House of Echoes: A Novel

“You’ll like it.”

 

 

He let himself believe her. She knew him as well as anyone. And he knew her. That’s why there was always a flame of fear in the back of his mind. The Crofts was the perfect distraction for Caroline. There were so many things to do. But Ben didn’t know what would happen to them after all the walls were painted and the floors sanded. Caroline wanted to believe that this was a whole new life, but it wasn’t. Not really. Ben knew that no matter how far you run, you’re still yourself when you get there.

 

 

 

 

 

4

 

 

 

 

Ben had a city person’s bias against cars in general and big cars in particular. But he loved his big black Ford Escape: the way its shocks absorbed the irregularities of country roads, the way it hummed when he accelerated on steep inclines. A sedan wasn’t practical up here—and, besides, the Escape was a hybrid. Caroline had one in silver.

 

He had the windows open, and his iPod blared the exuberant yet wistful sound of an album his brother had gifted him through iTunes. An A&R man for a record label, Ted was more likely to send Ben the music of the moment than to call. Which was fine with Ben. He liked the songs Ted sent, and the exchange reminded him of when they’d shared a room as teenagers. They’d do their homework on opposite ends of a folding table while listening to the radio, sometimes springing up in unison to press record when the opening chords of an admired song sounded through the speakers of their plastic Casio.

 

Their grandmother had died almost nine months ago, but Ted still had not seen the ruined farmhouse she’d left them. He’d promised to visit, but Ted’s promises were generously bestowed and unevenly honored. Ben knew his brother would show up eventually, and he’d be glad to see him. But sometimes a little of Ted went a long way.

 

After lunch, Ben had confirmed that the vehicle the man was using to pick up the junk was just a bit larger than the one Ben was currently driving and that he’d have to reschedule tomorrow’s pickup, anyway. Caroline wasn’t happy to hear this, but she cleared Ben to drive to the bookstore in Exton, as long as he picked up a few things from the general store in Swannhaven while he was out.

 

Over the last few weeks he’d learned that the locals kept fluid business hours, so Ben decided to get the groceries first. He turned onto the village’s primary thoroughfare. If it had a name, he didn’t know it. It flanked an overgrown village square that Ben had once walked through. He’d been surprised by the buckling cobblestone plaza, the scattered remnants of broken stone benches, the rusted iron fountain at its center. It had once been a handsome place, but the good years were long gone.

 

Only a dozen ramshackle structures bordered the square. Harp’s General Store was sandwiched between a building that served as the village’s police station/municipal building/post office and the Lancelight, a little diner where Caroline and Ben had once eaten. Other than a mechanic’s shop and a small church, the rest of the buildings on the street were residences. Their condition made it hard to tell how many were occupied.

 

There was no sign of life in the village this afternoon. From what Ben had seen, it was like this most of the time. Sunday mornings were the exception. After attending service at the church down the street, many of the villagers gathered at the Lancelight for coffee and breakfast. The Tierneys had discovered this firsthand a few weeks ago when they’d eaten brunch at the diner.

 

Though they’d first been mistaken for motorists searching for the interstate, they were soon seated, their orders taken. Their waitress had been polite, but Ben noticed the surreptitious glances and whispers of patrons. As the diner grew more crowded, it seemed to Ben that he and his family became more and more the center of its attention. The villagers had reacted to them as if they were not just new to town but new to the planet. In the weeks since, that had yet to change.

 

Ben parked on a patch of barren ground outside Harp’s. He could have gotten his groceries from one of the supermarkets in Exton or North Hampstead, but he made it a point to buy from the village when he could.

 

“In and out,” Ben told Hudson as he cracked the windows and put the Escape into park.

 

Hudson whimpered.

 

“You go in there and you’ll get sliced up and labeled as beef. I’ll only be a minute.”

 

A bell tinkled when he walked in. It was the kind of place Ben imagined might have greeted frontiersmen a hundred fifty years ago. The floors were dusty wood planks, and what little fresh produce the store had was displayed in shallow barrels along the front windows. The proprietor also fit the bill. Walter Harp wore a wreck of a face and lips blistered by chewing tobacco. Deputy Simms, who seemed to spend more time here than at the police station next door, was working on the same look, though Harp had a forty-year head start.

 

“Afternoon, Mr. Tierney.” Walter Harp offered a toothy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

“Hello, Mr. Harp, Deputy,” Ben said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Addressing everyone with an honorific was something he was still getting used to. He had to work to make it sound right.

 

“Anything I can help you with?”

 

“Just have to pick up a couple things.” Ben made for the refrigerated closet, the store’s single concession to the past century.

 

“We got some rain on the way if you can believe the radio,” the deputy said. Some of his nasal drawl got lost in the mug of coffee that covered his mouth.

 

“Yeah?” Ben pulled out two dozen eggs and two jugs of milk. They sold a local label of milk, and their eggs were so fresh that their shells were dotted with mud and hay.

 

“Heard that Henry Bishop is heading out to the Crofts tomorrow to help you with some of the Swanns’ old things.”

 

“We had to reschedule, but, yeah. Lot of old stuff up there,” Ben said. He piled the eggs and milk on the counter.

 

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