That was so true to form. Coax, and if that didn’t work, threaten.
“That’s a real pretty woman,” said Rhett. “And that girl. Oh my god.”
Josh felt a hard dump of raw fear, tried to keep it off his face. But Rhett saw it. The predator always saw fear. Jesus, Josh couldn’t have any more blood on his hands. He took a deep breath, summoned his strength.
“Then I’ll go in alone,” Josh said. “I’ll bring you all the money. I don’t want it. You take it, go, and don’t come back.”
Rhett actually looked hurt for a moment, blinking, pushing down the corners of his mouth. And for a moment Josh actually felt bad.
“That’s going to break Ma’s heart,” said Rhett.
“She’ll forget,” said Josh. “That’s what she does. She forgets the things that hurt her.”
Rhett seemed to consider. “When are you going back? Today?”
“Monday.”
Rhett shook his head. “That’s not going to work. He wants the money tonight; he wants to disappear, says things are getting hot for him. He’s coming tonight.”
“It’s got to be Monday.”
Rhett’s face went dark.
“You find a way in there today,” said Rhett. His voice, too, had gone flat and cold. It was almost a relief because now Josh saw the real man behind the Rhett mask, all the masks he shifted around, trying to find the one that would get him what he wanted.
“If you don’t,” Rhett went on. “Then I’m going to find my way in there tonight. And just hope that no one gets in my way.”
twenty-five
Things That Go BUMP in the Night . . . and other problems with living in a HAUNTED HOUSE
It has been an interesting couple of days. First, I hired a handyman. And he’s going to help with the few (million) things that are beyond my DIY skills.
It will be shocking to some of you that 1) I need help, and 2) I’m willing to admit it. But those of you who have been with me from the very, very beginning remember that this is an important lesson, one that I learned after R was born and the specter of depression loomed. I got help, and it worked. Sometimes you just don’t have the right tools in your belt to help yourself. Sometimes you have to call in the professionals.
It was the wallpaper in the kitchen that really did me in. So many (ugly!) layers glued on so thick—I tried the rented steamer, scraping, peeling. But it just came off in these narrow strips, most of it staying fast. I’m sure there’s a metaphor here. Help me out!
Or maybe it was really the barn door falling off in the middle of the night, scaring the bejesus out of R and me, leading us to call the cops.
Or maybe it was just that the handyman showed up, eager and ready to help. Or maybe it was some combination of all of those things. Anyway, he’s coming on Monday and hopefully that means faster progress toward turning this place from overwhelming project into a happy home.
Given what I learned this weekend, hence the title of this blog, you’ll probably be surprised that I even want to stay. I am a little surprised myself.
Last night, I woke up and looked out my window to discover someone sneaking around the property. I called the police (again!). And the same young officer who came out the first night was at my doorstep. He and his lovely young partner (is that sexist to say she was so pretty! And nice!) both grew up here, and they filled me in on the sad, horrible history of this beautiful house.
A family was murdered here. Their young daughter was tortured but survived. The men were never caught. People apparently have been sneaking out here, daring each other to explore the “haunted house.” There’s a rumor that the killers were looking for money that is supposedly hidden here. And people still come out to search. It was probably someone like that on the property last night. I’ll wait while you process the horror of all of this.
Okay. It’s bad. I’ve been sick about it. And I did have about an hour where I thought about packing it in.
But the more I reflected, the more I saw the poetry of the situation, the relevance to me and my journey. Once upon a time, a horrible thing happened to me. A man broke into my home and raped me, leaving me for dead.
I could have abandoned myself. I could have succumbed to the aftermath of trauma, not sought help, sunk into depression and despair, and let those things darken the rest of my life. Instead, I clawed myself back into the light. It wasn’t easy. It took time. And the road is winding, with lots of switchbacks and dark patches, even now.
But, likewise, I won’t abandon this house. In fact, maybe we found our way to each other for a reason. Maybe we were meant for each other.
Meanwhile, lots of drama with R. The specter of her biology haunts us. Over the years, many of you have encouraged me to face the truth, whatever it is. Especially now that it’s what my daughter wants, many of you feel that it’s time. I’ve been stubborn. And I just realized that I’m doing what I said I would never do. I’m allowing a dark corner to stay unlit. I have been choosing the dark place of ignorance. And my reasons are selfish. If it turns out that my daughter is my rapist’s child, then—would I have to find a way to love him? Because even in the hatefulness and the horror of his actions, didn’t he give me the most important and beautiful gift of my life? How hard it will be to accept that. How deeply we resist forgiving someone who hurt and violated us, how impossible to imagine loving them. But it’s not just about me. I have decided that if it’s what my daughter really wants, she can have the test. And maybe this is a step forward on my journey, too. Maybe the truth will light the way toward true and total release and forgiveness. Because I will have to help R embrace her biology, and to do that, I will have to embrace it, as well. Jeez. Heavy.
I will move forward and help this house move on, too. We will embrace our past and, in doing so, create a better future. We can make this place a home for us, and be a home for the house, as well. A renovation and rebirth for all of us.
“MOM,” SAID RAVEN FROM BEHIND her. “You can’t publish that.”
Raven had been standing behind her for quite some time, which Claudia barely noticed because it was the usual state of affairs.
She turned to look at her daughter. “Too personal?”
“No,” Raven said. “Well, yeah, but what else is new? I mean about the money.”
“What about it?”
Raven threw up her hands. “Mom! Think about it! People are going to read that, and even more weirdoes are going to come out here.”
The kid had a point.
“But there’s no money,” said Claudia. “No one knows it’s us, or where the property is.”
“You really don’t know that,” said Raven. “What if someone does know? It wouldn’t be hard for locals to make the connection.”
“Okay,” she said. “How about I call that guy Josh, and he helps us look in the basement, move some of the bigger things we can’t budge.”