Red House Blues (4 page)

It had been quite awhile since he used to
rush home to Claire, whip up some dinner for the two of them, hold
her in his arms as if his life depended on her being there with him
in their small rented house off campus. Jerk! If only I hadn’t
asked her to marry me. But no. I had to ruin everything. If only
I‘d kept my big stupid mouth shut. The drizzle that had obscured
Bellingham Bay was evolving into a gritty sleet threatening to turn
the dark walk down the hill into a tunnel of black ice. As black as
Tony’s thoughts. He zipped his jacket higher, wishing he’d worn
better shoes and a hat. He’d escaped the house - and Claire - this
morning with no thought to weather reports.

In the middle of his cup of coffee and bowl
of Shredded Wheat, Claire asked him if she could use the car. No,
that’s wrong. She said she was taking the car. So that she could
spirit good old Suzan Pike off for an afternoon at Bellisfair Mall.
He asked Claire what was wrong with calling Suzan first to make
sure she was home, planning something for later in the week maybe.
“You must be kidding,” she said. “Suze’s been hiding in the art
department since the cops came. If I ask she’ll just say no. I’m
going over there and pry her out for some lunch. If she’s not there
I’ll head for campus and track her down there. If I can just get
her out, the female shopping hormones ought to kick in. I swear she
hasn’t had a good time since Sean left.”

But then I had to open my mouth, thought
Tony. As usual. “And what about us, Claire? Are we ever going to
have a good time again? It’s nonstop poor old Suzan and her endless
sniveling. I never see you anymore now that you work weekends, and
when I do see you you’re off to see Suzan. It’s like you’re
avoiding me since I mentioned marriage.”

“Please back off on this, Tony, okay? I
can’t think about that right now. Not with my new promotion and
Suzan’s problems - and yes, Suzan’s problems are important to me.
She’s my friend, remember? She used to be your friend too. And as
to sniveling, what’s that you’ve been doing for almost two years?
It’s not that I don’t understand. For a year you’d go sleepless
wondering where Sean disappeared to, why he didn’t tell you where
he was going, whether he was still alive. And now you know for sure
he isn’t and it’s no better, is it? Neither one of us is going to
make it all go away.”

“Okay, I was out of line. But I’m tired of
you running off to Suzan at every whimper. I want it to be you and
me again.”

“Marriage wouldn’t fix anything,” said
Claire. “It didn’t help Suzan and Sean stick together did it? A
piece of paper doesn’t create a solid relationship. All it would do
is make me feel trapped. I won’t be bought and paid for and then
taken for granted. Three times I saw my mom go that route, and
three times it didn’t last as long as the reception bills.”

There was no arguing with her. He wanted to
tell her that she was not her slut of a mother, and he wasn’t some
beat-up drunk she hauled home from a bar. He’d grabbed his jacket
and left before he said something she’d never forgive, figuring the
wet walk up the hill to campus might be just what he needed
anyway.

But as soon as the sun set the rain
transformed into ice pellets. Now Tony faced the treacherous
half-mile slide home in the dark. And when he got there what would
he find but Suzan probably weeping and wailing half the night on
Claire’s shoulder. He didn’t know how long he could stick it out
with Claire at this rate.

The sidewalk was already white with sleet so
he moved off to the verge where the grass provided some traction.
His shoes weren’t up to the weather. Should have worn his old Doc
Martins but he hadn’t been paying any attention to the weather,
what with fuming about Claire playing guardian angel to Suzan and
resenting that Claire had the day off while he had to work. He
deserved frostbite, he supposed. Ice insinuated itself down his
collar and into his thin high tops. Martyrdom. The nobility of
suffering. His Catholic boyhood slithered down his spine with the
ice particles. Predictable how it always came back to him when he
felt the worst, when he ached to suffer for his supposed sins. Even
a blizzard wouldn’t be enough for him.

When he got to the house he was relieved
that the Ford was in the drive, covered with a thin layer of sleet.
They’d gotten back safely at least. When he let himself in he could
smell hot chocolate coming from the kitchen. Claire waiting up for
him. Light coming from the door showed just enough of the living
room that Tony made out a mound of comforters on the couch. Suzan,
asleep.

He knew if he went to the kitchen he’d be
expected to apologize, be understanding. Ask how Suzan was doing.
Thank Claire for the hot chocolate. He wasn’t up for any of it.
Walked upstairs, knowing she could hear the anger still in his
footsteps. Glad. It would take more than a cup of cocoa. She could
sit down there in the kitchen and think about her priorities.

The chill he had felt wasn’t all due to the
weather but as he stood under the hot shower some of it loosened
its grip on his bones. Still, he wasn’t ready to contend with
Claire. Tony turned off the water and got out of the shower. The
mirror was thoroughly steamed over and that was fine. He didn’t
think he wanted to see himself any more than see her.

Dressed in a pair of striped flannel pajamas
his mother gave him last Christmas, he got into bed and turned out
the bedside lamp. Then thought better of faking sleep and turned
the lamp back on. It was a childish impulse to hide under the
covers. That would give her the upper hand.

A few minutes later Claire came upstairs. “I
made hot chocolate for you,” she said as she undressed.

“I know. Sorry. I had to get a shower”

“Want me to get you a cup. It’s probably
still hot.”

“No, thanks.”

She rummaged in the dresser drawer for a
nightgown. Something warm. It would be a cold night.

“Tony, I couldn’t leave her,” she said,
turning toward him. “You can understand that. They gave her a bunch
of pain pills. She shouldn’t be alone.”

Shivering, she pulled on a blue floral sleep
shirt. It wouldn’t be warm enough but it was better than
nothing.

“Sure. It’s okay, Claire. Really.”

“No, it isn’t. You don’t want her here. So,
what am I supposed to do? Your attitude is not fair and it’s not
like you.”

“I said it was okay. And fair doesn’t have
much to do with any of this, Claire. Was Suzan fair to Sean? Was it
fair that some asshole ran him down like a dog? What’s fair? Is it
fair I come home in freezing rain and find that bitch on our
couch?”

Claire came around the far side of the bed
and slid between the bedding, being careful not to touch him.

“I’ll take her home first thing in the
morning,” said Claire, softly to the back of his head, and turned
out the bedside lamp.

He didn’t respond. Everything had been said.
And he didn’t feel very noble or justified or righteous. He felt
like he wanted to hurt someone. He wanted it to be Suzan but Claire
would do. Knowing that turned his stomach. But there it was.

Chapter 4

Claire had Suzan up, dressed and out of the
house before Tony awoke. She had promised her pancakes at the IHOP
though Suzan swore all she wanted was a cup of coffee. Still, since
Suzan was no more eager to see Tony than he was to see her the two
women were soon on their way.

During the night wet snow had glazed the
streets with gray slush. Claire eased the Ford slowly across town
to the restaurant, where they shared an order of French toast and
drank coffee in relative silence. Suzan didn’t have to ask how
things had gone with Tony. Claire’s usual breezy good cheer was
conspicuously missing.

After a subdued breakfast they drove to
Suzan’s apartment. Claire parked the car on what she hoped was the
parking strip but with a layer of snow covering the ground she
couldn't be sure she wasn’t up on the sidewalk. Suzan searched her
purse for the key as Claire slogged to the passenger side to help
her with the door.

“Can’t find my key,” she said.

“No problem. Remember, I have my copy. Yours
is probably on the bloody counter. We’ll find it when we start
cleaning up.”

“Wish I didn’t have to go back in
there.”

“It’s a mess, I know. But it’ll be okay,
Suze. Let’s just get it done.”

Suzan hesitated in the sloppy snow. Iced
over, the rose arbor at the side of the house was a bare snarly
barbed tunnel. It was like a throat lined with black teeth. She
didn’t know if she had the courage to walk down the narrow passage
between the board fence and the house to the basement apartment she
and Sean had shared. For the last two years she had returned every
day from campus to their apartment expecting to find that he had
come home. This morning, that hope forever dashed, she felt as if
she were teetering into an abyss. Claire took her arm and led her
toward the door.

A few steps on, Claire’s feet went out from
under her and she sat down hard in the slush nearly dragging Suzan
after her.

“Damn!”

“You okay, Claire?” said Suzan extending her
remaining usable hand.

“We are quite a pair aren’t we.”

“
Did you hurt
anything?”

“Nothing the nice doctors at St. Joseph’s
could splint,” said Claire, struggling to her feet. “Hey, that’s
weird, did we put the porch light on when we left yesterday?”

Suzan looked up. The porch light glowed
through the gloom.

“I didn’t turn it on. I was bleeding,
remember? Mrs. B. probably turned it on.”

Ever since Sean disappeared, their landlady
had taken a maternal interest in Suzan’s welfare, an interest she
didn’t always appreciate. Mrs. Bloomquist wasn’t above letting
herself into the apartment to leave mail or tuna casserole on the
table. Suzan hated tuna casserole. Still, it was the thought that
counted and it was sweet of Mrs. B. to take an interest. And she
supposed there was a certain comfort in knowing someone was as
keeping an eye on things.

“Sure, that’s probably it,” said Claire,
linking her arm with Suzan’s. “Better get you inside.”

She unlocked the door and reached around the
doorjamb for the foyer light switch.

“Oh my God,” said Suzan, as she stepped
through the door behind Claire.

“Now, this is interesting. These definitely
weren’t here when we left.” said Claire, pointing to the two FedEx
boxes in the center of the floor, one about the size of an ottoman.
It was the second box that had Suzan’s attention.

She clamped her hand over her mouth, tears
stinging her eyes, knowing immediately by its long rectangular
shape what it contained. She didn’t have to see the shipping labels
to know the boxes were from Seattle. An iron band tightened around
her chest.

“It’s Sean’s guitar. It’s all his
things.”

“
You don’t have to deal
with it right now, Suze. Let me just move them to the
closet.”

“This sucks.”

“Yeah, it does. Come on, sweetie, let me get
you a cup of tea or something.”

“No, it’s okay, Claire. I guess it had to
happen sooner or later,” said Suzan. “It’s just that I thought I
had more time to get used to the idea, start to move on. How I hate
that phrase and here I am using it.”

“
The timing could be
better, that’s for sure.”

“It’s as if he won’t leave me in peace. The
bastard walked out and never looked back. What did he want me to
do, run after him begging? I should have turned over every rock
looking for him?”

“You did the best you could,” said
Claire.

“That’s not what Tony thinks and you know
it. He thinks I should have tried harder to find him. What the hell
was I supposed to do, run to the police every week asking for news
like Tony did? If Sean had wanted to come back he would have.”

“I don’t have any answers, Suzan. How would
I know? Maybe if . . . this thing hadn’t happened to him he would
have come back. ”

“You don’t believe that any more than I
do.”

“So, do you want me to put these boxes away
for you?”

“No. I might as well get it over with and
open them. I couldn’t stand having them in the closet like a
monster waiting to leap out. After we go through them I can throw
all of it in the garbage and be done with it.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. You got any scissors
I could use for the tape?”

“In the kitchen somewhere. I think in the
drawer to the left of the sink. Could you bring me a kitchen chair
too, Claire, my knees are still kind of wobbly.”

“Got a better idea. Let’s do this by the
couch. I’ll drag the boxes and you can put your feet up.”

Suzan shrugged out from
under her damp coat and lowered herself to the couch. Her hand was
starting to throb.
Maybe I should have
asked her to bring me a glass of water. Need more Vicodin. Lots and
lots more.
She closed her eyes, squeezing
them shut until her lashes ached. In the next room Claire was
slamming drawers and cabinet doors.
If she
can’t find the scissors we can forget the whole thing.

“This was the only thing I found,” said
Claire, returning to the living room. “Sorry. I did wash it off
first.”

Suzan opened her eyes. Claire was
brandishing the boning knife that had sliced through her hand.

“Very funny.”

“Which do you want to open first?”

“The guitar, I think. What could be in the
other box but his clothes? And who’d ship that kind of thing
anyway?” She shuddered. It gave her the creeps to think of sorting
through Sean’s old clothes.

“Maybe somebody thought you’d like them for
keepsakes. Who knows?”

She ignored the unspoken criticism.

“Yeah, who knows? People get a lot of weird
notions,” she said.