The Last House on the Street(2)

“Shadow Ridge Estates,” the woman continues, that deep voice of hers mocking. “Who came up with that pretentious name? All those trees suck the breath out of you. You don’t really want to move in there, do you? It’s no place for a child. No place for a little girl. Especially one who just lost her daddy.”

Oh my God. She knows about Rainie. I don’t know how to handle this. She’s touching me in my softest, most wounded places and I can’t think straight.

I have to get myself under control. I sit up straight, ready to turn the tables on her.

“Would you mind taking your glasses off?” I ask.

“Yes, I’d mind,” she says. “Light bothers me.” She raises a hand to touch the edge of her glasses, and the loose sleeve of her white blouse slips a few inches up her arm, exposing a pink line across her forearm. Had she tried to kill herself at one time? But I don’t think that’s it. The line is short and rounded. It looks more like a birthmark than a scar.

“I think you’d better go to another firm,” I say, getting to my feet. “I only do contemporary design.”

She looks toward the ceiling as if considering the suggestion, then back at me. “If you say so, yes. I guess I’d better.” She picks up her purse and stands suddenly, and I step back, afraid of her. Afraid of an old woman. I want her out of my office. I move toward the door, but she swiftly steps forward to block my path. “Do you want to know what keeps me awake at night?” she asks.

“I’d like you to leave,” I say. She’s too close to me now, so close that I can see the fear in my eyes in the distorted reflection in her sunglasses.

“Thinking,” she says. “That’s what keeps me awake. Thinking about killing someone.”

I push my way past her. Open the door and stand aside. “Leave.” My voice sounds firm. At least I hope it does. But Ann Smith doesn’t budge.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long, long time,” she continues. “Years and years and years. And now I have the chance.”

My heart thuds against my rib cage. Is she talking about me? Am I the someone? Years and years and years. It can’t be me. Still, I glance around the room for a weapon, spotting nothing. I think of my three-year-old daughter. Leaving her an orphan.

“Who are you talking about?” I ask, distressed by the quaking of my voice.

“I don’t think I want to tell you.” She smiles the smile of someone who has all the power. Then she pivots and walks to the doorway. I say nothing as she leaves the room and I watch her move down the hallway with the ease of a younger woman. Shutting the door, I stand frozen for a full minute before my brain kicks in and I rush to the window. I look out at the tiny parking lot we reserve for clients and contractors, watching for Ann Smith, hoping to see what car she gets into. But she never appears and I stand there numbly, the specter of her presence still looming behind me.





Chapter 2



ELLIE


1965

There are moments in life when you suddenly see your future and it’s not at all what you expected. I was home from the University of North Carolina for spring break and we were all sitting in the living room. Daddy was reading the paper in his favorite chair, the leather so old it made cracking sounds each time he moved. Buddy was at the fold-down desk by the fireplace, tinkering with some small mechanical part from a car. And Mama sat between Brenda and me on the sofa, the Brides magazine open on her lap. Brenda had brought the magazine over and the three of us were admiring the dresses. I had to bite my tongue as Brenda paged through the magazine, though, and I wondered if Mama was biting hers, too. After all, Brenda would not be wearing one of those frothy white dresses, and I, as her maid of honor, would not be wearing one of the beautiful taffeta bridesmaid creations. Brenda’s wedding to Garner Cleveland, due to take place next Saturday, would be small and quiet and necessary, with no attendants other than Garner’s best friend, Reed—who happened to be my boyfriend—and me.

Brenda turned the page, and the photographs of dresses gave way to the headline of an article: “Sexual Harmony and How to Attain It.”

“Don’t need that one.” Brenda laughed, patting her still-flat belly. She turned the page and if my mother hadn’t been sitting next to me, I would have turned it back, curious. I knew next to nothing about sexual harmony. It wasn’t that I was a prude. It was just that Reed and I hadn’t gone that far, by mutual agreement. I wanted to wait until I was married and although Reed did give me a bit of an intellectual argument about it, he said he admired me for my decision. I hadn’t criticized Brenda for her decision, though. Every girl had to figure out what was right for herself when it came to that sort of thing. What had shocked me the most about Brenda’s pregnancy was that I’d had no idea she and Garner were intimate. I felt hurt that my longtime best friend and dorm mate had kept something so monumental from me.

When I told Mama about Brenda’s condition and that she had to marry Garner right away, she expressed sympathy. “That poor girl,” she said. “She just cut her freedom short,” followed by a stern, “Learn from this, Eleanor. This is what happens when you let things go too far. You and Reed better behave yourselves.”

“Mama,” I’d said, “I’m not stupid. And we’re not as serious as Garner and Brenda are.”