a rush of anxiety. He should tell Audrey about her daughter's visit, he decided. If he didn't, it meant he was guilty somehow. It meant he was hiding something. The girl might come back, break in, steal things, make accusations. He couldn't let that happen. Let Audrey deal with her crazy daughter. If he warned Audrey now, she could confront her daughter before she told her father. Contain the situation, as they said in the movies.

He reached for his cell phone—and realized he'd left it behind in his haste to get out of the house. What the heck, he figured, he'd go old school. He fished a few quarters out of the cup holder and walked to the pay phone on the corner.

He dialed her number and the line rang and rang. He realized it was late—nearly midnight. She must be asleep. Her husband must be asleep next to her. He expected voice mail to kick in, but at last she answered and mumbled a groggy “Hello?”

“Audrey?”

“Benjamin? Is that you?”

“Yes. I'm sorry to call so late.”

“What time is it? Why are you—”

Before he could respond, he heard a clatter—and the line went dead. Had she hung up on him on purpose? Or a lost connection? He waited for a minute, giving her time to get out of bed, go into another room. He didn't want to cause any trouble for her. But this was important. He couldn't let it wait.

He slid two more quarters in the slot and dialed again. This time, she answered almost instantly, sounding much more awake.

“Hello?”

“It's me again.”

“Benjamin?”

“Yes.”

“What's going on?”

“I'm calling about your daughter. It's kind of an emergency.”

“An emergency?”

“Maybe that's not the right word.”

“Should I get her? She's packing for school. She's driving back first thing tomorrow morning.”

What did she mean? Didn't the girl go to high school in town, a mile down the road?

He cleared his throat. “I'm not sure how to tell you this—”

“What's going on, Benjamin? You sound strange.”

Something wasn't right. Her voice wasn't hers. In his stoned condition it took him a while to figure it out.

“Benjamin? What's wrong? What's the emergency?”

He had called the wrong number. By habit, he'd dialed his wife. He found himself laughing at his predicament. “There's no emergency. I just wanted to remind Sarah to check the oil. She always forgets.”

Judy was silent for a while. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Well, not really. I don't know.”

“Are you having an anxiety attack?”

“Something like that.”

“Listen to me. There's nothing to worry about. Sarah's fine. David is too. He called and told me what you said to him. He said you creeped him out.”

He sighed. “I tell him I love him and it creeps him out. That's priceless.”

“Not like that,” she said gently. “It was your tone. He said he never heard your voice like that before. He was worried.”

“I'm fine.”

“You don't sound fine. What's that noise? Is that the TV?”

“I'm at a pay phone in Wintonbury Center.”

“A pay phone? Do those things still exist?”

“It's one of the last of its kind. Like a snow leopard.” He took a deep breath. “I called because I was thinking how terrible it would be to lose him. Or Sarah. Or you.”

She paused for a few moments. “I think you should come over,” she said.

Her voice, so familiar. He felt some of the paranoia recede. He could picture her, sitting up in bed, wearing her blue sweatpants and his old Red Sox T-shirt. “Aren't you sleepy?”

“Not at all. I had a lousy night.”

“Trouble with your divorce lawyer?”

“You could say that.”

“Things went downhill that fast?”

“Crazy, isn't it? This dating thing. I don't know how people do it.” She sighed. The Judy sigh. It had been her main manner of communication during the past few, difficult years. Once she started, nothing could change her mood. She would just get more and more irritated. But for once, he wasn't the cause of her discontent.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“God, no. Thanks for asking. But no. I'd rather not waste any more breath on him.”

“Do you really want me—”

He stopped himself. He was stoned. She hated when he got stoned, or when he came home drunk and reeking of cigarettes. A bad time to make any sort of overture. At the intersection, the light changed. A police car cruised by slowly, the cop studying him.

“What?” said Judy.

“Nothing.”

“No,” she insisted. “Tell me.”

There was something different in her voice, a tone he hadn't heard in a long time. A softness. The impartiality gone. The voice of his old friend, his partner. She had been on his side all those years, waiting for him.

“Something's bothering you,” she said. “What is it?”

He thought of Audrey Martin. What could he say to her anyway? What could he tell her about her daughter that she didn't already know?

He glanced at his watch. Late, but not too late. “Are you sure it's a good idea for me to come over?”

“What about you?” she asked. “What about your love life?”

“I have no love life.”

“What about Aubrey?”

He emitted a dry laugh, almost against his will. “There is no Aubrey. I made the whole thing up.”

“I knew it!” she screeched. “I knew you were lying.”

“You were right.”