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Behind all closed doors there are secrets. Mothers stealing Ritalin pills from their overly prescribed children. Fathers hiding gambling debts that are likely to make their families homeless. “Good Kids” smoking Crystal Meth in their bedrooms with the windows open then staring at pictures of their families with hollow eyes and empty souls, wondering how it came to this.
These are closed doors in your town, in my town, in towns I am sure that Norman Rockwell depicted without seeing the cesspool that some of the houses stood upon.
What follows is a tale of secrets not so well hidden, at least to those behind the closed door. |
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| —JDR |
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argaret had just finished setting out finger sandwiches on the coffee table in the main room of her small house when the doorbell rang. She quickly sprayed Lysol air freshener and switched off the television news she had been glancing at. Another child was missing. This was the fourth child in the last eight months and the authorities were echoing “serial killer” on all channels during all the broadcasts.
She slowly moved the thin window curtain aside and relaxed when she saw Cynthia and Louise on her porch. After church every Sunday, the women gathered at one of their houses to discuss their busy week while sipping orange pekoe and nibbling on ham and processed cheese. Margaret had also added sliced tomatoes, green beans, and diced peppers on a side tray, all fresh from her backyard garden. This ritual had been going on for quite some time. Margaret, usually quiet and attentive during these meetings, was elated this early afternoon. She invited her old friends inside, directing them to the sitting room.
Louise’s blustery voice had taken front and center for the past few weeks as the Great Divorce of the Parkers came to its bitter, though inevitable end, and this week was no exception. Jack Parker’s mid-life Porsche came equipped with Jack Parker’s mid-life home wrecker, a young nurse at the clinic where he was a general practitioner.
“There they were, driving around town for everyone to see with no thought for me or what other people would think.” Louise said as she reached for her teacup.
“Just what was I supposed to do?” she said as she added a little brandy from her purse to the tea while the others were not looking. She had taken to adding brandy to a lot of her beverages since the discovery of the affair six months ago but she was almost constantly hammered since they found the car.
The Porsche was dredged from the reservoir at the south end of town before the divorce was final. The owner and his companion had not been seen enjoying a Sunday drive, or anything else for that matter, since. The police report stated “Mechanical failure” as the cause of the accident. In reality, Louise had hired a young bag boy with a reputation from the A & P for $500. The young man had made several small punctures to the car’s brake cables. The driver of the car would have had one or two perfect stops before the cables burst and the fluid ran out. An awkward clause in the state divorce laws saw Louise the sole owner of the house she and Jack shared for twenty-five years. She sold the office space her husband owned at the clinic for twice what Jack paid and was set.
“It seems petty to dwell Louise, after all that’s happened.” Cynthia remarked.
This quieted Louise for the time being. Margaret looked disgusted. She was tired of the two friends flaunting their exploits. She decided to set the pace for the rest of the afternoon.
“Don’t be so quick to judge, Cyndi.” she said.
Cynthia was a few months over the passing of George. He was a good man although not all that bright. He had instantly fallen in love with Cynthia right out of high school. Cynthia’s parents were worried that they might be stuck raising their strange daughter for the rest of their lives. When his father-in-law so graciously offered a good position in his business, George jumped at the offer. He was now saddled with the misfortune of paying his bills through roadwork. In the past year, when his slight cough had progressed to a lung- and throat-ripping torture, Cynthia had forced him to pay a visit to the family doctor. Cigarettes had nothing on the tar used to blacktop highways, apparently. All those years spreading molten rock on the roads had taken their toll on George’s health. His lungs were as black as a California through-way at noon. The ricin Cynthia had extracted and added to her husband’s water bottles did not even come up. The insurance policy George willingly signed allowed her a home and fine life. Her parents welcomed the freedom and the chance to avoid the girl as much as possible.
This was all tired news to Margaret. After listening to the usual moans and groans of her friends for more than an hour, she could not keep quiet any longer. Although she was the old maid of the bunch, as a result of an undisclosed affair with George, Cynthia’s man, Margaret was the only one with a child. This was her trump card. The group hardly ever heard stories about Margaret’s lad. They knew he was a successful man in real estate law and had taken good care of his mother over the years, but he was still sort of a mystery. They had never met him, though there were pictures around the small house showing a young man in a graduation gown. Others of a young boy holding up a large lake trout he had caught at the reservoir.
When Margaret mentioned that Phillip had been in town the other day and had stopped by to pay his old mom a visit, the other ladies started to drool.
“He had been back for a meeting, and had stuck around to explore his old stomping grounds.” Margaret let the others know.
“He came around in his new Mercedes, I’m surprised none of you saw it.”
Louise moved on the couch as if she were about to say she had seen the car, got the evil eye from Cynthia, and got herself a piece of tomato from the plate on the table instead.
“Doing really well for himself now.” Margaret assured the other women as she got up from her chair. A large horsefly was beating its eyes against the front door. She shooed it back down the hall and lit a Lotus incense stick she kept in a wooden holder on the mantle.
“He has always been good to his mother.” she said as she left the room for the kitchen.
She could hear the whispers coming from the sitting room and a smile deepened the creases on her face. She opened the cupboard door beside the fridge and retrieved something. Looking out the window over the sink she could see Phillip’s work shed in the yard. He did small repairs for her on his visits, although he mostly tended her small vegetable garden. He would show up every spring and dig out the entire back yard garden. Usually taking a few loads of old soil and dirt away in a rented truck. Then he would fill the whole garden with fresh soil and his special blend of fertilizer. Margaret thought that this year’s tomatoes had been the best so far.
The smile spread as she returned to the sitting room. Her friends paused and looked up with great anticipation. Margaret sat down and placed the object on the table, hearing a small gasp from each lady.
She set a small iron box down on the table. The box was powder-coated in a Pepto Bismol-pink. The grime from the garden had blackened some of the chrome-plated edging which adorned the box, but the fine chrome locking clasp bolted to the front still shined. There was a keyhole in the clasp and Margaret held the key in her hands. She could see the envy on her friends’ faces. It oozed from their pores like green mist. She placed the key into the lock, turned it, and with an audible click the latch fell open and she lifted the lid.
It was lined in the darkest blue velvet either of the women had ever seen. Nestled in the soft folds was a silver chain. Margaret plucked up the chain, producing the entire length. At the end of the chain, dangling from a ring expertly set through the nail end was the big toe of a child. Pale flesh still clung to the bone. The toenail was painted neon orange.
“This is from Philip’s latest grandchild, such special girls, there are twelve now.”
The other women were stunned. Margaret was beaming. Just to show her good faith in the game she offered up a small box for Louise.
“Go on and open it,” Margaret said.
Louise opened her present and a tear ran over her eyelid and down her cheek. Inside the carton was a blood stained A & P uniform and $500. |
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