Love Me If You Must

40

Brad left, apparently satisfied I wasn’t harboring any more dead bodies on the premises. I stood under the catalpa and watched him cut through the yard on his way back home. I blew back my bangs, relieved he hadn’t checked out the cistern during his inspection. I’d left my hammer, chisel, and flashlight in there. Brad would have no doubts regarding my activity. He’d be calling 9-1-1 for help putting me in a straitjacket.

I gasped a quick breath. I couldn’t remember turning the flashlight off. Batteries were too expensive to treat callously.

I hoofed it back down to the cellar. A yellow beam hit the far wall of the cistern. I huffed over the ledge and dropped behind the stone wall.

I knelt and checked my progress. Barely a dent showed in the floor. I’d have to think less and chisel more if I were going to liberate Rebecca.

I picked up my tools and pecked away at the endless white. Maybe I’d get down an inch or two and find only more cement. Maybe I’d find plain dirt. Maybe there was no body.

I’d know soon enough.

Strands of hair got trapped in my lips as I concentrated on my chore, reminding me that I’d have to visit Tammy at the Beauty Boutique again soon.

I’d taken a ten-year hiatus from powdering and primping. It felt good to be treating myself special again. Mom would be proud of any interest I took in my personal appearance. She’d gone through a lot of trouble dressing me up when I was a kid.

It hurt to remember.

“Try this one, Tish.” Mom held up a pale blue dress that my seven-year-old self couldn’t resist. I grabbed at it, beaming.

“I’ll be as pretty as you,” I told her, modeling the spring dress in the department store mirror.

“You’re always pretty.” She knelt down close to me.

“Yes, but on Easter, I feel pretty.” I spun around. The skirt opened like an umbrella around me.

Mom stepped back and gave a nod. I could tell by the smile on her face that I made her happy. She liked being my mom. We didn’t care that my dad never came around. We were happy, just the two of us.

A tear dropped onto my wrist. I set the hammer down and wiped my face. I was such a baby. How many years had it been? Twenty-six? I should be over it by now.

I took a deep breath and smashed the chisel with the hammer. A chunk of cement went flying.

But I hadn’t felt pretty that Easter.

“You’re not wearing blue to your mother’s funeral,” Grandma said, pulling me down the aisle of yet another store. Spring hadn’t been a good time to find sad colors. Grandma had to buy me a white sailor dress. Only the trim was black.

I hated it.

After the priest was done talking, I snuck up to the front and stared at my mother. They told me she was dead, but I was happy to see her anyway. I had been staying with Grandma, and I didn’t know where Mom was that whole week. Grandma wouldn’t tell me. Just said Mom had to fix some things before I could see her again.

I don’t know if she got to fix things or not. I think she must have died first, because things sure felt broken.

I held on to the edge of her casket. I was glad the fabric inside was silky. She liked silky stuff. Mom was dressed in a pretty pink blouse with ruffles down the front. I wished I had my blue ruffled dress on instead of the sailor dress. Then we would have been matchies.

Mom’s face had a pushed-in spot on the forehead. Someone tried to make it look better, but I could tell it must have hurt bad. I reached out to touch it.

“Patricia Louise Amble,” Grandma said behind me. “Come away from there. Let somebody else get a turn.” My arm hurt when she pulled me away. She sat me in a corner by a smelly bunch of flowers. People I didn’t know walked past my mother. They shook their heads and whispered. Sometimes they looked over at me and shook their heads and whispered some more. I played with the black scarf on my sailor dress and pretended I didn’t notice.

“What’s my darlin’ doing here all alone?” My grandpa came and sat next to me on the metal chairs.

I giggled. “Grandpa, your breath smells like beer.”

“You sound just like your mother, darlin’.” His eyes were red and watery, and I knew he felt sad just like me. He smoothed down my hair and I felt prettier for a minute.

Grandma came down our row. “There you are, you old drunk. You’re supposed to be at the door, thanking people for coming.”

Grandpa winked at me. He stood to attention. “Aye, aye, Captain.” He marched like a soldier across the room.

Grandma slapped at him. “Stop that. You’re embarrassing me.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Grandpa said and kept marching.

I laughed until tears ran down my cheeks.

In the cellar, a smile crept over my face at the memory. I held the hammer suspended, not wanting to shatter the vision.

Good old Grandpa. What had I done all these years without him?

The faint ringing of the doorbell floated down the staircase.

I stiffened, debating whether or not to answer it.

If I didn’t, there was a good chance whoever it was would come in anyway. Nobody paid attention to closed doors in this town.

I set down my tools, clicked off the flashlight, and climbed out of my cubby. By the time I got to the front of the house, I was breathing hard.

I pulled open the door.

“Oh, hi,” I said. A vaguely familiar-looking man in a brown leather bomber jacket and blue jeans stood there.

He nodded. “It’s been awhile. Do you remember me? I’m Rick Hershel. I used to live here.”

My eyebrows went up. “You look different with your beard shaved off.” Should I ask him in? Should I throw him out?

He smiled. “Yeah. Things were a little crazy last summer. Life’s starting to come back together now.”

I nodded in sympathy, leaning against the doorframe so he couldn’t push his way through. I didn’t want him thinking he had any rights to my house. He’d signed it over to me. From the dust balls in the attic to the body in the basement, the whole place was mine.

I waited for Rick to speak.

He shifted his weight back and forth, clasping and unclasping his hands. What was he so nervous about?

He cleared his throat. “You probably remember that I wasn’t too happy to sell this place.”

Cry me a river, Rick, I thought. I ain’t giving it back.

“I heard something like that,” I said.

“Well, a couple of people told me you’re fixing it up pretty nice. I thought maybe I could get a tour.”

I crossed my arms. “It’s not done.” Sorry, Rick. No mercy.

He gave a laugh. “Oh, no, that’s no problem. I just wanted to see how far you got.”

“Not very.”

His smile vanished. “I would really appreciate a tour.”

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing to see.” I reached for the door and started to close it.

He held up his palms, as if pleading. “You don’t understand. I feel really guilty for leaving a couple things undone. I was hoping I could take a look around and see where I could help out.”

“I’m not hiring right now.” Of course, I might change my tune if I didn’t get a call back from Lloyd in the near future.

“No. I’m not looking for money. Seriously. I’m going crazy because I didn’t have time to finish some of the projects. If you let me help out a little, I would sleep a lot better at night.”

Free labor. One of those things in life that was too good to be true. I couldn’t help but wonder about his ulterior motive.

“Which projects concern you the most?” I asked, just in case he was a godsend.

He hesitated. “Look. I don’t want you to think that I’m going to camp out here and fix up the house for free. There were a few details that I’d like to finish up. You know, like waterproofing the basement. I wrote on the seller’s disclosure that we had completed the project, but it’s only mostly done. If I don’t finish it, then come spring you’ll be taking me to court. I don’t need that. Believe me.”

I had to agree. With all the hype the waterproofing project had gotten, I’d be miffed when March arrived if there was even a hint of water in my basement. The whole rec room idea depended on the walls downstairs being absolutely watertight.

“What’s left to be done?” I asked.

“I can show you.”

I swallowed, thinking of my tools in the cistern. How would I explain that situation?

“You know, today really isn’t a good day. Can you come by tomorrow around the same time?” I said.

He gave a slow nod. “Sure. Tomorrow it is.” He turned to go, but stopped himself. “By the way,” he said over his shoulder, “if you’re ever interested in selling this place, let me know.”

“Sure thing.”

I watched him get into his brown coupe and drive off. Odd that scruples should be catching up to him at this late date. Of course, I knew firsthand the power of a guilty conscience. Either right the wrong or go crazy thinking about it. At least Rick had the opportunity to make things right. Some of us had to settle for going crazy.

I locked the front door, determined that if the doorbell rang again, I’d ignore it. I put myself on a twenty-four-hour deadline. If I didn’t unearth a body by this time tomorrow, I’d hand the basement over to Rick and tell him to finish the waterproofing project.

But if I did unearth a body . . . water in my basement would seem a minor problem.