It Starts Page 8

  “What are you thinking?” she asked in a whisper.

  “I’m thinking that I’m going to not think about it right now. I need to do some normal stuff, and my grampa’s birthday is coming up, and I’m just going to not do a single thing about it for a few days. I don’t think it will hurt anything,” I said. It came out as a sort of declaration.

  Vita smiled. “That’s a gift, you know,” she said.

  “What is?” I asked.

  “The ability to set aside something and think about it when you choose to. I’m not like that at all. I’d be damn near frantic, and I’d make myself sick until I made a clear decision. Anyhow, good for you, love. Take your time and think it through when you’re ready.” Something occurred to her. “Good gravy, I nearly forgot the book. Let me run and grab it for you.”

  “What book?”

  “Kevin told me to bring you a dream interpretation book. I have one—was gonna let you bring it home. I used to journal my dreams, but I’ve gotten out of the habit. I’ll just be a tick.”

  Vita ran into the house and came right back out with the book. It had a bunch of stars on the cover and looked to have been read quite a few times. She handed it to me.

  “Thanks.”

  “You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I’m curious. I just probably won’t look at it for a little while,” I said.

  “Don’t blame you, love. You take care of yourself. Call anytime.”

  I gave her a hug and walked to my truck. I felt myself slipping back to my old tendencies—back to when I’d first lost my parents. I decided not to fight it. As I drove down the bumpy drive toward the road, I reached into my center console and grabbed two D-sized batteries. I loved the feel of them, and they were the perfect weight to calm me down. Something reliable and precise feeling every time. I rolled them between my palms as I took the time to pack away my worries and conceal them until I was ready for them.

  Chapter 8: Unexpected

  I watched both men sleeping and sat silently on the pilled burgundy chair. I felt kind of angry. I looked around the room at the instruments hooked up to both of them. The steady sounds the devices made were reassuring and made me feel a little less edgy.

  The people in the hallway rushed around, seeming very self-important. I enjoyed the coffee smell of this place in the morning; nearly every one of the people outside the room carried a cup of something steaming.

  I could hear one of the doctors talking down to a patient nearby, and it made me shake my head. He seemed to be making his rounds and spoke to the patient in a voice that I might use if I was giving a presentation to an auditorium full of people.

  I moved my chair closer to Harry’s bed and gently pulled the fabric curtain to shield me from the door. I looked out the window. It was still unseasonably warm for October, but the mornings didn’t get that message; it stayed downright cold until about ten.

  Harry woke with a start. He felt around and I didn’t know what he was doing. Then I spotted his glasses on the rolling tray—just out of his reach. I stood quickly and walked over to hand them to him.

  “Are you OK?” I asked, worried.

  He slid his glasses in place and sat up. I seemed to have startled him. He nodded big when he realized that everything was fine.

  The nurse came in to check on him.

  “Harry-baby, what’s going on?” the middle-aged nurse joked. “Your readings went nutso. Everything all right?” she asked, carrying her green, polka-dot coffee cup.

  Harry took a piece of paper and wrote ‘Fine.’ He nodded to let her know he was fine, and he managed a smile.

  She walked out after she told him she’d be keeping a good eye on him. She warned him that pretty girls wouldn’t be allowed to visit if it threw his vitals so off-kilter. I smiled vaguely at her.

  Harry took off his heavy glasses and rubbed his eyes hard, trying to wake up. He wrote on his paper, ‘Everything OK, Rita?’

  I nodded, annoyed with myself for not picking a fake name that I actually liked. “Yeah, just came for a visit.”

  ‘How are the dreams?’ he wrote.

  I shrugged. “Still having them, but not as often. They’re a little different. The dog is gone. Now I have horses and people,” I said, dismissively. I could hear a tone of annoyance to my voice.

  ‘Not like before, but still having them,’ he wrote.

  “Yeah. Still having them.”

  I struggled with whether or not I should tell him about the guy. It seemed unrelated so I decided against it. Just because I had a few palm tree dreams didn’t mean a guy lying to me who said that he was from California was connected to anything. That is, if there was anything at all for him to be connected to.

  ‘Something else?’ he wrote after he watched me for a bit. He had a look of curiosity on his face.

  “Not really,” I lied, shaking my head so fast that it was more of a vibration. I guessed that my not making eye contact with him was making my lie less believable. So, I locked eyes with him and tried on a fake smile. Harry made a funny grimace and nodded slowly. He appeared skeptical.

  I rubbed my hands together hard. I was feeling something, but I didn’t want to go into it.

  “What if I’m crazy?” I blurted out.

  Harry shook his head as he wrote. ‘Doubtful.’

  He was already writing again, then he held up the paper. ‘Most people who use that word don’t take the time to understand what they’re referring to.’

  I looked at him with what I knew was a confused look on my face. He wrote again. ‘Crazy is a broad and uninformed classification.’

  “Oh.” I felt a little as though I’d been scolded.

  ‘There is always a more detailed reason. An underlying issue to be addressed,’ he wrote.

  I was quiet, feeling bad for making this man write so much as soon as he woke up. He hardly knew me.

  “How are you doing? You seemed to wake up kind of unhappy. I hope I didn’t freak you out sitting here,” I trailed off, wondering.

  Harry smiled, shaking his head as he wrote. ‘Not at all. Regrettably, weird dreams for me aren’t uncommon.’

  “Oh,” I said, feeling instantly sad for him. “Well…that sucks.”

  Harry laughed his wispy laugh and nodded big.

  “How about you?” he wrote.

  “Me? Which part.”

  “Dreams,” he wrote.

  “Oh. Not great. I’ve been dreaming about mostly random stuff.” It wasn’t true. I didn’t want to lie, but the truth was exhausting. I didn’t have anything else to do. I started again. “I had kind of a weird encounter.”

  Harry raised his eyebrows and made a motion to himself for me to continue. He rested his hands on his lap and rubbed the bottom hand with his thumb.

  I shook my head in a small way, in a way that meant I felt stupid for even bringing it up.

  “It was—I was working at this house. A big job that we’ve got. So a guy walks in. Kinda creepy. Asks who I am and tells me he owns the house that I’m working on. I was kind of a jerk to him before I knew that, so I talked with him a bit to kind of smooth it over, I guess.”

  Harry nodded.

  “So, I ended up having to get out quickly because a dead tree had caught fire in the backyard. I have no idea how that happened. And come to find out, guy’s not the homeowner. Those people, the homeowners, I mean, weren’t even in town.”

  Harry’s brow furrowed and he nodded slowly.

  I shook my head and looked out at the courtyard. “That was really all there was to it, but for some reason this guy got into my head.”

  Harry tilted his head and had a puzzled look on his face. He waited patiently for me to explain.

  “I’ve had a couple of super short dreams about him. Short but—well, I guess scary in a way. It’s just him giving me a glare out of the corner of his eye. I feel like I’ve been seeing him randomly. Twice. The first time, I realized right away it wasn’t him. The second time, I th
ought I saw him walking down the street, so I pulled into a parking lot in front of him to talk to him and get him out of my head. But, it wasn’t him. It didn’t even look like him when I got close.”

  Harry wrote, ‘Did he say something upsetting?’

  “Not really. He told me he was from California, and I kind of thought that had something to do with the palm trees in my dreams. The ones I told you about before.” I felt uncomfortable and rubbed my hands together.

  ‘Maybe just coincidence.’

  I nodded.

  I had a lot to think about, but I didn’t plan to think about any of it. I concentrated on my grampa’s birthday in the next week and the 24-piece carbide-coated router bit set I’d bought for him. It was something he’d needed for a while. I was sure he’d yell at me for getting it for him since it cost a little more than I usually spend, but I didn’t care.

  I was excited. I wanted to finish my plans for his birthday dinner and make a few things he used to love when my grandma cooked for him. I was going through the cabinets and found her recipe box. I’d already checked with him to be sure it wouldn’t upset him if I tried to cook from her recipes. He laughed and said he’d love it.

  Still, I found myself a little more jumpy than usual. Maybe because I was completely ignoring stuff that I needed to deal with. But I’d take being jumpy since I was happier ignoring it. I guess that kind of restraint didn’t come without a price.

  It was a Thursday. I’d spent the last two hours with my giant makeup case where I perfectly organized each tool and each piece of makeup. I was deeply comforted by applying makeup exactly the way my mom had showed me. I picked a time when I know I would be alone for a while so I could start with my hair and make it smooth and shiny and not put it up in a messy ponytail for a change. My friends and family would have never seen me like this. To them, I was a tomboy who occasionally wore lip gloss.

  My mom had been a Mary Kay lady. She used to tell me that makeup was like good décor—same way you would think of decorating your house to make it look its best and show off your personality. She said people should always try to look their best and only lazy people didn’t. There was no reason not to if you had a little bit of time, she would say. Everyone’s beautiful.

  She would show me with extreme patience exactly how to apply makeup layer after layer so it would last all day. She would emphasize the creativity you can use. She said it was a kind of art form. She spent the time to show me that no matter how many times I messed it up, I could remove and reapply it. She never got mad. She said it was her job to be sure I knew how to look like a lady, the kind of lady people don’t forget. She spent a lot of money on makeup because the nicer stuff stayed on longer and was better for your skin—at least that’s what she told my dad.

  Sometimes I wonder if it was because I usually wanted to do boy-type things that she would spend this extra time with me. Or maybe it was because she just enjoyed doing it. I’ll never know now. I really couldn’t ask anyone who knew her. My grampa was my dad’s dad, so he wasn’t completely knowledgeable about my mom.

  I didn’t have plans, and my grampa was bowling with Murray. He would be gone for a few hours. So, just before five o’clock, after I showered, I got myself a pop in a can with a straw, sat in front of the full-length mirror in my closet, turned on my DVD of the original movie Sabrina on my laptop, and meticulously applied makeup that I never wanted anyone to see. It was a hypnotic process that I’d perfected over the last couple of years once I’d realized this was something that put my mind at great ease.

  The first few times I sat down to do it in this way, getting through it without crying all the eye makeup off was hard. It took me much longer back then so I would typically just do my eyes most of the time. They required the most attention, anyway. I would think of little comments that my mother made, and I would remember her nose-snicker when she thought I was funny or when I would make faces because I thought the whole process was silly.

  I would sometimes sit still and just think about her. Try to remember her scent. Imagine how I noticed that her front tooth had a tiny chip on it. Try to feel her hand on my chin as she would tilt my head the way she needed to, in order to show me something. I remembered how she always told me she was jealous of my eyelashes since they were longer than hers. ‘Your father’s eyelashes,’ she used to say. I didn’t know it then, but those times sitting on the floor in my bedroom would become some of my favorite memories of her.

  At seven o’clock in the evening, I sat down to watch TV with full makeup on and my hair flat ironed and glossy. As I began to watch Wheel of Fortune, I made a mental note to get up at 8:30 to take the makeup all off before anyone saw me. My grampa might be home by nine if he didn’t head out for beers afterward. Better to be safe and have it off early.

  Pat started to introduce the show, and I wondered exactly how many times he’d said those same words.

  I tossed a frozen mac and cheese in the microwave and walked back into the family room. The family room was lit only by the light from the TV. I lay lounging across all three seats on the brown sofa in my Superman pajama pants and gray A&E Plumbing shirt.

  An instant later, I stiffened. I thought I heard something. I shot a look to the right. I thought I heard a car. I muted the TV and listened. Nothing. I waited a good thirty seconds and turned the TV back on. I was starting to guess the puzzle out loud when there was a gentle knock at the door on the wall to my left. I jumped so hard I had to set my hand on the floor to avoid falling.

  I heard a familiar muffled laugh and turned on the lamp by the sliding glass door. Oh my GOD, it was Kevin. Kevin was here. I was in a complete panic. I realized at that instant that I had full makeup on, and he would no doubt find out that I was as crazy as a loon.

  I rapidly blasted through dozens of excuses in my mind I could give him why I looked like this. Would he even recognize me? Of course he would; it wasn’t clown makeup. Why didn’t I hear him coming? Why didn’t I pretend to not be home? Was my truck out? Maybe I could tell him I was supposed to go to a wedding at the last minute, but my date who asked me to go at the last minute, also backed out at the last minute. Maybe I could tell him that I let the neighbor do it because she was going to beauty school and needed to practice.

  I had nothing, not a single valid reason. OK, I’d hesitated long enough and didn’t want to be rude. So, I took a deep breath and slid the door open. It only now occurred to me that Kevin hadn’t said anything. He’d been standing very still, just waiting. I was looking at the metal threshold on the floor and finally found the courage to look in his eyes.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi,” he replied. He had an expressionless stare.

  “Um... I thought you were having dinner with Lanie tonight? The theater tickets and all that?” I asked, looking down.

  “Oh. Well, her aunt came in from Chicago last minute so I suggested that she take her aunt instead. She was happy. So that’s why I’m free.” His voice seemed flat.

  He was studying me closely. I could feel it. I was still looking away from him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said in a near whisper. I wasn’t sure why I said that. Maybe for being weird with him. I tried to rev up my courage and be suddenly normal, but it wouldn’t happen. I felt like a stranger. I wanted to run up to my bedroom and lock the door, but I didn’t dare. Plus, he would probably follow me. He would now probably think I was completely insane, and our friendship was most likely over.

  “I tried to call your cell,” he continued, interrupting my mental fit.

  Right. I’d left that upstairs in the closet. I nodded in reply.

  “Do you…” he paused and was speaking slowly and quietly. “Do you have plans?” He sounded genuinely curious.

  I shook my head but only barely while I fidgeted with the door lock with my fingers, flicking it back and forth. There was a long pause. I felt embarrassed and angry. All of this could have been avoided if I’d only grabbed my stupid cell phone and brought it down with
me. I never wanted anyone to see me like this—especially not Kevin.

  What could possibly be my explanation? Oh, Hi, Kevin, I’ve been meticulously applying makeup for the last two-and-a-quarter hours, thumbing through all my obsessively collected female exploitation magazines, looking to perfect my look for Pat Sajak and my Stouffer’s Mac and Cheese. Oh, and I have a makeup bin the size of a moving van filled with designer makeup that I got online because I’m too embarrassed to buy it in the store. I obviously have mommy issues.

  “Do you have a dress?” he said abruptly.

  My eyes snapped up to his. He looked down and then right at me again, waiting for my reply.

  “A dress?” I said, sounding like an idiot.

  He nodded.

  My mind raced again. This time I was trying to think not only about what he might be thinking about my mental state but also trying to figure out if I actually had a dress. Then I wondered why he was asking. I had one that was kind of a sweatshirt comfy dress. Well, it was something between a sweatshirt and a T-shirt. It was a form-fitting, aqua-colored dress that had long sleeves with what looked like brass paper fasteners all over it. It wasn’t awful, but I’d gotten a burn hole in the sleeve last time I wore it because I’d smoked a cigar while drunk. The thing had been around the block.

  “Don’t you have that one that you wore to my cousin’s wedding?” he interrupted. He was talking about that same dress.

  I stared at him blankly.

  “Snap out of it, Mel.” He laughed, walking past me into the house. “Let’s go. Wheel of Fortune is on all the time.” He looked over at the TV for a moment and guessed the puzzle. “National Football League. I’ll never understand why people reserve their free spin. How about this—you come with me, and we’ll go get you a dress—on me. That wedding was like three years ago, anyway. You probably need a new dress. I’m guessing you have just the one, right?”