Chapter 21
21
As I pass the door to our basement, a chill goes through me.
I’ve never been a spiritual person. I have always believed all that stuff about ghosts and the afterlife was a bunch of hooey. But I am like 90 percent sure that my mother’s spirit is contained in our basement.
The one silver lining to The Incident that caused me to lose my job is that when my mother was diagnosed with an aggressive breast cancer two years ago, I was able to be there for her. And when she got very sick near the end, Hank and I converted our basement into a hospital room for her. We stuck in a hospital bed, a commode, a television set, and a bookcase filled with magazines and all her favorite books. She loved horror novels best of all. There’s nothing like a good scare, she used to say.
I took care of her until the very end, and she died holding my hand.
I don’t think the ghost of my mother is floating around the basement. I haven’t completely lost my mind. But I do feel her presence every time I walk by the basement door. And when I press my fingers against it, I swear I can feel her fingertips touch mine.
But that’s the extent of my spiritual belief. I don’t hold séances. I don’t attempt to communicate with her spirit in any way. But I do keep the basement door closed, because I feel like that might keep her with us longer.
I miss her an awful lot. I love Hank, but there is nobody like your mother. She was a receptionist at a medical clinic, and she was the one who encouraged me to apply to get a bachelor’s in nursing, even when I wasn’t sure I could make it through. She believed in me in a way that nobody else did. She told me I was capable of anything.
While I’m lingering by the basement door, the sound of my cell phone echoes through the first floor. I left it on the coffee table when I was watching television, so I race over to the living room to see who’s calling. I smile when I see Angela’s name on the screen. Angela is my closest friend and the only other nurse from the hospital who still speaks to me regularly anymore.
“Hi, Angela,” I say, grateful for a break in the perpetual silence of our home.
“Hi, Polly. How are you doing?”
It used to be that Angela was the only person who could ask me how I’m doing without it sounding like she’s speaking to a mental patient. But something about the inflection in her voice right now makes me uneasy.
“I’m fine,” I say. “How are things at the hospital?”
Angela and I both worked at Roosevelt Memorial since nursing school. She was the first person I met on my first day as a nurse getting oriented on the job. On my very last day at the hospital, she was the one who called Hank and told him he needed to come get me ASAP.
“Carol is retiring,” Angela says.
“She isn’t!”
“She is.” I can feel Angela smiling on the other line. Carol trained both of us, and we always joked that she would still be working there when both of us were retired. She outlasted me at least. “I can’t believe it. She’s only about a hundred years old.”
“Well, good for her.” I consider asking if she’s having a retirement party and if I should come, but I decide against it. Who am I kidding? I’m not going to any parties at the hospital. It would be far too painful. “You ready for the storm coming tonight?”
The weather forecast is calling for a blizzard, although right now, there are only a few snowflakes dusting the ground. It’s coming though.
“Got a whole closet full of canned food and water,” she reports.
“Same here. And Hank chopped a big pile of firewood.”
Blizzards can sometimes trap us here for days, so I’ve learned to always be prepared. The last thing you want is to deal with the supermarket when a storm is on the way.
“There’s something else, Polly.” Angela’s voice drops, and instantly I know what she’s going to say. And all I want to do is stick my fingers in my ears. “I…I’m pregnant. I’m due in August.”
I should never have picked up the phone. I should’ve known this moment was coming. It’s happened so many times, I’ve lost count—and every time is equally painful. But Angela is the last friend I have from my old life, and somehow it still hurts. “Oh…”
“I wanted you to hear it from me,” she says.
I push all my dark emotions down into a pit in my stomach. “Angela, that’s fantastic!” I cry. “Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!”
“Well…thank you.”
“Are you having a little girl or a little boy?”
“It’s a girl.”
“How wonderful!” I don’t know how I’m able to make my voice sound so cheerful while my eyes are tearing up. “Congratulations! Really!”
“Are…are you sure you’re okay?”
“Of course!” My voice nearly breaks on the words. I’ve got to get off the phone quickly, because I am not going to let Angela hear me cry. “I’m just really happy for you! How wonderful. I mean, what a blessing. I didn’t even know you were trying…”
“Well, I just figured with everything going on with you, I didn’t want to bother you with—”
A fist bangs against our front door three times, pulling my attention from Angela and her news. I jerk my head up, confused. The sun has already gone down, which means it’s too late for Sadie to be stopping by. And she usually doesn’t come every day, so the fact that she came yesterday means I won’t see her again until at least tomorrow or the next day.
But I don’t care. It’s an excuse to get off the phone.
“Angela,” I say, “I better get off the phone. There’s somebody at the front door.”
“Oh, no problem. But we’ll have to talk again soon, okay? Maybe we can get together for coffee?”
“Absolutely! Just give me a call.”
I press the red button on my phone to end the call. I stare at the screen of my phone, and then I bring up the list of my contacts. I click on Angela’s name—her contact information has been in every phone I’ve had for the last thirteen years. My index finger hovers over the words “block this contact.”
Then I press it. I’m not interested in talking to Angela again.
Knock, knock, knock.
Who could that be? I’m certainly not expecting anyone, and we’re so far from town that it’s unlikely somebody wandered here by accident. We never get solicitors. Hank is still at the shop, although he usually comes home around now to grab some dinner before heading back to work for another couple of hours. He often stays later when a storm is moving in to help stray motorists who get stuck. I worry about him driving in the heavy snow, but he’s got his truck, and he’s a careful driver.
Anyway, it’s not Hank at the door. He wouldn’t knock.
I walk over to the front door and check the peephole. It’s Mitch Hambly from up the road—Sadie’s father. He’s never shown up at my door before. Is Sadie okay? I haven’t used my nursing skills since my mother passed on, and I hope to God they’re not needed today.
I unlock the door and crack it open. The whoosh of frigid air from outside smacks me in the face, and along with the ever-present scent of damp wood, I am hit with a strong whiff of whiskey. From the looks of Mitch’s bloodshot eyes, he had a drink or two before he stopped by. His receding hair is wild, sticking up in all directions.
“Hello, Mitch.” I squeeze my hands together, both because the doorway is cold and because I’m anxious. “Is everything okay with Sadie?”
“ No .” He throws his weight into the front door, shoving it all the way open so he can step inside. I can see the web of blue veins on the sides of his nostrils. The snowflakes have started to fall from the sky, and little white dots speckle his hair and shoulders like dandruff. “It’s not okay.”
I instantly realize my mistake. Mitch didn’t come over here because he’s worried about Sadie or wants to borrow some supplies for the storm. He’s here because he’s furious .
And he’s drunk.
I should never have opened the door for him in the first place. But now it’s too late. He’s already stepped across the threshold of the doorframe. He’s inside my house.
“Mitch.” I smile as placatingly as I can. “What’s wrong?”
“ You are what’s wrong.” He takes a step toward me. “What gives you the right to invite my daughter into your house? I told you to stay the hell away from her!”
“Now, Mitch.” I wrap my shaking hands across my chest. “There’s no need to get in a tizzy. Sadie just stopped off for a short while after school. That’s all.”
“You gave her a bath! You washed her clothes!” He sneers at me. “Are you saying I don’t take care of my daughter?”
I take a few steps back, and Mitch follows me, backing me into the living room. I nearly stumble over my own feet as I try to create distance between the two of us. Mitch’s right hand is balled into a fist, his white hairy knuckles jutting out. I’ve already seen what he did to a defenseless seven-year-old girl. I don’t want to know what he’d do to me. He’s the same height as me, but he’s got at least fifty pounds on me—probably more—and a lot of muscle.
“I’m not saying you don’t take care of her,” I say quickly, even though it’s a lie. “She just wanted to try out the bubble bath. That’s all.”
“You’re a real piece of work, Polly.” His lips twist into a grimace. “You think I don’t know how you went to the crazy house two years ago? I know. Everyone knows. You’re the last person I want around my kid!”
I flinch. “Mitch, please understand…”
“I don’t want to hear your goddamn excuses!” His scratchy voice echoes through my empty house. “I told you a bunch of times to stay away from my kid. And this time, you’re going to learn your lesson.”
As I take another step back, I search wildly for a weapon. Hank keeps a gun up in the closet in our bedroom, but I’ll never make it that far, and anyway, it’s not loaded—he keeps the bullets hidden in an entirely different place. I wouldn’t even make it to the kitchen, where I’ve got a whole block of knives. My best bet might be the paperweight on the coffee table. It’s surprisingly heavy, and if I clock Mitch a good one on the head, it will slow him down until I can find a better weapon.
But before I can reach for it, he grabs me by the wrist, his thick fingers biting into my skin. I try to pull free, but his grip is like a vise.
I’m trapped.