The Good Neighbor (12 page)

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usual. But what about me? she thought.
I
don’t work sixteen hours a day
. I
don’t do
anything
! I could have a baby, and take care of it myself. Couldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I be allowed to try, at least? Don’t I get to have a say in that, too? Why should he be the one who gets to decide everything, just because he’s the one who makes all the money?

It must have been a sign, her losing the prescription. Just like getting the house. It must mean that she wasn’t supposed to take them anymore. What if she were to go off the pills? She was a dif ferent person now than she was at twenty-one, anyway. She was no longer a helpless girl. She was a woman now. She could stop taking them for a while and see what happened. If it didn’t work out—if things started getting bad again—she could simply go back on them. It would be good to take a break. It would be sym bolic, even—like she was making a whole new start in life, along with moving into the new house.

Secretly, before the men came in, Francie stole into the bath room near the kitchen. She took the plastic cylinder out of her pocket and opened the childproof cap. Then, carefully, she tipped the last pill into the toilet and flushed it away.

What a bad girl am I, she thought, delighted with herself. “What’re you doing, Sissie?” Michael asked.

Francie whirled around, startled to see her brother standing be hind her. Quickly she put the plastic container back in her pocket. “Nothing, Mikey,” she said. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like

that!”

“Sorry. I thought you heard me,” said Michael. “What was that you just flushed away? ’Ludes?” He giggled.

“Cold medicine,” said Francie. “I had a cold. It’s gone now.” “Oh. And you’re planning on never having another cold again?” “It . . . had side effects,” said Francie.

“Oh. Listen, man, this is a hell of a house. Really something.” “Don’t you just love it?”

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“Yeah. Looks like we finally got that country place, huh?” Michael grinned at her, delighted. Francie smiled uneasily. “It’s big. And cold. Who lived here before?” he went on.

“We don’t know,” said Francie. “I mean, we sort of know. It was a family called the Musgroves. But they haven’t lived here in a long time.”

“Place is clean,” said Michael. “Doesn’t look like it’s been empty.”

“The bank said there was a caretaker. Someone’s been keeping it up for them, in case they ever sold it.”

“It suits you. Couldn’t see why you ever moved to New York in the first place.”

“It was a whim,” said Francie. “It was good for a while. But I’m done with it now. I think I can be happy here. I can really . . . open up.”

“And you’re happy with Colt?”

Francie was startled. “Of course I am, honey,” she said. She reached out and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her brother ’s ear. “Why on earth would you think I wasn’t?”

“I just wondered, that’s all,” said Michael. “He’s so . . . edgy, I guess. Really businessy. He never really has anything nice to say about anything, didja ever notice? A real negative type. Tell the truth, I didn’t see you ending up with a guy like him, either.” He lowered his voice on this last thought, looking over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. They were—sounds of shuffling feet and grunting came from the front of the house, where Colt and the movers were struggling with a sofa. “You’re really sensitive and artistic, and he’s . . .”

“I know,” said Francie. “Businessy. But we complement each other, honey. You don’t want to marry someone who’s just like you. You want them to fill in your missing pieces. Kind of like a jigsaw puzzle.”

“I guess so,” said Michael.

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“Don’t worry about me,” said Francie. “Your big sister can take care of herself. I was wondering about you, though. Is there some thing on your mind? Something bugging you?”

“Little help!” called Colt from the living room. “Hello! Francie!

Mike!”

Michael shuddered. “I hate it when he calls me ‘Mike,’ ” he said. “Makes me feel like one of his poker buddies.”

“Mikey? Was there something?”

Michael looked at the floor, then around at the walls. Francie knew this expression all too well; whatever it was, he was afraid to tell her. She waited.

“Not now,” he muttered. “Later.”

“We’ll talk,” said Francie. “Gimme a kiss.” She pulled her brother ’s ear to bend him down to her, and they bussed lightly. Then they went back out to the front of the house.

In the living room, they came upon Colt, who was crawling on his hands and knees, his nose six inches from the floor.

“Lose something?” Francie asked.

“My charm,” said Colt. “It just fell off. The chain broke.”

Michael guffawed. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “You carry a good-luck charm?”

Colt glared at him. “Yes,” he said, daring him to make some thing of it.

“They all carry them at his office,” Francie told her brother. “They believe in them.”

“Of course we believe in them,” said Colt. “That’s because they work.”

“Are you sure you lost it in here, honey?”

“Francie, if I was sure where I lost it, then it wouldn’t be lost anymore, now would it?” Colt said exasperatedly.

“There’s no reason to get snappy,” Francie told him. “I was just asking.”

They looked high and low, but found nothing. Colt’s charm was gone.

8
‌

Survival Of The Fittest

T
he movers, not wishing to be stranded in Pennsylvania, worked fast under the threat of the looming storm, finishing just

as flurries began to thicken the air—not the storm itself, but only the advance guard. The two men accepted a wad of cash from Colt and pulled out of the driveway in a hurry. Though it was not yet twilight, it had already gone dim inside. Shadows crept out from the walls and gently spread themselves across the floor. Al ready he could hear the creaks of the old wood as the house ad justed to the dropping temperature. How many snowstorms had this house survived? he wondered. A hundred? A thousand? Was there a limit to how many a house could endure?

“Power on?” he called, as he came back inside, slapping snow off his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” Francie answered him, from somewhere.

“Of course you don’t,” he muttered. “You’d just sit in the dark until someone came along and turned the lights on for you.”

“What?” “Nothing!”

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Colt felt along the wall until he came to a switch, and was grati fied to be hit with a splash of light from a bare bulb that hung by wires from the ceiling. “Yes, it’s on,” he called back. Other switches were flicked in other rooms, and the three of them came together in the kitchen, lost in its massiveness, shivering, grateful at least for the brightness.

“What kinda heat you got in this place?” Michael asked. “Electric baseboard,” said Colt. “Plus fireplaces. A lot of fire

places.”

“Oh, let’s make a fire!” said Francie. “Please? There’s firewood in the basement. I saw a stack of it when we came through with the real estate agent.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Okay, you,” said Colt, pointing to Michael, “go downstairs and get some wood. Bring it up to the liv ing room.”

“By myself?” Michael said. He turned and looked at the base ment door. Opening it, he peered down the rickety wooden stairs into the blackness. “Oh, Jesus,” he said, dubious.

“Don’t worry, there’s nothing down there,” Colt said. “Ha ha.” “Colt, you help him,” said Francie.

“Why? It’s a one-man job. It’s easy.” “He’s scared.”

“I’m not scared, Sissie,” said Michael. “Relax.” He flicked the switch on the wall and tromped down the stairway, which was made of nothing more than two-by-sixes; they could hear it quake under his weight like a leaf in a thunderstorm. Colt smirked at Francie.

“If this was a movie, this is where he would get eaten by the monster,” he said.

“Shut up,” said Francie. “You really are being an asshole.”

“I am not,” Colt protested. “Or if I am, it’s working. He helped us unload, didn’t he? First honest work he’s done in years. Maybe I’m rubbing off on him.”

“Rubbing him the wrong way is more like it.”

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“Fine. Whatever it takes.”

Francie moved around the kitchen, running her hands over the curved lines of the ancient refrigerator. It was silent. She bent down, reached behind it, and plugged it in. It rattled and whirred into life. Opening it, she frowned at its emptiness. “What are we going to do about dinner?” she asked. “We forgot to bring food.”

“Order in,” Colt said automatically.

“From where, dear husband? We’re in the country, you know.” “I dunno. There must be some Chinese around here or some

thing.”

“I don’t think so, Colt. There might be a place in town, but that’s miles away.”

“Yeah, but . . . well, you can get delivery anywhere, can’t you?” Francie was dismayed to note that there was a hint of panic in his voice. Was it only occurring to him now that there were places in the world that didn’t fall into someone’s delivery radius? she

wondered.

“Look in the phone book,” she said.

“We don’t have a phone book. We don’t have a phone, for that matter.” Colt felt in his pocket and came up with his cell phone. Flicking it on, he held it to his ear and cursed. “Out of range. I thought I had roaming on this thing.”

“That’s an extra feature. You have to sign up for it.” “Well, thanks for telling me now, Ma Bell.”

“There’s a supermarket in town,” said Francie, sighing with exag gerated patience.

“All right, I’ll go,” said Colt glumly. “Got any cash? I gave all mine to the movers.”

“No, I’ll go.”

Colt was startled. “What? That’s crazy. It’s snowing out.” “Colt, we need food. And I’m better at driving in snow than

you are.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” Francie said patiently, knowing she could win this

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one. “I grew up driving. You grew up riding the subway. We’ve had this argument before. Remember?”

“Oh, all right,” said Colt. “If you’re so determined.”

“I just want to do something, that’s all. I want to explore a little.” “At night? With a blizzard coming? Fine. Be my guest.”

“Boy, it’s creepy down there,” said Michael, coming back up the stairs with an armload of logs. “And this wood is pretty ancient. It’s like rotten or something.”

“I’m leaving,” said Francie. “See you guys in a bit.”

“Where you going, Sissie?” Michael asked, a note of alarm in his voice.

“Sissie going to da soopeymarket,” Colt said. “To buy Mikey some foodies.”

“Colt!” Francie said.

“Just messing around,” he said, hearing the broken glass in her voice. “Trying to inject a little levity into the situation. Jeez.”

“You want me to come, too?” asked Michael.

“No, sweetie, you stay here. I’ll be fine. You can help Colt.” “Help Colt with
what
?”

“We make fire,” said Colt. “Eat buffalo. Do war dance.” “You’re acting like an idiot,” said Francie.

“He’s not acting,” said Michael.

“Good-bye, boys,” Francie said, pulling the keys from Colt’s jacket. “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

❚ ❚ ❚

Michael watched with a sense of grim foreboding as Francie pulled out of the driveway in the Camaro, disappearing into the snowflakes that swirled along the road as though stirred up by the skirts of in visible dancers. Then he turned to watch the spectacle of Colt try ing to light a fire. It was abundantly clear to him that this was a man who bought his fire prepackaged, just like everything else. In a half-assed approximation of every Hollywood cowboy movie

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he’d ever seen, Colt had built a kind of log pyramid on the grate, and he was now holding a lighter to it, waiting for it to catch. He burned his thumb and stuck it in his mouth. When he caught Michael trying not to grin, he threw the lighter at him.

“Here,” he said around his thumb. “You think you’re so smart, you try it.”

“Kindling, dude,” said Michael. “You need kindling.” “What’s that?”

Michael snorted. “Tell me you’re joking,” he said. “You don’t know what kindling is? Didn’t you ever go camping when you were a kid?”

“I was too busy,” said Colt. “I skipped childhood and went straight into my twenties.”

“Sucks to be you.” “Sucks more to be you.”

Michael shredded some bark off the logs and broke up a couple of the smaller pieces. Within moments he’d created a blaze that grew rapidly, filling the room with the sound of snapping fingers. Colt nursed his seared digit and stared at the flames in a state of sulky hypnosis.

“Boy Scouts,” said Michael. “I can build a rabbit trap, too.” Colt didn’t answer.

“Seriously, your dad didn’t ever take you camping?” Michael asked.