Elsie
Chapter Eighteen
I’d been in Colbridge for three weeks before my parents called and check on me.
Now, it wasn’t like I ran away from home or anything. I hadn’t got up and fled Boston without telling anyone where I was going.
They knew my plans, tentative as they were, and they knew I was somewhat emotionally stable when I left—but still, you would think after a life-altering event that changed the course of my entire future, they would’ve deemed it important to check in on their only child a bit sooner.
They hadn’t.
My mother had always been the type of person to live by the phrase ‘the phone works both ways,’ which was totally bogus, in my opinion, coming from a parent.
But in all honesty, I hadn’t really wanted to hear from them either. Because I knew exactly what they thought of my recent life changes without them having to say it: I was running away.
And so what if I was? We all coped with things differently. Why was my dad buying boats he’d never learn to sail deemed a more acceptable outlet for stress than my three-month writer’s retreat?
I guess I just wasn’t in the mood to hear any rebuttals about my life or my choices, especially when I was already deep into second-guessing them myself.
I only felt a little guilty when I let it go to voicemail, promising myself I’d return the call at some point.
Maybe when I made more progress on my manuscript and felt like I actually had something to be proud of. Some tangible evidence that, hey, I know this isn’t what you wanted for me, but I’m not a total failure!
As it stood now, I couldn’t really say that.
I wrapped a scarf around my neck, pulled on a light jacket and bounded down the steps of my house to take a walk in the October moonlight.
Writers were always inspired by things like that, weren’t they? At the very least, I figured the cold air might clear my head of all the annoying thoughts racing around in it.
“Stupid,” I muttered, kicking a rock off the sidewalk. “Broken engagement. No job. Stupid manuscript that doesn’t even make any sense—”
I talked to myself sometimes. More often when I was trying to work through things. Sometimes when I felt totally alone.
I think it came from being an only child. Or maybe it was just a personal quirk. I seemed to have an abundance of those.
I stopped when I noticed some passersby watching me in alarm.
I let out a nervous laugh and waved in their direction, trying to show that I wasn’t a certifiably insane person roaming their streets.
But I think it had the opposite effect.
My phone rang again, and I reached for it, wanting desperately to tell my mother to just give me space to figure out my life. I was twenty-six years old, damn it, and I deserved the chance to explore my options—
“Mom, I—”
“Elsie?” a panicked voice said. “I’m sorry to be calling you, but I need your help.”
I paused mid-sidewalk, pulling the phone from my ear to look at the number. It was a Massachusetts area code, but it wasn’t a contact I had saved in my phone.
“Who is this?” I asked again, taking note of the obvious chaos in the background.
“It’s Ava,” she said tersely, as if it cost her something to admit it.
“How did you get my number?”
“From the town phone log.”
“How did I get on the town phone log?” I asked.
“Does it matter?” she asked. “I—” A crash stole her words. “Please get here fast! I really need you.”
“Where are you?” I said, jogging down the sidewalk without knowing if I was even moving in the right direction or not.
“I’m at Tessa’s house,” she said frantically.
“That would help if I knew where that was,” I said. “Can you text me an address?”
“They live a few houses down from the antique store.”
“Again, Ava. Not from here.”
A text came through, and I looked down to see her location pinged to my phone.
“Max! You put that cat down right now or I swear—”
I opened my mouth to tell her I was on my way, but a noise erupted in the background of the call. Ava let out a whimper, and then the line went dead.
I ran the entire way there.
I wasn’t a track star or anything, but I think I made pretty good time. Especially when you considered the fact that I was simultaneously navigating whilst running the streets of Colbridge.
Yeah, my role as the town whack job seemed to be solidified more and more each moment.
By the time I got to the house, I was only slightly sweaty and just fairly out of breath. My hair suffered the worst of it—tousled beyond repair from the wind and the running, and whatnot.
But I always looked a mess next to Ava anyway, so really, what did it matter in the grand scheme of things?
I walked up to the front door, knocking against it firmly.
I waited, shifting on my feet, and then banged again, a bit harder.
When I realized whatever noise I made out here would be muffled by the chaos happening inside, I took the liberty to open it myself, strolling headfirst into the mayhem.
“Ava?” I asked, staring around at the mess in the hallway. “Max?”
Army men lined each step of the staircase—probably defending the house from evil adults trying to keep order—an empty box of Cheez-Itz sat crumbled at the bottom, and a boogie board lay in two pieces in the middle of the hallway.
“Yikes,” I mouthed, staring at the scene before me.
I took a step farther, pausing when something crunched beneath my boot.
“Oh, yup, that’s a Pop-Tart.” I nodded in acceptance, watching the gooey center coat both the rug below and the rubber sole of my shoe.
A cat ran between my ankles, leaving behind paw-print sized blotches of paint in its wake. Ava ran in after it, nearly colliding with me in the process.
“Elsie!” she breathed in relief, and I could swear it was the happiest anyone had been to see me in weeks.
“Hey, Ava.” I waved, only slightly amused by how red-faced and breathless she looked. It was nice to know that even Ava was human after all. “I have a question.”
“What is it?” she asked, disgruntled, still staring off after the cat.
“Why does it look like Kevin McAllister lives here?”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I clapped my hands together. “What can I do?”
“Uh,” she said faintly, “find Max?”
My eyes widened. “You misplaced him?”
“No!” she was quick to reassure. “I can still hear him. It’s more of a visibility thing I’m having trouble with. I think he’s hiding from me.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she whimpered, “he wanted to go to the beach and didn’t quite appreciate me telling him that October wasn’t ideal swimming weather.”
That explains the boogie-board.
“Okay, Ava, go take a breath. I’ll find him,” I told her, pushing her in the other direction.
“Max?” I called up the stairs, making my ascent slowly in case he really had boobie-trapped the place. “It’s me, Elsie. Can you come out?”
“Elsie?” Max popped his head down from a hole in the ceiling.
“Is that the attic?” I reclined my head to gaze up at the crevice he was emerging from. “Where did you get a ladder?”
Ava appeared at the end of the banister, holding onto it for dear life as she gasped in horror.
“Tell him to get out of there right now!” Ava shrieked. “If he gets bitten by a bat, we’ll have to spend the night getting rabies shots.”
“Awesome!” Max’s eyes gleamed.
“No, Max. Not awesome.” She shook her head furiously. “Not awesome, in the slightest.”
“Did you know to test for rabies, they cut the bat’s head off and dissect its brain?”
I shuddered, holding his hand as he climbed down the steps of the ladder. “Well, I’m an animal lover, so let’s spare the bats that tragic fate and just close that little hole up. Okay?”
“Okay!” he chirped. “Catch!”
“Max!” I fought the urge to shut my eyes against his body falling through the air and landing, miraculously, into my arms.
I lowered him gently to the floor, readying myself to run in case he took off again.
“So, Max…” I started cautiously. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”
“No,” he said, “that girl is making food, but it’s taking forever.”
“I haven’t been able to start because you keep creating disasters in every room of the house,” Ava yelled up the stairs, and for a moment, I could’ve sworn she had been possessed by the spirit of Max’s nanny.
“Okay, Ava, go start dinner and I’ll hang out with Max,” I told her, knowing she’d work better with a concrete task at hand. “That sound good to you, Max?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Do you wanna watch Monster’s Inc.?”
“Sure,” I told him. “But first, we have to go downstairs and pick up all the toys.”
“I don’t wanna,” he groaned. “Mom’ll do it when she gets home.”
“Max,” I feigned a gasp, “Mom will be so tired when she gets home. Do you really want to make her do that?”
“Well, maybe that girl can do it, then.” He looked off in the direction of the kitchen. “She likes to clean. She’s been doing it since she got here.”
“Because you keep making messes.” I poked his stomach playfully.
Max laughed until the sight of the cat caught his eye, and he bounded down the stairs after it. I followed, not willing to let him get more than a few steps away from me.
“This is Buttercream,” he said, lifting the chubby animal up with some effort. Its little legs dangled below Max’s knees while it yowled for help.
“Why are Buttercream’s paws covered with paint, Max?”
“Because he has artistic instincts,” Max shocked me by saying. “Like Puh-cazzo.”
“Artistic instincts, huh?” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Yeah.” He nodded, dropping the cat with a thud. Buttercream took the opportunity to run off in the opposite direction. “Mom says I got that too.”
“You sure do, Max,” I told him, looking around at the, um, creative disasters occurring around the house.
“Hey, Elsie, do you want to take your shoes off?” he asked me, as if nothing would delight him more.
“Oh, no thanks,” I told him. “I vowed to never again feel the pain of stepping bare-foot on a Lego, so I think I’ll keep them on, just to be safe.”
“But I want you to be cozy.” His face fell.
“I’ll tell you what.” I crouched down in front of him. “You help me clean all this up, and maybe, if everything is put away, I will.”
He grinned and got straight to work.