Chapter Twenty-Two
A week later, the morning light is tilted and the air stays cool longer as winter’s hand dangles over Minnesota. At first, the slinking cold creeps its way into the neighborhood during the night when everyone’s sleeping, and then it hangs around through morning, and after a few weeks, it grips down hard as a fist until March. People are thinking about turkey, and butternut squash soup, and airline tickets for annual family gatherings. On Oakline Street, everything looks perfect on the outside. Inside the foyer of the Kraft house, Alison is explaining the brand new state-of-the-art alarm system to Polly.
Polly tries not to think about what Alison has been through. It all seems unreal to her. She can, however, see clearly that this woman in front of her right now is not the same woman she has come to know over the last nine years. Polly is no longer at ease in Alison’s company. There is no humor in the home, no contentment. The home feels cold and edgy. She thinks Alison is like a zombie. Polly continues to show up on her scheduled days. She does her job and she listens.
“I want to show you how to work the system. It is important that the system is on constantly. It should never be off. Do you hear? Never.”
“Yes, Alison, never.”
“Every window, every door, inside and out, is wired.”
“Okay.”
“Every day I will change the code.”
“All right.” Polly’s voice sounds heavy. This is all too much for her.
“When you enter and you hear the little beep you will have ten seconds to punch in the correct code.”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Alison tries to smile because she knows she is supposed to, she searches around for a smile, but has none. So she spreads her lips, forces a grin, and shows some teeth. Polly leaves the conversation very sure now that smiling actually comes from the eyes and has little to do with the mouth, because Alison just looked scary.
Cautiously, Alison opens the front door and looks out. Seems fine. She walks quickly to the mailbox. Jessie, who is pulling out of his driveway, rolls down his window.
“Hey, Alison?” She looks over. She had hoped if she didn’t lift her eyes he wouldn’t call to her. No such luck. She continues moving toward the front door.
“Hi, Jessie.”
“Can you and Hank come over for cards this weekend?”
“Nope, sorry. Don’t think we can. Say hi to Pam for me.”
She is at the door and inside. He drives away. She takes the mail into the kitchen. She flips open her laptop to CNN, and begins to scour the news not completely certain what she’s searching for.
Later, having decided to work from home that afternoon, Hank puts his key in the lock and opens the front door. Nine seconds later, as he steps into the hall closet to hang up his coat, an ear-splitting alarm blasts followed by floodlights all around the property. Alison rushes into the foyer, opens the end table drawer, grabs the handgun she’s stashed there and turns it on Hank. He freezes, confused by the alarm, stunned to see the weapon in his wife’s hand. Her distant look. She doesn’t see him. Doesn’t know him. She aims. Polly screams! The scream shakes her and her eyes clear. She sees Hank. She lowers the gun. She takes a deep breath. Polly and Hank are paralyzed. Alison walks over to the alarm keypad. She punches in the code, picks up the ringing telephone, gives the alarm company the password, returns the weapon to the drawer, and walks back into the kitchen without a word. Shaken, Hank and Polly look at each other. Tears pool in Polly’s eyes. Neither one of them knew she had a gun. They realize just how far gone she is.
“Hank…” Polly begins, “I just can’t -”
He will not let her finish, “Polly, please.” His desperation is so clear, so heartfelt. “Please,” he begs. “I’ll take care of it.” Polly cannot add to his distress. She nods. He nods. They both turn away. He starts for the kitchen. She collects her coat by the door and as she leaves.
“I’ll be back Monday.”
His voice cracks with gratitude, “Thank you.”
Once inside the kitchen he hears their car engine. He looks out the window above the sink and sees Alison driving away. He knows it must be 2:30 and so she is on her way to pick-up Jimmy. With his adrenaline pumping and his heart pounding, he thinks about her aiming a gun at him and he must face it: Alison is dangerous, dangerous to him and dangerous to their son. This may not be something he can wait for her to get over. It may take more than time. He wonders if there is something contagious about violence, if it’s a virus, if her brain has caught something she can’t shake. What if violence is infectious in the same way as laughter? He’s experienced that. He has been in a room where someone is roaring with laughter and he has begun to laugh having no idea why. Maybe violence is like that. What should he do? Is he failing to help her? Is he failing to protect his son? What should he do? Who can help? His misery is mounting. He goes back to the foyer, pulls out the end table drawer, and removes the handgun. It is the gun his dad had and Hank inherited when he passed away. It’s been in the safety deposit box at the bank for ten years. That’s what they both decided. Neither one of them wanted a weapon in the house. He stands in the middle of the living room having absolutely no idea what he is supposed to do.
Alison parks the car in the red zone in front of the building. The crosswalk guard begins to wave her arms for Alison to move, then she sees who it is, and she backs off. Everyone has backed off. Some are giving her the time they know she needs, others fall back as their instincts dictate. Methodically, Alison scans the front lawn, play area, parking lot. There is too much to keep within her control. She hates this part of the day. She gets out of the car and walks up the sidewalk to the front of the school. Jimmy is standing right there waiting as he has done every day since he returned to school. She takes him by the hand and leads him quickly back to the car. He tries not to look around. Many kids in the packed schoolyard stare. He gets into the car and slumps down in the seat. He’s no superhero this way.
“How was school?” She asks.
“Okay.”
“Good.”
They drive in silence because her vigilant attention is required to check into every passing car, to peer around every streetlight post, behind every trash can and mailbox and tree. She runs every yellow and only stops for a red when necessary. She pulls the car into the driveway. Jimmy jumps out and runs into the house. His dad is waiting in the kitchen. Angrily, Jimmy blasts past him without even saying hello and vaults up the stairs two-at-a-time slamming his bedroom door. Alison enters, closes the door and hits the code. She turns.
“What happened with Jimmy?”
“Nothing. He’s good.”
“What’s with the alarm?”
“It’s smart to have an alarm. I’ve got a series of codes worked out we can go over them together at dinner tonight.”
“I don’t want an alarm.”
“I do.”
“It’s an overreaction.”
“It is not.”
“We live in an extremely safe neighborhood.”
“No such thing,”
“Alison, do you even know you pointed a gun at me today?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“The alarm went off and it was actually a good rehearsal for us.”
“You almost shot me!”
“No I didn’t. I saw you.”
“You haven’t seen anything properly since we got back.”
“I see things in greater detail than I ever have.”
“I don’t want a gun in the house.”
“You don’t want an alarm. You don’t want a gun. Would you just like us to roll over?”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” It takes enormous effort not to start yelling. The vein in his neck throbs and he holds his temper. “I’m going to check on Jimmy; then we’ll talk.”
Hank sees it all descending into madness. He doesn’t know if he really can continue to negotiate the craziness. Upstairs he knocks on Jimmy’s door, opens it slowly, and walks in. He closes it behind him. Jimmy is kicking a stuffed giraffe around the room.
“I’m not going to school anymore. She took my hand - my hand!”
“Jimmy, your mom does not mean to embarrass you.”
“All the kids are laughing at me. I went from cool to fool in days.”
“I’m so sorry, kiddo.” Hank can’t stand seeing the humiliation on his son’s face.
“Why can’t you pick me up or Polly?”
“Okay. I understand. Let me see what I can do.”
The explanation of the alarm system during dinner went badly. Neither Hank nor Jimmy was in favor of the system, and the skin of patience they’ve had has been rubbed raw. After an hour of fury-tinged debate, Alison agreed to leave it off for a few days so they could get used to the idea.
The tension has not lessened as Hank and Alison get into their pajamas. The bedroom feels unusually hot and a poison mood hangs in the air between them. Hank pulls off his T-shirt.
“You have to stop embarrassing Jimmy in front of his friends.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“It’s not fair to him and it has to stop. Things need to go back to normal for him.”
“Normal has changed.”
“Normal hasn’t changed - you’ve changed.”
“And you’re not changed? Get serious, Hank.” The sarcastic tone is new for her.
“Serious? Okay, I’ll get serious. You are scared to death one hundred percent of the time. You are exhausting yourself and hurting everyone around you.”
“I’m not scared. I’m ready.”
“For what? Ready for what? We’re home. It’s been three weeks. We need to get our lives back.”
“We will. When it’s time.”
“Jimmy’s nightmares are less frequent. The therapist says he’s doing really well but he needs normalcy. You are making things worse for him, harder for him, harder for all of us.”
“Keeping him safe comes first.”
“Open your eyes! We’re home.”
“It’s not over”
He erupts with aggravation, “Alison!”
“I know what I’m doing.”
Hank runs his hands through his hair. It is all he can do to keep from screaming at her.
“And I’m calling Polly to pick up Jimmy at school. You can’t do it anymore.”
“No way!”
“I swear to god, Alison, this is going to stop.”
“Polly doesn’t know what to look out for.”
“I will pick up Jimmy for the rest of the week then we’ll see.”
“Hank, he’s coming back.”
“No.” He bores his eyes into her. “He’s not.” Hank marches into the bathroom and slams the door. But Alison is sure; she is so very sure she is right. Surely, she is right. She walks over to take her spot at the bedroom window. What if? What if I’m not right? For one slippery second she remembers life before, and then her reflection clarifies in the glass of the window. She does look different. She asks herself the question: is something wrong with me? Am I going mad? Hank gets into bed without saying good night, without a good night kiss. He turns away from her and faces the wall.
When Hank opens his eyes in the morning, his body aches. He feels chewed up into chunks. Never had a man longed more for normal than Hank. He was thirsty for an ordinary day. Several nights ago, their neighbor, Jessie, had called and invited him out to a movie, which they used to enjoy together. They’d steer clear of the chick flicks and find a great action feature. It sounded like such a nice little piece of normal Hank accepted. Ten minutes into the film the gunfire started. Eleven minutes into the film, Hank was gone. How does he explain to Jessie that this cannot be entertainment for him ever again? He has lost the ability to disassociate. For everyone else this kind of violence is imaginary; not for him. He thinks they will probably be spending a lot of time in Disney movies.
He reaches for the ringing phone, “Hello?”
“Hey, ah…Mr. Kraft? It’s Officer Bill Thomas.”
“Hey, how are you?”
“Okay. Detective Crane wanted you and Mrs. Kraft to come down to the station this morning. I think we have some news you’re gonna like a lot.”
Hank sits up in bed, “Really? What?”
“Crane wants to tell you.”
“We’re on our way.” He hangs up. “Alison!”
* * *