This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 1999 - 2012 by Zachary Zilba
www.sadiestories.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author.
OVER THE BANISTER (from "Meet Me in St. Louis")
Words by HUGH MARTIN Music by RALPH BLANE
© 1943, 1944 (Renewed) METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER INC. All Rights Administered by EMI FEIST CATALOG INC. (Publishing) and ALFRED PUBLISHING CO., INC.
All Rights Reserved Used by Permission of:
ALFRED PUBLISHING CO., INC
ISBN: 1-4196-4493-9
ISBN: 978-1-4196-4493-1
First Edition
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
SADIE STORIES
one
Another Day in Paradise
1999
Sunday mornings in the Cavanaugh house resembled something of a mass riot. He winced dread at the sound of his Mother humming Swing Low Sweet Chariot in the kitchen beneath him. Some screaming evangelist, while on television, sounded like he stood right at the foot of his bed. Children were playing outside, ringing some bicycle bell over and over and over and it buzzed like a fly in his ear. Gabriel had yet to rise. Though the sun erupted through his window, he refused to stir. He pulled the covers over his head, pressing his eyelids tightly together, desperately wanting this chaos to disappear. He gained the strength to pull one corner of his blanket down, just to look at the digital numbers on his alarm clock. 6:57. He wished he hadn’t done that. Two minutes... Two minutes until that monstrous, high pitched beeping blared in his ear. An alarm, he was sure, could awake the dead. He thought for a moment, growing more agitated with each breath. The routine seemed old now. He had to wake up every morning, Monday through Friday, at five thirty. And then, on Sunday, notoriously known throughout history as the day of rest, he was awake. Apparently, so was everyone else on the street. One would think he would be used to this by now. After all, His Father had been bishop at the Episcopal Church of Greater Holiness since before he was even thought of, and attendance was never a mere suggestion.
The squeal vibrated his brain. His eardrums ached. Gabe jumped up and slammed his fist down on the clock, until finally, it died a dramatic death. The beeping went from a screech, to a low, muffled hum. He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and hung his head, wiping his hands over his face, then through his sandy blond hair. He didn’t want to move, but he mustered what little bit of strength he had and stood up, stretching his tall, six foot frame. Pressing his hands to the sky, every detailed muscle on his perfect body quivered. He flipped on the stereo on the night stand and dropped to the floor, immediately falling into his morning workout session; Two hundred push-ups, then one hundred sit-ups. It was only after this that he finally felt awake. His workouts were always rigorous, fast paced, and often appeared to be an act of violence. He pushed his body to its limit, pulling his own weight off the floor as hard and fast as his own strength would allow. This discipline was part of what had made him who he was today. Quarterback of the High School football team. Earned him a scholarship to the esteemed Harvard University, where he would start next fall, and even given him a certain respect among his peers. Gabe almost seemed unaware of his appearance. He knew he was not ugly, he knew he was physically fit, but he didn’t let it go to his head. He considered himself average. He maintained a humble demeanor.
He stood up breathless, drenched in sweat. His bangs hung over his ice blue eyes. He pushed them back and walked over to the window, pulling it open. The warm May air blew against his wet, hardened body. He twirled around his long telescope that stood beside him, peering through it, watching as two little girls on pink bikes rode by. They were the Tuttle twins from down the street. Their Mother was his second grade teacher. He continued to glance around. Old Mrs. Minich was out pruning her bushes along her sidewalk. Her husband used to pull the neighborhood kids around on their sleds in the winter. They would crowd around his front door and beg him to come out and play, while Mrs. Minich would make all of the children hot chocolate. Then, last summer, Mr. Minich died of a heart attack in the middle of the night. The red and blue lights of the ambulance awakened Gabe. He stood at this very window and he watched them take Mr. Minich away. No one had seen, or heard from his wife much since then. She pretty much stayed to herself after that. Gabe figured she was still mourning him. After all, how can you just forget fifty years of marriage?
Gabe admired this neighborhood. It was always so quiet, so peaceful. Harrington Street was a high class neighborhood, set on a curvy road amidst large flourishing trees and heavily landscaped yards that belonged to the wealthy residents of these grand houses. No, they weren’t just houses, more like... small mansions. It was a comfortable community where everyone knew everyone else, and you were always greeted with a smile. There was never any crime because the residents of Harrington Street recognized a stranger from a mile away and never took their eyes off of them. In that event, the women would have congregated on the corner, gossiping like nervous chickens, speculating about the stranger’s reasons for being here. They usually found that it was only a visitor of Ms. Collier’s. One of her many lovers. Ms. Collier was a fairly old woman, probably in her late seventies. Honestly, her true age was undistinguishable. She always wore exuberant clothes, capped with her iridescent white hair and ghostly pale skin. Her husband had died and left her millions. The women say she murdered him. Anyway, now she lives here, and about once a week, some unaware repair man, limo driver or delivery guy will waltz up to her door and not leave for hours. The ladies on the corner stand and wait to see how long he stays. They laugh, and giggle like little girls, all at expense of Ms. Collier. Those women would never invite her to one of their Tupperware parties, or card gatherings. She was the neighborhood outcast. Tabletop conversation. Without this scandal, what would they have to talk about at these parties? Their non-existent sex lives? The best type of laxatives to buy? What to do when you’re having a ‘Not so fresh,’ day?
Gabe snickered to himself. He glanced at the empty house directly across the street. He could even see his own reflection in the upstairs window, opposite his. The Caudwells had lived there for as long as long as he could remember. Mr. Caudwell owned a renowned travel agency in town. Mrs. Caudwell was a housewife; One of those that gathered with the flock of birds to gossip on the corner. They had one son, Shawn. Shawn was Gabe’s best friend, they grew up together right here on Harrington, and then a few months ago, Mr. Caudwell was accused of embezzling money from his agency, not giving people what they’d paid for. In an instant the whole family found they were friendless. Everyone thought it would bring down property value, having a criminal living on their exclusive block, but eventually, Mr. Caudwell found it was one of his employees stealing money, and he was cleared of all charges. But, his name was tarnished now, and the neighbors would rather be seen kicking a puppy than talking to a Caudwell. One day, Harrington Street woke up, and they had moved- Left in the night, away from invading eyes peeking from behind closed drapes. Who would be the new cast member of the ever eventful Harrington episodes? What would be the next scandal? Or, who rather, who would be the next scandal.
Gabe shook his head, smiling. Just then, a loud knock came to his bedroom door. He drew himself out of his own world. “Yeah?”
His mother opened the door and bounced inside. His mother always bounced, or at least appeared to. She was a happy woman, always found wearing a smile. She stood a little over five feet tall, an
d carried a portly build. Her short brown hair was always perfectly in place. “It’s getting late! Your Father’s sermon starts at nine. You haven’t even had your shower yet, and you’re sweating something fierce? Are you getting sick?” She asked concerned.
“No, I was just getting around, trying to wake myself up.” He answered innocently.
She walked over beside him and glanced out the window. “Someone bought the Caudwell house.” She offered.
“Who?” Gabe asked curiously.
“Martha Reilly. You know, the real estate lady- is a cousin of Ginny Harper’s. She said it was a family moving all the way from California. Imagine that.”
Gabe though for a moment, then asked the obvious, “Why would someone move from California all the way to Sadie, Connecticut?” He instantly stopped. Oh my God! He was becoming one of them! Next he would be standing out on the corner in a house coat and curlers! His Mother was oblivious to his sudden panic. “I hear the Father is a lawyer, guess he belonged to some firm in San Francisco, he’s coming to Sadie to start his own practice. Martha says they have a son your age.” It seemed Mary Cavanaugh, as saintly as she seemed, had a weakness for dirt herself. She had to know everyone’s story, Where they came from, what they did, how long they’d been married, what positions they.... well... She knew everything.
Gabe watched her rush around his room picking up his clothes off the floor. “Mom, you think Dad would be really pissed if I didn’t go to church today?” Gabe asked, biting his bottom lip.
Mary stopped and looked him dead square in the eye, “Don’t say pissed in front of an open window, its slang. People will think you’re vulgar. And yes, your Father expects all three of you kids in the front pew at eight thirty sharp. We have to set an example,” she announced in a forward tone, as if this is something he should’ve known, and tacked to his forehead, as to never, ever forget. He figured he’d have to be there, it was a family rule. Gabe’s older brother and sister were there every Sunday morning with their betrothed, front left pew, like ducks all in as row. That’s how he pictured them. At the end of the pew sat Joy, his prim and proper Twenty-six year old sister, always found in a floral patterned sun dress in the summer, a long skirt and blouse in the winter. Next to her sat Jimbo, her plastic, Ken doll husband. He looked like his head had been carved from wood; it was sort of flat, with modest features. His coal black hair appeared to be glued to his head. He isn’t the smartest creature ever to grace the planet, that’s obvious the second he begins to utter a sentence. Overall though, Gabe liked Jimbo. He was a nice guy. He worked hard at the plastics factory outside Sadie. He supplied well for Joy, and that was what really mattered, they were happy. Next to Jimbo sits Gabe’s twenty-four year old Brother, Christopher. Chris is a handsome guy, he and Gabe resemble their Father’s Irish side of the family. Chris had Blonde hair, and blue eyes. He was about the same size as Gabe, except Chris was a bit thinner. He was married to Kayla, who always held his hand during service. She also always managed to sing hymns louder than anyone else in the parish. She believes she was blessed with the voice of a bird; no one has the heart to tell her it could kill one. Kayla was a nurse at Mercy Hospital in New Haven. She is fairly pretty, but a little confident. Then came Gabe’s Mother, Mary, happy and smiling, always bearing a positive attitude... about everything. People bring her their problems, and she gives wise advice, healing their lives. She’s like a band-aid for the wounded soul. Gabe loved her for that. Gabe always sat beside his Mother. He never uttered a word, stared straight up at his father, who stood like stone behind the pulpit.
When it came time to sing, Gabe mouthed the words, No one could tell. Kayla’s voice drowned everyone out anyway. They all sat there, the humble Cavanaugh Clan, the pillars of the community, the picture of perfection.
“Get your shower, and get dressed, we can’t be late. We have to get there before the congregation.” Mary explained anxiously. She walked out of his room, leaving him standing alone.
He sighed heavily, another Sunday. Couldn’t God have designated early evening for worship services. Doesn’t Sabbath mean anything to people anymore?
Martin Cavanaugh stood sturdy before his congregation of a mere thirty disciples. They listened to every syllable he uttered. Gabe was dressed in a white button up shirt, with a black tie, and black slacks. He sat conservatively, with his hands in his lap. His Father’s words wrung through his mind, echoing off the towering walls, high ceiling and stained glass windows.
“Temptation is the greatest of all evil, and it’s everywhere!” His father began. “It’s in our schools, on our televisions and radios. Billboards along the highways, they want you to buy cigarettes, so they paste up a half-naked woman for the world to see. What’s she doing? Smoking. Are you going to get lucky if you smoke that brand of cigarettes? Are you going to win the lottery? No. On the radio, you hear this beautiful voice singing about sex, and all of her boyfriends. What she did with them, how she did it, and kids think it’s cool! They know all the lyrics, have the albums.. Thirteen, Fourteen year old girls idolizing this singer- they might want to see for themselves what inspired her to sing about this. What makes it so great! On T.V., ladies in skimpy underwear bouncing around, throwing back their bleached hair....” Gabe’s Father began to mimic the commercials, “Call 1-900-FOXY-LADY. People actually pick up the phone and call these things, that’s why they run rampant in our society. It’s all about sex today. Where’s the love? Has it all died? Does it matter anymore? Does anyone still care? They’re giving teenagers condoms in school, saying, ‘It’s all right, go out and fornicate with whomever, but if you catch a disease it’s your own fault.’ They give permission to our children to go have sex, but by God don’t let them catch you in school with a bible. Kids today are carrying knives to school. Guns, mace, you name it; it’s in school with our children. But, a kid bows his head to pray, and he’s instantly expelled. What’s wrong with this picture?” The crowd clapped with unanimous support.
Martin Cavanaugh was very passionate about his beliefs, but Gabe had heard all of this before. His Father wanted to tackle the world, solve all of today’s problems his way. Unfortunately, no one was listening except these few loyal people, and that wasn’t going to stop billboards from going up, or abolish a popular radio song. No television stations were going to pull their commercials because of this sermon. Gabe thought it was about the big picture, not about the isolated issues preached about by his Father. The world wouldn’t stop, and alter its direction because of this one Sunday service. But, his Father wanted to make a difference, he wanted to help, he wanted to be heard, and it is with that in mind, that he took his stand every Sunday. Next Sunday, it will just be another issue, and his Father would speak just as passionately about that, for he was a man of immense proportion. His spirit spilled from every crack of this failing church. He believed in what he was saying, believed he could make a change, and in his own way, he would. These people in this church will probably spit on the next half-naked woman from a cigarette ad they see in a magazine. They might even write nasty letters to television stations that air phone sex commercials. That would be enough for his Father. Gabe admired this man, and even hoped that, one day, he himself would feel that passion and want to conquer the world.
Rachel Porter sat quietly alongside the calm waters of the Olympic size swimming pool in her backyard. She was comfortably situated on the edge. She had been hoping to get a little sun, but without realizing it, she had gotten wrapped up in her book, and never removed her shorts or her shirt. She was a beautiful girl of seventeen, but didn’t look a day over twelve. Her long dark hair hung in waves over her soft, pale shoulders. She took a deep emotion filled breath, and let the book collapse against her breasts as she wept quietly. She lifted her sunglasses from her green eyes and wiped way her tears, squinting from the unmerciful sun. She laid the book aside and stood up, silently berating herself for crying. Why did she have to be so sensitive? It was just a book.
/> She didn’t notice the figure standing inside the house, behind the heavy glass patio doors. She ran her toe along the waves of the warm surface; it felt so good against her tender feet. She then knelt, cupping her hands to scoop some water, and lifted it out of the pool, watching a clear stream escape between her fingers. She was the epitome of innocence, appearing almost childlike. Then, she heard the patio doors slide open, Startled she turned and watched as her tall, handsome boyfriend strode toward her. His face chiseled to perfection. His thick hair, short in back, longer in front, blew backward. She was so happy that he was hers. She yelled his name and quickly stood up, spreading her arms, “GABE!”
They met each other with a gentle embrace, then a modest kiss. “I missed you,” Rachel whispered, her arms draped over his wide shoulders. She rubbed her hand over the back of his neck caressing it. She stared into his eyes with a slight grin on her flawless face.
“Church ran late, but if it’s any consolation, I sped all the way here.” His smile had been known to weaken the knees of dozens of girls at Lincoln High School. His sparkling white teeth had not even the most subtle hint of past dental work.
Rachel pulled out of his arms and walked over beside her lawn chair, leaning down to pick up her book from the ground. Gabe watched her intensely. There was something precious about this girl, her sweet, tender voice. Her tiny, turned-up nose fit her round baby face perfectly. Rachel had never been one to wear make-up, even in sixth grade, when all of the other girls began to show up to class wearing their Mother’s dark blue eye shadow smeared up into their eyebrows, and bright red lipstick pasted mostly on their teeth, and caked in the corners of their mouths, Rachel never followed suit. Perhaps, because her skin was still as soft as a newborn infants. As far as he knew, she hadn’t even suffered so much as a blemish. He thought for a moment, as he watched her pull her long hair back into a heavy pony tail, how fragile she was. Lovely, not so much in a womanly fashion, but more like a debutante, if you must. Her naive tendencies and passable nature were pure in form. Gabe wanted her to stay that way.
“I’m going into the house to throw on some jeans, I’ll just be a second, don’t go anywhere,” She announced as she raced into the house.
Gabe followed her inside and watched her disappear up the winding staircase, then out of sight. He glanced around the living room; it appeared to have the touch of a professional decorator. Everything matched, from the black leather furniture, to the dark, heavy, floral printed drapes. Marble statues of twisted figures sat on the brass tables. Gabe always thought the statues were odd, one depicted three figures, all lacking detail, meshed together, reaching into the air. The other looked like the head of a dog, but with no eyes. In a way they seemed ridiculous. Gabe never got the whole ‘modern art” rage, it all seemed pointless. How beauty could be found in something so benign, so erratic. That was Rachel’s Mother’s taste. Carol Porter didn’t really mind if it looked like it was molded from mud, what mattered was the material worth. How much it cost. She did have a tasteless lust for highly expensive, but pointless decor. It was more for show than sentiment. Carol had a prominent reputation for consciously keeping a low profile. She never associated much with the other women in town, didn’t belong to any clubs. Gabe had wondered why she never stepped into her husband’s spotlight; after all, Steven Porter was the County Prosecutor. He was a well-respected man, always in the headlines for his aggressive, often ruthless tactics. A modern day crime fighter, married to his job. All while Carol remained compliantly in his shadow, From Gabe’s observations, they had a strange marriage. For as many years as he’d come to this house, he had never once seen them share affection in any manner, never kissed, held hands, or even spoke to each other in a loving way.
Gabe quietly cleared his throat and walked to the massive fireplace. Above the mantle hung large portraits of Rachel, documenting her life from her birth, until today. Her mother was always taking her to be drawn, etched or photographed by someone. Gabe studied each photo. It didn’t seem that Rachel had changed much throughout the years; she still beamed with conventional radiance. She was what every Mother had hoped for, beautiful, intelligent, and charming. It seemed as though anyone looking at these pictures would think they knew her, though they didn’t, they wanted to; truly untainted people are too few these days. Everyone wanted Rachel to be their best friend. She was admired by her peers, respected by her elders, and her genuine kindness all to often became a great weakness. When she was sad, she could cry, and set off a chain reaction of tears among onlookers, all not wanting this gentle creature to weep alone. When she was angry, she was silent. Not so much to get a reaction, but because if she spoke, she was afraid she might make the situation worse. She never argued on her own behalf, she simply apologized for whatever she had done or said, and politely asked for forgiveness. She found something positive in every circumstance, and never pitied herself. She never held a grudge, and when someone would commit a trespass against her, she would tirelessly analyze the situation, and then end up finding herself at fault. Rachel wanted everyone to be happy all of the time, and she often went to extremes to make it that way.
Gabe recalled the time they had flown to Hawaii for their freshmen summer trip. They had a layover in Los Angeles, and had walked through the lobbies and terminals staring through the wall size windows at the huge city outside. People scurried past them, all appearing to be in a massive hurry, like they were all late. Passerby’s stared straight ahead, and made eye contact with no one. Rachel must’ve said hello to ten people before realizing the folks there wouldn’t bother replying, or even offer a smile in acknowledgment of her. She didn’t say anything, though Gabe saw disappointment in her eyes each time someone would fly by.
Finally, while on their way back to their gate, a man stopped her, gave her a tiny pink card that simply read: ‘I like your smile. Give Ten Dollars to the homeless.’ Gabe tried to pull her away from the solicitor, but Rachel persisted. She had all of her cash on the plane, and promised to return, then thanked him endlessly. Over an hour had passed, and they finally began to board their flight. Rachel dug deep into her bag and pulled out ten dollars. She looked at Gabe blankly, “You think this is enough?” She asked. Her sincerity was all too valid.
Despite Gabe’s attempt to thwart her, she insisted on going back into the airport to find the man. When she did, she apologized for the delay, gave him twenty dollars, and sparked up a conversation.
“We’ll miss our plane Rachel,” Gabe would say repeatedly.
Rachel would continue her conversation. “Are you really homeless? Where do you sleep? How long has it been this way? Don’t you have family, or friends you could stay with?”
Gabe shifted his weight back and forth, “Rachel, we’ll miss our flight,” he would say again.
Rachel just held up one finger, signaling that she would be just one more second. “What happens if you get sick? How do you stay warm? How do you eat? Do you ever get afraid? Are people cruel to you? Ever get lonely? You should go to a church.”
Finally, Gabe pulled on her shirt, forcing her away from the Vietnam Veteran, named Warren, who was suffering the after effects of Agent Orange. He had never been to church, ate from dumpsters, slept in an abandoned car, and his family had all lived in Oklahoma, and he had, at one time, a dog named Fred, who was hit by a car.
With an adoring wave, Rachel said her good-bye’s as Gabe dragged her through the crowds. They reached their gate just in time to see their plane pull into the air. The entire six years of their relationship had been full of instances like this. Rachel’s compassion and curiosity was just who she was, and it was partly why Gabe both loved, and protected her.
Rachel bounced back down the stairs, a brilliant smile on her face, her green eyes catching every ray of light from the crystal chandelier above. She was dressed in a pair of Levi’s, and a red blouse, with a black, velvet vest. “Ready,” she sang as she skipped toward him, taking his hand into her own
, weaving her fingers through his. They walked to the door, he opened it for her, and they stepped out into the warm afternoon sun, embarking on their Sunday afternoon walk as they had every week since the day they met.
Evening crept over the small suburb of Sadie, Connecticut. This was the time when the lights lining the street came on with a loud buzz, along with the porch lights of every house on the street. You would see fire flies pop up from the freshly cut grass, illuminating at irregular intervals. Occasionally, you would hear a Mother calling from her kitchen window, summoning her children to supper. This was when Harrington Street grew quiet, settling down for another calm night.
Gabe walked down the sidewalk toward home. He had his hands tucked neatly in the pockets of his slacks. Everyone on this street knew him. They would call out greetings, and Gabe would kindly lift his head and smile. He kicked his feet at the cracks, his rubber soles bouncing off the cement.
As he walked past the Tuttle house, he lifted one of the twins pink bikes from the walkway, and propped it up on its stand, then continued on. Except for the crickets singing their nightly tunes from below, it was silent. Gabe stopped for a moment, just to glance up. The moon had risen about halfway. It was so magical, it’s white light casting a heavenly aura through the thin clouds around it, and it filtered through the canopy above, shimmering though the shadows like white waterfalls. He took a deep breath, filling his lugs with the cool air. These were sacred moments to him. Moments when he was completely alone, didn’t have to utter a word, didn’t have to move a muscle, and could absorb all this magnificence surrounding him. Appreciate the things taken for granted by most. It was now, that the crickets were singing to him, and the moonlight that drenched his face was meant for just that, for this time was his own. He had an urge just lay down on the lawn and let his eyes see all there was to see. The slight breeze rustled the teardrop shaped leaves on the tree just above him. The last bird that remained proudly perched on the telephone wire. The distant sound of a jet, rumbling through the sky. The glistening expanse of stars, like holes poked in the top of a shoe box. The lingering scent of salt, carried through the air, swept from the ocean. With every breath, he accepted what this night offered. He was grateful, grateful to be alive. Grateful to be standing here at this very moment, grateful for the tingling sensation that crawled over his skin with the breeze. A smile grew on his face, and he began to walk again.
He was surprised when the headlights of a large truck appeared not to far ahead; he watched it as it roared past him. He read the sign painted on the side of it, “Smith and Son Movers,” it boasted in bold red letters.
He picked up his pace and as he got beyond the trees to his own front yard, he looked across the street and stared at the old Caudwell house. It had come to life again, all of the lights were on, and drapes had been put up. A White Convertible sat in the wide driveway, and someone was moving around downstairs. He watched as, one by one, several of the downstairs lights went out. Soon, all that remained was the dim light from the center window on the second floor. Gabe could see the window was open, because the sheer curtains were flowing outward, dancing. He watched curiously as a slim figure moved in front of them, then disappeared.
Gabe slowly turned away and started up toward his own house, turning briefly, hoping to catch a glimpse, but failing. He walked inside and his Mother and Father were sitting quietly in the dining room, both nestled at the opposite ends of the long, eight plate oak table. Gabe wasn’t surprise to find them sitting so far apart, neither of them speaking a word. It was always this way unless there was company.
Upon seeing him, his mother jumped up from her chair, lifting her plate, “Our new neighbors are in. Dad and I watched the movers take in their stuff. Then they came about an hour later. Honey, that man drives a convertible! Did you see it? Imagine the insurance he must pay,” She exclaimed, as if honestly concerned.
Gabe followed her into the Kitchen, “So, What’s the story? They deliver any Coffins, or Voodoo props? Maybe a big wooden box with a sign on it, ‘DO NOT FEED THE CHILD,’ “Gabe joked, poking fun at her.
His mother rolled her eyes as she rinsed off her plate in the sink. “I didn’t get a good look at them. If they were deviates of any sort, the police would have been through to warn us. You know they have that law now, if a convicted murderer, or child molester moves into a neighborhood, the police go around with fliers and stuff.” She stopped for a moment, as if coming to a blunt realization, her expression was grim as she spoke, “I don’t think we got anything.”
Just then Gabe’s Dad marched into the kitchen, and handed his wife his plate. “There are no deviates on Harrington, Mary, just a bunch of housewives with overactive imaginations,” he stated before kissing her on the cheek.
Mary wrinkled her nose, “My imagination is just fine, besides, I’m not the one who said Lola Collier murdered her husband, it was Audrey Shooman down the street. She said she knew her ex-husband’s sister’s best friend’s brother, and he told her.
“Martin rolled his eyes as he took Gabe’s shoulders into his hands, looking him over, half grinning. “Look at you son, all that muscle, look just like me, when I was your age.”
Gabe grinned, “Dad, you’re five foot six and one hundred and forty pounds.”
“So I’ve shrunk a little, time does that to you, you wait until you get my age, you’ll be five foot six and one hundred and forty pounds. Enjoy the view while you’re up there kiddo!” They all laughed and Martin hugged his son, patting him roughly on the back. “Oh, did I tell you? We’re using the basement of the church for your graduation party. The entire congregation will be there to see you off to school. They all want one last, good look at the future quarterback star!”
Gabe pursed his lips modestly, “I’m not trying to be a star dad, I just want to play the game,” he stated, as he has many times before.
“And that’s why you’ll be a star, Gabe. You have nothing but honest motivation, your intentions are pure, and God knows. You’re going to go off to Harvard, and you’re going to make all of Sadie proud of Gabriel Cavanaugh. You have it in you. It’s all there. The makings of a winner.” Martin gave his youngest one last good slap on the shoulder and then walked back into the dining room.
Gabe was silent as his mother pulled out a rack and began to load the dishwasher. “You know, I hear there was a trial and everything. That’s probably why she left New York, maybe she was running from the law. Lucille Farber said she thought she saw her on America’s Most Wanted, you know, that Television show? She almost called in, but she was partly afraid for her life! Last thing that poor Lucille needs is to have Lola Collier show up on her doorstep with a butcher knife. That’s what they say she used, you know?” Mary spoke very matter-of-factly.
“You ever wonder if maybe Ms. Collier is just a sad woman trying to get away from a tragic past and start her life over?” Gabe asked.
Mary met him with an awkward glance. “It’s the millennium, Gabe, you never know anymore.” Gabe walked over and kissed her on the forehead, “I love you Mom. Goodnight.” Then he turned and walked out of the room.
He opened his bedroom door and stepped inside. The smell hit him in the face like a fist to the sinuses. He flipped on the light and saw his Mother had cleaned his room again... and sprayed a gallon of lemon scented air freshener... again. He waved his hand over his face, then walked over to a fan on his desk and flipped it on. “Jesus, Mom,” he said under his breath. He sat down at his desk in front of his computer, turning it on. His face soured as he began to taste the lemons. He gagged and jumped up, rushing to his window, throwing up the sash. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes half dizzy. She was going to kill him one of these days.
When he re-opened his burning eyes, he found himself staring directly into the upstairs window of the house across the street. He could see someone sitting at their dresser. They had shoulder length dark hair, and wore a long white button up shirt, but that was al
l he could see. He halted for a moment as he glanced at the telescope at is side. He held his breath, still unsure if he should. He wanted to know who they were, so he could introduce himself. His Mom would want him to do this. It was human nature to spy. Was it spying? Maybe if just peeked, only for a second, it wouldn’t hurt. Gabe stood up straight and turned toward the scope. He nonchalantly tapped the metal top with his fingertips, and then a little harder until it moved just a bit.
He tapped it again.
With an audible squeak, it spun too far to the left. With his other hand, he began tapping it from the other side. His tongue was placed firmly in his cheek as he toyed with the contraption. It inadvertently stopped, aimed directly into the window opposite his. He bit his bottom lip gently and sat down in the wooden chair directly under him. He swallowed hard and brought his eye halfway to the scope. Then, a little closer, just a bit more, until he was staring into it. He closed one eye tightly and watched intensely. At first he thought he was staring at a young woman, probably no older than himself. Then, he thought it was a boy. They were thin, with shining black hair. They sat sideways at a dresser, their elbows were propped up on the surface, and they held a tissue tightly in one fist. So hauntingly, those deep set eyes, fair skin, and soft, puffy lips. They wiped their small hand over their forehead, tilting their head back, then bringing it forward again into the palms of their hands.
They were crying.
Gabe couldn’t take his eye from the lens. Why were they so sad? The person turned slightly, toward him. Gabe quickly lifted his eye from the telescope, turning sideways, hoping that they didn’t see him. Then, he moved his eyeballs to the very corner of his sockets, to where they ached from the strain, until he was certain he hadn’t been noticed. He turned to the telescope again and resumed his investigation. He watched this figure move their hand over their long hair. This creature was stunning, but so sad. Why? What would make someone cry like this? His own heart began to feel heavy. Something made him want to be there, in their room, he felt an inexplicable longing to know them.
Suddenly his telephone screamed out an alarming ring. Jolted from his focused thoughts, Gabe jerked backward, falling over. He flailed his arms to catch his balance, but the entire chair slammed to the floor. He nervously kicked his feet trying to get up, and he knocked the telescope over. He rolled from under his chair and grabbed his phone mid ring. He tried to sound calm and collected. He wasn’t.
“Yes?” He said out of breath, trying not to sound suspicious.
“Hi, hon. You were supposed to call me when you got home,” Rachel said whining sarcastically. Gabe knelt down and picked the chair up off the floor, “Oh, I’m sorry; I just got a little busy. I was just going to call you, though,” he lied. It was an innocent lie. A white lie.
“I forgive you, just don’t forget to pick me up for school in the morning,” she continued.
Gabe was still out of the loop, trying to catch his breath, “Okay, I will,” he replied, paying her no attention.
“You will? You mean you won’t, right?” She asked almost shocked.
Gabe brushed some sweat from his brow, “Right, right, I won’t,” he stammered.
A quiet pause ensued. “Are you mad at me, Gabe?” She queried, suddenly scanning her thoughts, she couldn’t recollect anything she may have said or done.
“No. Of course not, I was just... my mom sprayed that lemon crap in my room again. I’m high,” he replied, praying she would buy it. He still had trouble listening to her.
“Open a window,” Rachel kindly suggested.
Gabe stood up solid, his eyes quickly grew wide, “What?!” “I said open a window, let some fresh air in,” She repeated.
“I already did that, it’s open, trust me,” Gabe answered in a high pitched tone.
“You have football practice tomorrow, right? I have Cheer leading practice. Maybe we could grab something afterward, maybe run through Burger Mania. They have the best fries,” Rachel attested, “Then, we can come back here and watch some telescope,” she added, desperately trying to spark his interest in their conversation.
Gabe’s insides sunk. He feverishly switched ears, “W-What? What did you say?” He stuttered. This time he listened carefully, as if she were reading his verdict in a trial.
Rachel said it again, this time more slowly, trying not to let him hear her slight agitation. “I said, we can come back to my house and watch some television.”
Gabe started to laugh, he couldn’t help it, “Television, I thought you... I thought you...” He couldn’t finish his sentence before Rachel interjected, half laughing to herself, but wondering just why he seemed to behave so strangely. “What’s so funny?” She asked.
Gabe immediately stopped laughing, his face dropped as he regained a serious tone, “Nothing, not a thing, just tired, I had to get up with the chickens this morning,” he retorted. He leaned over to glance out his window, hoping the mysterious figure would still be there, but he couldn’t tell. Rachel was silent for a moment. “Have you met your neighbor yet?” She asked innocently. “W-Why do you ask? No. “Gabe shot back, trying to hide his guilt. He could hear Rachel take a deep breath, “Mrs. Wayland said he was starting school tomorrow, he’s in our home room, remember?” She explained as if he should recall this. He never listened in Home room, there was no reason to.
“I don’t remember, I must’ve been out of it.”
Rachel continued, trying to jog his memory, “She said his name, Kyle.” She jumped to correct herself. “ No, not Kyle. Something Evans, his last name is Evans, Corey Evans, that’s it! I must be getting fumes from your end,” she joked.
Gabe stifled a cough, “Cory Evans, huh? I don’t remember,” he replied in deep thought.
Rachel giggled, ”I’m going to buy you some Ginko weed,” She laughed.
“Some what?”
“Ginko pills, it’s an herb that improves your memory. My mom takes it, she’s an herbal fanatic,” Rachel explained.
Gabe sighed, “I should go, Rach. I’ll pick you up in the morning, okay?”
Rachel was quiet, he could sense her disappointment, “Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow then,” She said, her tone of voice trailing downward.
He felt incriminated for a moment, then redeemed himself, “I love you,” he whispered softly. He could almost feel her spirits lift, “I love you too,” she cheered.
Then instantly, Gabe threw the receiver down onto the base and leapt toward the window, picking up the telescope from the ground, balancing it on its pedestal, and once again, took aim. He began watching the sad boy across from him. He still wept. Sitting there in silence, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. A thousand thoughts flew like a flock of sparrows through Gabe’s mind. There was something about this Corey, something unique, something special, something that had piqued Gabe’s interest. Corey looked so alone, like the last of a dying breed. He looked like an angel, mysterious, genderless, but so fantastically beautiful. Gabe watched as Corey pushed his hair behind his ear. Even his hands were pretty. They were small, with slender fingers, long fingernails. Why does this boy have long fingernails? Why does this boy not really look like a boy, but not especially like a girl? What was it? There was altogether something unnatural about Corey Evans. Gabe rattled his mind, trying to pinpoint what made him so attractive. He couldn’t. This sad soul across from him was like nothing he had ever seen before, no boy, no girl, no one.
Gabe watched the light across the street go out. Now darkness loomed around Corey. Gabe felt helpless. He wanted to hear his voice, put it with the face he had watched so intently. Did he sound as unusual as he looked? Gabe sat back in his chair. His eyes staring straight ahead, not focusing, not blinking. He was probing his mind. He glanced over at the telephone on the floor, then glanced back to the black window. It wouldn’t hurt to call, just to say hello, maybe bring up his spirits. What would he say? “Hi this is your neighbor across the st
reet; I was just spying on you through my handy dandy telescope and saw you were crying. You want to tell me about it?” That sounded stupid. Surely the guy would think he was one brick short of a chimney. A psychopath, a voyeur. He couldn’t say that, it would probably scare the living daylights out of him. Gabe stood up and began to pace, biting the skin on the side of his thumb with his incisors. He didn’t have to say who he was; it could just be casual, like a wrong number. No! What if his dad answered? Maybe he could just be normal, tell Corey who he was, and welcome him to the neighborhood. That wasn’t such a bad idea, and it would set them out on the right foot. Except, he could have this guy pegged all wrong. Corey Evans could be some crude punk who’d yell at him for calling after he’d gone to bed. Or worse, one of those snotty ass rich kids. You know, the ones who you want to slap them so hard the color flies from their hair. That was it; Corey was one of those California kids. Bitchy and self-absorbed.
Gabe knelt down to the telephone. Who was he kidding? This kid was over there crying, and alone. If he was rude, Gabe would just hang up on him, without saying who he was.
He anxiously picked up the receiver and dialed information. An operator quickly answered, “Sadie information, your listing please,” The operator said in her nasally voice.
Gabe’s lungs drew less air with each breath; he could hear the blood shuttling through his veins. In his ears his heart sounded like a base drum. His hands started to sweat. Why was he so nervous?
The operator asked again, “What listing please?”
His head became light, as if it would float off his shoulders. He replied slowly, “Evans please, I’m not sure what first name it would be under, but the address is 1407 Harrington Street.” The woman was silent for a second. Gabe could hear her punching keys on her computer. They probably weren’t even listed, or they most likely didn’t have a telephone yet. Then the Operator returned. “Hold for your listing,” She snorted.
Gabe closed his eyes as a mechanical, monotone voice spoke the numbers in his ear. He slammed his finger down upon the base, disconnecting the call. Why was this a big deal? He lifted his finger from the hook and began to dial. It started to ring. Gabe scratched the back of his neck. He almost felt scared, but what for?
Suddenly someone answered. It was a man, a very gruff sounding man. Gabe winced and hung up quickly. He stood completely still. Was that gentle looking Corey? No way.
Disillusioned, he put the phone back on the desk, stepped over to the bed and fell onto it. What did he think he was doing?
Damn those lemon fumes.
two
A Boy to Beautiful