Edge of Midnight (9 page)

A sob threatened to break through her clamped teeth and she pressed a fist against her mouth to hold it back. Once started, she feared she'd never stop. She was so scared. Totally alone, no one to offer her help, give her a ride, give her a bed, give her clothes, give her food. Through her small tunnel of vision, she watched the wet highway roll by, felt the turn as the bus arced in a curve, each mile taking her farther from everything familiar.

She dozed, woke when the bus stopped, dozed when it moved on, woke more completely at someplace called Colby, Kansas, where she looked at her watch. Three-forty Wednesday morning. She got off and stretched, got back on and dozed. In Salina, she bought cereal and coffee. At Topeka, a young woman got on and took the seat next to her. Barely twenty, Cary judged, with a curly cap of chestnut hair and four tiny turquoise earrings in her left ear. Her fingers were covered with turquoise rings.

“Hi.” The young woman poked through her backpack and brought out two textbooks.

Cary brought up a smile. It had been so long since she'd talked easily to a stranger that she felt Mitch's shadow looming. He didn't like it when she talked to people. Males made him jealous, females made him suspicious. He questioned her later and questioned her until he found something that made him angry, then he'd hit. It was safer never to talk to anybody.

“My name's Ida.” The young woman stuck out her hand.

Cary shook the offered hand and stifled the urge to say her name. She must not leave even the tiniest trace for Mitch to discover that a woman named Cary had been on this bus. She nodded at all the textbooks in the backpack. “Are you a student?”

Ida rolled her eyes. “Not full-time. Taking classes.”

“What are you studying?”

“Classes to help me with my job. I missed a bunch today because Mom wanted me home. Family thing, you know? Niece's third birthday, but a buddy will give me notes.”

Cary's niece would be seven in January. Cary would miss the party, and couldn't even send a card.

Ida dug through her backpack, brought out a bottle of water and took a slug. “Where you headed?”

“Hampstead.”

“Me, too. You staying long?”

“I haven't decided yet.” Cary tried a smile. “Till my friend gets tired of me.”

To her relief, Ida didn't ask any more questions. When she mentioned she needed to study before her class tonight, Cary picked up her own book and stared at the pages as though she were actually making sense of the words, remembering to turn a page now and again. Nerves crawled up and down the back of her neck the closer the bus got to Hampstead.

What if Mitch had somehow managed to follow her? What if he was waiting? What if his face was the first thing she saw when she got off the bus? Maybe this was a huge mistake. Maybe she shouldn't have listened to Arlette. A heavy loneliness crept into her soul.

The bus trundled around a corner and pulled into Hampstead, Kansas, a little before noon. Ida gathered her things and swung out of the seat. Cary wished her good luck in her studies and slowly made her way to the exit, bobbing her head and peering through windows for a glimpse of Mitch. No sign of him, but that didn't ease her anxiety. That wouldn't be his way. He'd pounce when she let her guard down.

A boiling blast of heat smacked her as soon as she stepped off the air-conditioned bus. Inside the depot, she look around. Still no Mitch. “Call,” Arlette had told her, “Kelby will pick you up.” Cary fumbled coins in the slot. Receiver pressed against her ear, she turned and scanned the room. Weary travelers milled about.

Kelby's answering machine kicked in with instructions to leave a message. “Uh—this is…” For God's sake, idiot. Don't leave your name. “Uh—your guest. I'm at the bus station.” She hung up.

Okay, now what? Think. Don't panic. She was never good at thinking on her feet. Sit, then. This is a bus station, people sit all the time. Maybe Kelby went out to lunch with a friend. Went to work. Stepped out to pick up the mail. Arlette never promised Kelby would be standing by the phone day and night just waiting for Cary's call. Maybe she went shopping.

A hand came down on her shoulder. Cary whirled.

“Are you all right?” It was Ida. “You look sort of pale.”

Cary nearly dropped to a heap, her heart pounded in her throat, her mouth felt frozen in a startled O. “I always look that way.” The lighthearted tone was stretched thin.

“Listen,” Ida said, “why don't I give you a ride. If my friend remembers. He's not real happy with me at the moment, but—” Ida looked up. “Well, it's about time.”

A thin, lanky young man with a white bandage on his temple ambled up, straw-colored hair and a strong resemblance to a scarecrow.

“Osey, mind if we give my friend a ride?”

“No problem.” Osey picked up Ida's tote bag and backpack, held both in one hand and said to Cary, “Where's your bag?”

Cary dithered, like she always did when faced with the unanticipated. “I—it's coming later.” What kind of idiot traveled with bags coming later? “Thanks anyway,” she said, “but a friend's picking me up.”

“Where does she live?” Osey said.

Ida jabbed him with her elbow. “Hey, you dope, maybe the friend's a he.” She turned to Cary. “Osey knows everybody.”

His lazy posture seemed to change, and when his gaze sharpened like a hunting lioness who spotted the weak antelope of the herd, Cary was startled by the glimpse of keen intelligence. “Nice meeting you.” She excused herself and walked toward the restrooms, feeling two pairs of eyes watching as she pushed open the door.

After washing her hands, she splashed water on her face. The thought of a shower pulled at her like the Holy Grail. With one day, eighteen hours and fifty minutes of bus-riding, she felt ripe as a bag lady. She waited long enough for Ida and her friend to be gone, then went out and tried the phone again. Answering machine. She sat down, waited two hours, called again. The machine. She waited, tried once more. Same result.

Now what?

Sit here in the bus station until the janitor throws her out with the rest of the trash, or spend some of her cash on a taxi? Cary went up to the man at the ticket counter and asked where she could get a taxi. He made a call on her behalf and she waited out front until a cab screeched up. Another thing to hope for, she thought as she climbed in, was that she remembered the address correctly.

Despite the shimmering heat, Hampstead was a pretty little town, from what Cary could see with her circle of sight. Wide, tree-lined streets, snug little houses swept up against small hills. Mixture of architecture, some old, some new. Inside one or two homes, she could see people sitting down to lunch. Were any of them wary of their husbands, tense, and putting out food with shaky hands, hoping he wouldn't find fault with something?

Sometimes when she'd called Mitch to a meal, he'd said, “Be right there.” Then he'd finished reading the paper, come to the table, and slapped her across the face because the food was cold. She was such a fool. She should have picked up the food and dumped it in his lap. How could she have let that sort of thing go on all those years?

“This is the place.” Past a section of older homes way on the edge of town, the cabbie pulled into the graveled drive of an old Victorian house, weathered white paint, with a porch running all the way across the front and along one side, turrets and a steep pitched roof. A thick row of trees grew behind it. Beyond the trees on the right was an uneven paving-stone path leading to an old stone barn and outbuildings. A dirt road ran past the barn; across the road was an endless field of corn.

This was a mistake. How could she just turn up on the doorstep of a total stranger like some stray cat? What if Arlette had steamrollered Kelby and she would be appalled to see her? What if Kelby had plans? Still wasn't home? Was in bed with someone? Oh, dear God, why didn't she just find a motel and think this through? Maybe she should go back to the bus station and take the next bus to California.

Forget it. She didn't have enough money for a bus ticket to anywhere. No credit cards, no checks, no ID. All left at home so she couldn't be identified. As she started toward the house, the wind swept in off the prairie with a hot edge of grit that sanded her face. At least in California the wind didn't push the words right down your throat.

“Thank you.” She paid the driver and he squealed away. Corn stalks, stirred by the wind, whispered mockingly.

For a second or two she stood braced against the wind, then let it move her toward the house. With a little prayer to a God she no longer believed in, she went up the steps. Her heels made hollow clumping sounds.

Please be home. Please let me in.
She pressed a thumb against the doorbell.

Her knock went unanswered. She peered in the window to the right of the door. Hardwood floors, Victorian sofa. In the corner where the porch turned and went along the left side was an old-fashioned swing, the kind mounted in a frame that rocked back and forth, sitting by the rail. She plopped herself down in it. A glance at her watch showed nearly five o'clock.

Surely Kelby would be back soon. Wouldn't she?

Cary took out her book. Her poor vision made reading a struggle. After two hours, daylight started to fade. She walked the length of the porch, peered in all the windows, stood at the east end, and stared out at the corn field. Something menacing about it. Like it was watching her. Despite the heat, she shivered. Anxiety had kept her awake the night before she left and she'd only been able to doze periodically on the bus. She felt near some zombie state. Sitting in the swing, she curled her feet under her and let her eyes close.

*   *   *

A bright light shone in her eyes.

Flashlight! Oh my God! Mitch!

She opened her eyes to darkness. Like a hunted animal, she made herself small and didn't move. It took seconds to figure out where she was. The light shining in her eyes was the moon riding in a black sky. She heard rustlings as small animals went about their business. How long had she been asleep? She squinted at her watch. Nine o'clock? Two hours.

She was so creaky and stiff, she felt permanently frozen in a curved position. With slow care she coaxed her spine into a more or less upright line, and was suddenly aware she had another problem. Urgent need of a bathroom. In frustration she tried the doorknob. It turned easily.

Surprised, she looked around. Nerves skittered across her scalp. Nothing behind her but black night. An owl called somewhere. Feeling like a thief, she pushed gently on the door. Silently, it eased open. She fumbled for a light switch in the entryway and squinted in the sudden glare.

Living room on her right. Easy chair at right angles to the fireplace, magazines on the hearth, flowered Victorian sofa under the wide window. On the left, dining room. Oval table, chairs, hutch with china. Windows looking out at the cornfield. Door to kitchen.

“Kelby?” she whispered. Stupid. Anybody inside couldn't hear a whisper.

If she didn't find a bathroom soon, she'd have to find a bush. She closed the door behind her. “Kelby?” Louder this time.

The clock on the mantle ticked. She tiptoed toward a hallway and with a sigh of relief spotted the bathroom at the end. She went in, closed the bathroom door, and unzipped. She slid down her pants and underwear and sat on the toilet. If Kelby came home this minute, Cary hoped she wouldn't be scared to death by the sounds of a burglar using the bathroom.

When she finished, she pulled up her pants, washed her hands, and went into the living room. She really ought to go back out and wait on the porch, but the thought of sitting in the dark was too depressing to contemplate. As she gingerly seated herself on the sofa, it occurred to her that she was making a lot of assumptions. Maybe Kelby would mind a lot that this stranger, sent by a friend, just walked in uninvited, used the bathroom, and plunked herself on the couch.

She tried to stay awake, but as the hours grew late, her need for sleep grew strong. Her head dipped, she dozed, caught herself and jerked awake. She nodded off again and again. Finally, she tucked her feet under her, folded the Afghan draped over the curved back for a pillow and let her eyes close. Just as she was drifting along in the current toward sleep, the thought occurred that maybe this was the wrong house.

 

10

Cary dreamed she was running through the cornfield. The stalks weaved and snapped as the dark man chased her, footsteps getting closer. Fear jolted her awake. She looked around in panic. Dark. Totally unfamiliar room. Confusion sparked through her mind. Then sleep-lagged brain cells kicked in. Bus ride. Kansas. Kelby Oliver.

Mouth dry, neck sore, back aching, she slowly straightened her legs, then sat up. Her left foot was completely numb and she clamped her teeth against the sizzle of returning life. Through the living room windows she could see a quarter moon and millions of bright glittery stars. The open curtains made her feel on display for all the world to watch.

Did Kelby like sitting on the edge of an endless cornfield? Did she look out there and see desolation and loneliness? Or promise and dreams and possibilities? Where was she? Had she come in when Cary was asleep and tiptoed past so as not to wake her? Was she upstairs in bed?

Cary felt trembly and slightly sick from hunger. She pushed the stem on her watch to light the dial, peered close, and turned her wrist back and forth to make out the time. Ten after four. Moving like someone suffering from a debilitating handicap, she got herself upright. She switched on the lamp on the end table and nearly yelped as the light stabbed into her retinas. Squinting, she found the cord for the curtains and yanked them closed, then stepped aside so her silhouette wouldn't be apparent to anyone outside watching. She stood perfectly still and listened.

No sound, except the creaks and groans of an old house talking to itself. At the bottom of the stairway, she looked up. All dark as far as she could tell. She flicked on the light. A chandelier on the landing dripped with tear-shaped crystals. Two bulbs were burned out. Hand on the banister, she went up the stairs and looked down the hallway. Three doors, no light in any. Polite houseguests don't go snooping around and waking their benefactors.