“Would you like to sit out on the porch maybe? It’s a beautiful day.”
All the lines of Rolf’s face scowl themselves more profoundly. “I don’t go out much. Eczema, psoriasis, sun poisoning. I’ll see you out.” He unburdens us of the tray and the pitcher. He sets them on a console table near the door.
Julie looks at me, incredulous. I take the first turn holding out my hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Rolf. We’d love to have you over for dinner sometime. Julie’s a great cook.”
Rolf grates out a noise that must be as close to a laugh as he is capable of.
“Okay, then,” Julie says, glaring. “I hope you enjoy the brownies and lemonade.”
We cross to the other side of the threshold. It’s possible Rolf exhales “Mhmm” before slamming the door. Halfway across the lawn, we hear the marching-band music again. Blaring horns celebrate our retreat.
“That went well, huh? Anytime we need to borrow a cup of sugar, we know where not to go.” Julie pulls open our front door and drops herself onto the couch. “I’m going to choose not to take that personally. Is that the right decision?”
I seat myself beside her. “Yes. We tried. No need to push it. Plenty of other people on the street to befriend.” I consider whether to speak my next thought aloud and then I do. “And he probably won’t be our neighbor for much longer.”
“James!” Julie pushes my leg with her palm.
“I’m sure he doesn’t leave the house much. It won’t be hard to avoid him.”
“We didn’t even ask him to mind his own business and stop looking at us, though.”
“Well, maybe curtains are the next project,” I say.
Julie whines, “But I like the light!”
“It’s a choice,” I say, indifferent to the decision she will make.
She shuts her eyes. “Why must it always be a choice?”
“Well, you can always avoid choosing and just let it go.”
“Let it go? Never heard of it!” Julie’s mouth smiles, but her eyes stay shut.
15
JULIE PACKS A bag with towels and bottles of water. I grab my camera. We walk the beach. Julie reads the waves like identifying cloud shapes. She points to a break. I try to see what she sees, but I cannot. We ask each other why Rolf was so resistant to us. We try to reassure ourselves that our visit was normal. Julie says there’s a chance we might never get restless here because everything feels so strange. I agree: “I still feel like a guest in our home.”
“I just remembered this. Last night in the kitchen, I was having a midnight snack—peanut-butter toast—and I could hear a rustling somewhere nearby, but, you know, the house echoes because there’s so much space, and that sound was everywhere and I couldn’t tell where it was rooted, so I walked around the whole kitchen, wandered into the dining room and the living room, too, and no matter where I went, the sound seemed like it was always above my head, like sand sifting or a plastic bag rustling, but eventually I gave up and returned to bed. I couldn’t find it.”
“I need to call the electrician. And an exterminator. We’ll get to the bottom of it.” I say this and then wonder if I want it to be something that easy.
We linger on the topic of the noise. We analyze what would cause this new, more percussive layer on top of the previous drone. We stand at the edge of the waves. We let the sand bury our feet.
We run out of things to tell each other. We share second-and even third-tier stories we’d never bother other people with. Those minutiae calcify into the bones of our intimacy.
Julie’s bruise has mostly healed. The purples and browns have faded to a dull yellow that makes me cringe.
Julie turns and sees my face. “The least you could do is pretend to hide it.”
I agree with her. Still, it looks as if a part of her were dying.
She insists it was all the moving and cleaning that caused it. “I’m clumsy. And I wasn’t eating well for a while there, and lack of iron and knocking myself around with those big boxes—I’m sure that’s all it was. I mean, I was so tired I passed out, for goodness’ sake.” Her eyes flick away from mine. I can tell she doesn’t want me to poke holes in these arguments, so I don’t. Julie has taken care of herself up until this point. She will take action when she thinks it’s necessary. I don’t like going to the doctor either. I force myself to detach.
I take photos of the trees and plants, of the birds and squirrels. I pore over the local field guide I’d purchased side by side with the photos and learn our new surroundings.
We talk through what to do about the basement. Should we replace the stained plaster? Paint over it? Finish the basement with carpet and beer signs and a sectional couch? Julie lifts handfuls of sand to rub into her fair legs, massaging them. I set my hat over my eyes to keep the sun away. I lie on my back. I vote for letting it be. “I made that one closet into a darkroom. That’s all I cared about really. We have more than our fair share of livable space in that house. Why sink money into fixing up the basement?” Julie doesn’t respond. “Do you disagree?” Again silence. I lift the hat from my eyes.
Julie stands many yards down the beach. She seems too far away for as recently as we’d spoken. I get up, awkward in the shifting sand. I walk toward her. “What do you see, Jules?” She is staring out toward the distant edge of the forest, near that rocky point.
“The edge of the inlet there. There’s a cave in the rock, up above the water, I think.” She turns. “And those kids you were talking about. I hear them now. All the time. I want to know where they live. I never see them with parents, do you?”
I resist the suspicion forming inside her. I know I’ve caused it. “No, but you were right. They’re kids. It’s spring. That’s where children belong, outside, out of their parents’ hair, right? What does it matter?”
“They’re creepy, like you said. I thought it was a one-off, a fluke, that they’d get tired of it, but they’re always around and it’s weirding me out.” She walks back to where we’d spread our things. “I’m beat. Let’s go make lunch.”
I agree. We squeeze through the trees to walk back. We swear we can hear the echoes of the children’s voices. Their bodies, though, are nowhere in sight.
16