The Glaring - The next installment...

 

“Not haunted, huh?” Christine released her grip on my arm.

“Not even a little bit.” Becca flipped a light switch, and a dusty bare bulb in the ceiling gave off a dim glow.  She nodded toward the staircase.  “Upstairs is still a jumble, but let’s see if Mama’s got that wall down.”

We followed Becca through a living room plastered with gaudy, floral wallpaper.  The frizzy halo of broken hairs atop her head brushed low wooden beams, catching the light and waving like sea anemones in underwater movies.  Despite the pastel 1980’s vibe, the room had an old built-in corner cupboard and a huge fireplace surrounded by more of that painted wood.  My mom is a nut for “original period details,” and from the looks of it, the Jesse house was jam packed with them.  Paneling crawled into the dining room, framing another fireplace big enough for two Santas to come down at once. A cheesy brass chandelier threw off just enough light to keep us from running into the furniture.  The whole place was a confusing mix of antiques that looked like they belonged in a museum and tacky, outdated junk.  For a second, I sort of lost track of what year it was.  My toe caught on an uneven floorboard, and I stumbled, bumping into Andi.  

“Mama? I’m home.” Becca dropped her backpack onto a spindled bench spanning two windows.

Catching sight of the walls, I stopped short.  Surrounding us, three hundred sixty degrees, was a forest of painted trees.  Slender trunks sprouted from the floor, trailing willowy branches and zillions of delicate leaves.  Ferns stuck out of every corner, and ivy cascaded from above. I turned slowly, taking it all in. 

Becca followed my gaze.  “Wild, right?  Mama’s stripping that godawful living room wallpaper, but she doesn’t know what to do with these murals.  We’re trying to figure out how old they are and who painted them.” 

I stepped closer to the wall.  Through a layer of grime, I could see the painting was incredibly detailed.  Delicate veins lined each leaf, and ladybugs crawled up the stalks of the ferns.  

Nose to the wall, Andi peered at a luna moth atop an ivy leaf.  “Very cool.”

Chris snapped a bubble.  “I’d paint over them.  People want neutral palettes in their homes.”

Chris’s parents were both lawyers. They lived in a spanking new house where all the walls were a shade of gray that made you want to take a nap.  

A huge wham echoed from the kitchen, and the windows rattled.

Becca crossed to the kitchen door in two tripping steps.  “Mama!  I brought some friends over.  They wanted to see you knock out a wall.”

“Come on in but watch your step.  Demolition is messy business.”

Becca’s mom’s voice was even honey sweeter than Becca’s.  We followed it into a large kitchen sticking off the back of the dining room like an afterthought.  

“Mama, this is Chris, Andi, and Sam.”

Becca’s mom was a petite woman with blonde curls that coiled from beneath a hard hat like little springs.  She wore faded denim overalls and a yellow tee shirt, steel toed boots, safety goggles, and a mask.  Removing the mask, she revealed ruby red lipstick that was miraculously unsmudged.  “Call me Lorna.  I’ve got bottles of iced tea and lemonade in the fridge, if you can get to ‘em without killing yourself.  Guess we’re going out for dinner, huh, Baby?”

The floor was littered with chunks of the wall Becca’s mom was in the middle of whacking down with a sledgehammer almost as big as herself.  Fine dust coated the counters, and sunlight streamed through a massive, jagged hole in the back wall.  Becca’s house was just a lot to take in all at once.  Kind of like Becca.

She picked a scraggly-looking something off the counter and dangled it by the leaves.  “We could eat this.”

A ray of light coming through the wall hole caught the thing like a spotlight, and dust particles swirled around it.  It was a giant dirty beet.

Lorna narrowed her eyes.  “Oh my goodness, I don’t even know where that came from.  Maybe one of the movers left it behind?  We are in Beets Cove, after all.”  

“World’s weirdest housewarming gift.”  Becca tossed the beet, and it clanged into a big metal trashcan. 

“My grandma makes pickled beets,” Andi said.  “They’re delicious.”

“Well, there you go.” Becca’s mom laughed, showing a mouth full of bright white teeth.  “Fish that out, Becks, and we’ll cook it up for supper.” 

Becca laughed too, a big goofy laugh that didn’t seem to care if anyone else thought the situation was funny.  I got that sense Becca didn’t give a flying fig what people thought about her.  Except, maybe, her mom.

Becca slipped a tie dyed scrunchie off her wrist and wound her hair into a messy bun. “Ya’ll want lemonade?  I think I can get to the fridge without mortal injury.”

Chris pulled the phone from her back pocket and checked the time.  “I should go.”

From two streets away, my oboe summoned.  “Yeah, me too.”

Becca’s mom hefted the sledgehammer over one shoulder.  “Wear your work clothes next time, girls, and we’ll break out the power tools.”  She pulled the mask over a wide smile, whirled, and slammed the sledgehammer into the wall.  The ceiling fan trembled, and a couple of cabinets popped open.   

I dashed out the back door before the place collapsed.  Becca’s mom looked like she knew what she was doing, but still.  “Sorry to leave so soon.  I have to practice the oboe. Orchestra auditions are next week. Do you play anything?”

Shaking her head, Becca led us into a yard that was more dirt than grass.  “Nah.  Every school I went to, all the kids did something different than the last one.  In New Orleans the girls played softball so…call me Ms. Left Field.  I wasn’t in Houston long enough to join activities, but I think they were all about cheer.  I sing, though.  Is there a chorus?”

Chris nodded.  “I’m in it.  And theater.  We do a winter musical every year.”

I tugged the furry, pink keychain dangling from Chris’s backpack zipper.  “Chris is an amazing actress and singer.  She always gets the lead.  Andi and I are just orchestra nerds.” 

“Cool.” Becca picked up an ancient looking beer can and turned it upside down. Brownish liquid splattered onto the cracked cement walkway, giving off a sweet, yeasty smell.  “Thanks for coming over…and for being so nice.  I’ve had a lot of first days, and some of them were just really awful.  Today was so much better than I thought it would be.”  Her hair fell like a fuzzy curtain in front of her face.  

Andi lifted a hand, and Becca joined her in a half-missed high five that made us all laugh.  The back door squeaked and slammed behind Becca, and the members of The Glaring skirted the pick-up truck and walked down the driveway in silence.

When we got to the street, Chris blew another bubble and popped it with a loud snap.

“So, the day ends with a Southern belle beating the crap out of a wall.” Andi pushed her glasses up on her nose.  “Did not see that coming.” 

I giggled.  “Yeah, what did that wall ever do to her?” 

 

Chris and Andi said goodbye and headed to Chris’s mom’s office for a ride.  I turned the other way toward home, walking back down the street along the front of Becca’s house.  The sun dipped behind the clouds and the flaking white paint glowed grayish yellow.  Coming to the end of the fence, I glanced up at the side of the house, just as a black shadow darted across an upstairs window.  I stared, expecting it to come back, but it didn't.  Weird.  The shadow only came halfway up the glass.  It had to be no taller than a preschooler which made no sense unless Becca had a little sister she didn’t mention.  Or a dog?  I rubbed my eyes and blinked.  The sky darkened, and a sudden gust from the harbor scuttled dead leaves along the fence and blew hair into my eyes.   I swiped it away and looked again, the realization dawning on me that no light was on in the room.  With no sun and no light, what would cause a shadow?  

The air grew chilly.  I zipped the hoodie tight beneath my chin and started toward home.  Gravel crunched beneath my sneakers, and the air tasted of salt.  The shadow had to have been Becca. She probably ran right up to her room after we left. 

But then I heard a voice.  

“It’s in the truck, Mama.”

Spinning, I spotted Becca standing on the back bumper of the pickup, pulling a push broom out of the bed.  

Catching sight of me, she waved.

I waved back and shot a glance up to the window.  Every one of the eight little panes reflected a cloudy sky.  

A shiver crept up my spine.

Glasses.  I definitely needed glasses.