The Reunion

November 1st


Surely the sun could not have witnessed the horrific events of the early morning hours, or she would have chosen not to rise. Unaware, she combed the trees with golden fingers until stumbling upon the remnants. Then, in sorrow, she took cover behind the nearest cloud where she remained hidden for the rest of the day.

By high noon, under the weeping clouds, two unlucky weekend wanderers had hiked their way into the thick of the woods. Miles from any modern structure, the only sound was that of snapping twigs beneath their drudging feet. They meandered quietly through wet trees until coming upon a bend in the shallow creek. Then, bewildered by the scene before them, they came to a halt.

Slightly protruded from beneath the sparkling flow was a small costumed body; legs and torso acted as anchor as her head and shoulders bobbed aimlessly with each surge. The child’s skin, polished and bare like it had been licked clean, glowed as the water lapped against her. The gentle creek rocked her side to side, as would a caring mother, soothing the gaping wounds hollowing her cheek and neck. With one wire and lace wing flapping in the quiet current, it appeared heaven had lost an angel.

They turned and ran. Fled from the depth of the woods back to the lively hustle of cars and the safety of pollution. They ran until well within city limits where death was only a headline and criminal acts were of a more predictable variety. Only then did they stop, breathless from their flight, and try to gather enough strength to put into words their grizzly discovery.

------

October 29th (Three Days Earlier)

“Emille should be here any second,” Elise said, scanning the room for last minute improvements. The apartment was a humble size, practically spotless. She had spent the hours before dawn straightening, quietly digging dust from out-of-sight corners, scrubbing stubborn spots from the television screen. The dense light from the heavily shaded lamps meshed with eager sunlight as it pushed through translucent drapes. The mixture left the air a warm yellow. Cozy, needing only a crackling fire. So here you go, she thought, lighting a candle and admiring the tiny glow.

“You getting nervous?” Joey asked as he watched Elise fidget with the candle in front of her. It was burnt orange, rustic, and centered on the countertop, which shone from layers of cleaning agents. She shifted it back and forth in no more than a quarter of an inch in each direction. “Elise, it’s perfect,” he said, moving in behind her and pushing his head into her upper back.

Elise was round and cushy like a favorite pillow; pleasantly plump. Her body rolled like gentle hills beneath jeans and sweater, her skin exuding a powdery scent. She had applied a shiny gloss atop cherry red lips, fuzzied up thin eye lashes, and styled stubborn black hair to frame her beaming face.

“Of course I’m nervous, Joey,” she turned in his arms and leaned back against the counter. “I haven’t seen her in almost four years.” Rolled her eyes. “God, maybe more…”

His smile was comfortable; easy. “Stop grinding your teeth there, Vito,” he said, grabbing her chin between finger and thumb. “It’s gonna be fine.”

He walked over to the couch and pulled open the drapes. Squinted at the harsh light that fell into the room. “I’m sure she’s nervous, too,” he continued, touching the glass with two fingers, confirming that the morning air was indeed frigid. “But you’re sisters.” He grunted cracking open the window, a biting breeze slipping through. “And let’s face it, if she’s half as crazy as you are, you won’t have to work for a conversation.”

It was meant to be reassuring, and feeling successful, Joey flopped down on the couch. He waved the remote at the television like a magic wand, settling only after a voice rose from the box in acknowledgement.

Elise watched as he twisted his lanky body into comfortable. He was tall, all bones, and his skin looked taut, like it might give under the pressure. She laughed at the sight of him nestling.

Only a few years her senior, Joey had yet to marry. He had appeared when she was barely three steps out of a rotten marriage, and wooed her before she started patching up her tattered life. Proposed almost immediately, like he was making up for lost time. But she latched on, somehow trusting him; opened her home the moment he had embraced her and her child as if they were his own.

In six short months, Joey had proven his resilience. Had listened to her woes like a compound diagnosis. Brushed them off. Divorce, dysfunctional family, disabled child; like a contender unscathed by his opponent’s relentless blows, he kept bouncing, ready for the next round.

Elise stared blankly at the blaze of flashing images as Joey skated through Saturday morning programming. With her eyes still on the television, she sat down next to him and rested her hand on his knee. He immediately shut it off.

“What’s up, Leesie?” He turned toward her, allowing her full view of the fine lines radiating from his green eyes. He was durable, but her problems were as steady as Chinese water torture. She wondered if this would be the one to send him running.

“Paul called again…” she said, her words trailing off as her eyes found her knees, his knees, then finally his face.

“Seriously?” he asked, his voice brimming with more concern than contempt. “When?”

His composure was astounding. Elise had worried early in their relationship how he would respond to Paul, who seemed to be standard variety for an ex-husband. Paul was emotional, often unpredictable, and she postponed explaining the situation to Joey until his increasingly erratic behavior required it. But Joey was as cool as October as he listened, suspiciously understanding, and she had wondered since if he had mastered the disguise of jealousy, or if he honestly never succumbed to it.

“Elise?” he probed, bringing her back to the present.

“Sorry, I was just trying to remember. I think it was around seven? When you were in the shower…”

“What did he say?” Joey asked.

“Nothing. Just hung up.”

“But it was his number, right?” He picked up the cordless, scanning through recent callers.

She let her head fall onto his lap, dramatically tapping her forehead against his knee like it were a brick wall. Let him tame the motion with a single stroke of his hand. “Yeah. I saw it before I picked it up. I’m not even sure why I answered. I know I shouldn’t, but I feel bad for him. Like maybe he doesn’t know what to say—or that it’s an accident somehow.”

“An accident, Elise? He’s called like twelve times this week.” He withdrew his hand from where it flattened her hair. “That’s no accident, Elise. That’s stalking.”

She looked up and, from her place on his knees, saw stubbly chin; a shadow that had taken him a week to grow. She watched him scratch at it like it was a nuisance as he stared at the window. She had come to adore the look, recognizing it as one of consideration, or contemplation. One that usually preceded a reasonable solution.

“Leesie,” he said, lifting her back to a sitting position, “we’re gonna have to figure this one out. Really. I don’t wanna pry—and am certainly not trying to replace him, but he makes you crazy.”

Elise liked the sympathetic tone, welcomed more.

“But I’m not letting you off that easy. You gotta stop letting him do it, Elise. I love you for it, but you’re too nice. You think everyone’s an angel…” he said solemnly.

She looked away, not as willing an audience.

“And he takes Lizzy, Elise,” Joey persisted, sensing her quiet rationalization. “Takes her outside of the house. Sometimes for hours… Doesn’t that worry you?” He was nodding his head, anticipating her agreement.

She dismissed the possibility before considering it—knew Paul wasn’t capable of harm. In three years of marriage Paul and she had barely exchanged enough words to constitute a fight. Knew he was guilty of neglect, but not of abuse. He had never so much as lifted a hand—

Except for once, she thought, her mind drawing her back to the incident as it had a thousand times before. Just that once, when he wrapped two hands around her neck and squeezed—holding it long enough for her breath to get caught beneath the grasp.

“You bitch,” was all he said before releasing.

Elise never knew if it qualified as an assault, even an act of emotional abuse, but was too wise to file it away completely. There was something distant about him that night, and the incident left her questioning whether it was only a fluke, or a glimpse into her future.

“I know you’re right, but it’s hard,” she replied, wedging her hands between her knees like a child preparing to be reprimanded. “He’s still her father, Joey; I can’t just make him go away. You understand, don’t you?”

The question was as hopeful as it was questioning, and he wasn’t too keen on disappointing her. “Sure, I do, baby.” Joey patted her knee, picked up her hand, and kissed the palm. He opened his mouth to say something more, but sealed it again in a grin. “Sure, I do.”

------

The tap at the door was soft, hardly noticeable over the demanding grind of the garbage disposal. Elise switched it off, watching the water wash down the remainder of sludge.

“You gonna get that?” Joey’s voice came from somewhere behind a closed door. It was cheerful, even excited, like they were awaiting a holiday visitor.

“Got it!” she yelled back, exiting the kitchen.

The door knob was slippery beneath her damp grasp. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed it and turned. There on the other side was Emille, all five foot nine inches of her, maybe 125 pounds. She was stunning, casually sleek. Her hair was long and fiery red, and in flowing black slacks and slim black sweater, she seemed to rise above Elise like the shadow between skyscrapers.

”Emiiiiillle!” Elise practically squealed, throwing open her arms. She stepped into the hall to hug her.

“My God, Elise,” Emille smiled, returning the embrace. “It’s good to see you,” she said, standing back again to get a better look. She traced the contour of her sister’s body, eyes swinging wide around her full hips. “You look beautiful.”

“I look fat,” Elise laughed, pulling her sister inside, taking her bags.

“Oh, stop,” Emille said, surveying the seating arrangement. She chose the sofa chair, sat down to remove snug shoes. “So,” she shrugged, “here we are.”

The words were final, more like the end trails of a dying conversation than the beginning of one, and Elise was at a loss. “Yup!” she responded, taking the place on the couch across from her sister.

So much had happened in four years: marriage, divorce, death. Her baby girl had grown to be big. It was not yet 8:30 in the morning, and she didn’t know where to begin. A bottle of wine, unfortunately, was out of the question.

“I’m so sorry, Emille,” she started, as if her sister might find offense in her thoughts. She reached her hand to her neck, letting her fingers find her lucky spot. Lucky for the fact the underlying bone was still sheathed in flesh. With all the rubbing it had endured over the years, it should have been bare. “I didn’t sleep last night. Maybe got an hour…”

“Oh God, Elise. Stop apologizing.” Emille replied, watching as the contagious red crept across Elise’s neck, spread onto her chin, and conquered her ears. She knew her sister was nervous; remembered childhood recitals, family gatherings. Remembered Elise’s head lighting up like a festive Christmas bulb. “Elise, relax.”

The tension was too deep in her bones to shake, but she was relieved by Emille’s thoughtful reassurance her all the same. “I know, I know. But, honestly, things have been tough around here, you know, with mom passing, and…”

“Hey there!” Joey’s voice interjected from the hallway. Both Elise and Emille turned their heads in greeting.

“Hi!” Emille answered back, rising and shaking his hand.

Elise patted the empty spot on the couch, indicating for Joey to join them. “Emille, this is Joey, my fiancée.”

“Fiancee?” Emille repeated, visibly confused. “Ummm… what happened to Paul?”

“Oh, that’s right. You never did meet Paul… Well, we really do have some catching up to do! I divorced Paul about a year ago, met Joey here maybe a month later, and we just kind of meshed, I guess,” she said, shrugging and smiling in Joey’s direction.

“How nice,” Emille said, scrunching up her nose and wiggling it like she was entertaining a baby. It was an exaggerated gesture as she was surely not one to coo over the details of a romance.

“Yeah, I stuck around for the cooking,” Joey said, returning Elise’s smile, but found her peering at Emille’s bare ring finger.

Emille looked down at her hand; lifted it for everyone to see. “Yes, I’m still single,” she said teasingly. “And,” she reached down and rubbed her pelvis in slow motion, the gesture making Elise blush, “still childless.” Her smile was devious, more of a challenge than a hook for sympathy. “But it’s not for a lack of trying,” Emille continued, flicking a piece of lint from her knee. “I’ll fuck just about anything that walks.”

She winked at Joey. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, winked at Elise.

Elise snuck a peek in Joey’s direction, hoped for some witty remark, but he just nodded his head like it was set to automatic.

“Looks like it just wasn’t meant to be, which is fine,” Emille paused, her words dense in the air like pollution. “Well, well, well…” she said, leaning back and folding her arms across her chest, “who do we have here?”

Elise realized it was the stir in the hallway, not self-censoring, that curtailed Emille’s brutal monologue.

“Oh, Lizzy!” she said, already forgetting the ordeal. She beckoned the child to join them. “Good m-o-o-r-n-i-i-n-g!” she said, stretching the word to annunciate each syllable. “Say, ‘Good morning, Emille’!” She pointed in Emille’s direction, urging the child’s greeting.

Lizzy was small for four—tiny really. Her head, emphasized by the lofty red curls orbiting it like planets, was her most prominent feature. Her eyes were cast down to the floor as she parted two small lips. “Ah-moriiin,” she whispered.

Pale flesh peeked out between mismatched socks and the hem of her fading flannel nightgown. With her head hung low, she shuffled across the carpet like a cross-country skier.

Elise prepared herself for the imminent shock as the girl approached the side of the couch, but Lizzy stopped before making contact. Stood at the arm like a bellboy awaiting further instructions.

“Can you…go…give…Emille,” pointed again in her sister’s direction, “a kiss?”

Lizzy took one shy glance toward the unfamiliar face then climbed onto her mother’s lap, burying her face in her neck.

Emille looked on quietly as the makeshift family cuddled and purred. Watched intently as Joey moved in, nibbling playfully on the girl’s shoulder. “Ah morneen, Carrot Top!” he said in a burly, pirate voice, puffing out his chest like a gorilla. He scratched the top of her head and beamed as a muffled giggle rose from beneath lumps of red hair.

Elise pushed back from the circle, warning Joey with a severe stare. “Joey, don’t do that,” she said, scolding him with her tone. “Say it right, or don’t say it at all.”

Emille was disgusted, unable to keep it in. “Oh, lighten up!” she interrupted. “You’re so goddamned uptight, Elise!”

“Actually,” Joey cut in, frustrated by Emille’s impudence, “I’m the one that’s wrong. Lizzy’s got a speech delay.” He looked at the girl and then at Elise again. “I know better than that…”

Emille, delighted by a good flaw, was quieted by the confession. Believed a defective child be a direct reflection of an imperfect mother. Smiled at Elise. “So, what’s she got? A stutter?”

“If only it were that simple,” Elise said, her words sounding too harsh for their meaning. She lightened her tone, spoke as would a child. “It’s just hard for us sometimes, right sweetie?” She kissed Lizzy’s forehead, and finding it gratifying, went back for another. “But we’re working on it. We’ll get it, right?”

Elise looked back at Emille, a more somber tone indicating the message was meant for adult ears. “It really is a problem though—very frustrating at times. And I worry, you know?”

Emille’s expression was sympathetic as she eyed the child. “How’s that?” she asked, biting off a fingernail in strings.

“The truth is, Emille, she can’t tell us what she’s thinking, or what she wants.” Kissed the child’s forehead again. “She can’t tell us if she’s sick, or if she’s hurt.” She shook her head sadly as if suffering from defeat, “Emille, she can’t ask us for help.”

------

October 30th

Joey awoke to a clatter in the kitchen; the smell of egg and bread greeted his senses as he climbed out of bed. Digging crust from his tired eyes, he sauntered down the hall to see who was astir.

“Good morning, baby,” Elise said happily, greasy spatula in hand. She looked like a mad scientist with a cloud of steam rising behind a head of untamed hair.

“Good God,” Joey laughed. “I supposed you haven’t seen the mirror yet,” he said, kissing the back of her neck. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of fresh juice.

“Can you pour enough for everyone?” Elise asked, tending to the hissing food. “Emille’s already awake, and breakfast is just about done.”

Joey filled three tall glasses before taking a sip of his own. “Hey, I was thinking about bringing Lizzy with me today. I need to run some errands first, but then I’ll take her to the park. It’ll give you guys some time to yourselves. Maybe you can figure out what’s happening with your mom’s burial and all.”

Elise rinsed the utensil and laid it next to the stove. “Actually, baby, I want Lizzy to hang out with us today.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “I really want her and Emille to have some time together.”

“Leesie, let me take her.” He responded in a whisper slightly louder than her own. “I mean, you pranced Lizzy around in front of your sister all day yesterday, bragged about her, practically flaunted her. Am I mistaken, or did you tell me Emille lost her baby a couple of years ago? Don’t you think she might take it the wrong way?”

Elise looked flustered. “Oh, Jesus, Joey, that’s not what I was doing! I just want Emille to get to know—Oh, God. Is that how it looks?”

He nodded.

“That is not what I was trying to do.” She turned off the burner, stared blankly at the cabinet door. “I wasn’t thinking… But it’s been a long time since the baby died, Joey, and she’s not the jealous type—”

“And all that talk about not being able to have kids? What was that then?” Joey asked.

“Look, Joey, you don’t know Emille.”

“Do you?” he asked.

Her voice was dry, even harsh, as it cut in on their hushed ones. “Stop talking about me, you two,” Elise said, appearing in the hallway in an oversized tee. “It’s not nice to whisper.”

“Oh, Emille!” Joey said, his eyes involuntarily finding her bare legs before darting away. Elise glared at him as he continued, “We weren’t talking about you. We were talking about Lizzy. I was just telling Elise that she’s been acting strangely lately.”

“Oh…” Emille whispered mockingly as she entered the kitchen. “Of course…You were whispering about your kid who doesn’t understand English…” She brushed up against Joey, who, under the watchful eye of Elise, was already flat against the counter. “So what has she been doing?”

Joey moved away from Emille like she carried a virus, found the stool on the other side of the counter. He focused on Elise when he spoke again, like Emille was only a voice on the other end of a conference call. “Just acting funny. Something’s up. I wonder if it doesn’t have to do with your mom, Leesie. Maybe she’s picked up on what happened?”

“Never knew her,” Elise interjected sharply. “Lizzy didn’t know her from Peter Pan. My mom never bothered with us.”

“Imagine that,” Emille said sarcastically.

“Oh and—pardon me, Emille,” he said, excusing his interruption. “I meant to tell you, Elise, your girl was up all night—really upset. She kept saying something, but I couldn’t understand it.”

Elise passed out plates piled high with breakfast, and the three headed into the living room. “What was it?” she asked, sitting down and blowing steam from her eggs.

“I can’t remember, but it’ll come to me. She was saying it over and over but then just stopped once I got to her.” He closed his eyes, trying to imagine the word. “Noahmie, noamyia, noahany—”

Elise shook her head. “Could be anything. Maybe something she learned at school?”

Joey dismissed the idea. “No way, she must’ve had a nightmare—was scared as hell. I don’t even know if she was fully awake.”

“Well, I didn’t hear her,” Emille offered, wiping toast from her lips.

“Yeah, I was surprised,” he said without looking up from the plate. “I knocked on the door to let you know I was coming in, but you were passed out.” He turned his head at the sound of an approaching car, peered out the window. “You must’ve been..."

Elise looked to see what kept Joey from finishing, followed his gaze. “Oh, shit.” She dropped her fork and got up from the couch. “Is that Paul?”

Emille followed them to the window, wedging herself in between their shoulders.

“It is. That’s his car,” Elise said to herself.

Outside, among a scatter of parked vehicles, a lean black Mercedes cruised slowly by the front of the complex. It circled the lot, finally creeping to a stop in the space just outside the apartment. The glare from the windshield veiled the driver.

“Nice,” Emille said, eyeing the ride. “Elise! You left that?” She playfully pushed Elise’s shoulder, which caved with each shove.

Elise watched intently as the driver’s door opened. Watched the unshaven face appearing in its wake. Tattered baseball cap, soiled shirt, fuzzy neck. With neglect apparent, Paul looked like he had gone mad.

“Ew,” Emille said, withdrawing from the window. “Never mind.” She patted Joey’s back like he was in luck.

The breeze picked up dead leaves and tossed them in the air like confetti. Elise, Joey, and Paul remained motionless, fully engaged in an unarmed showdown. It was Emille that made the first move.

Tap tap tap, her knuckles said as they beat upon the glass.

“Emille!” Elise shouted, watching as Paul leaned back into his seat and closed the door. “What are you doing?”

She watched as the car maneuvered out of the space, heading toward the far end of the lot. With Paul at a safe distance, Elise dropped the drapes and faced her sister. “What the hell are you doing?”

Emille fell back into the couch, tugged at a corner of her shirt to cover exposed panties. “What’s going on here, Elise?” She smiled, mildly entertained. She looked to be enjoying herself, like she had stumbled across humor in a movie with bad reviews.

“What’s going on is that Paul’s been coming around lately. Doing stupid shit like that.” She pointed towards the lifeless parking lot, voice rising in alarm.

“How the hell was I supposed to know that? You didn’t tell me he’s a stalker!”

“Huh!” Joey laughed.

Elise shot him a dirty look as she returned to her seat. She picked up her fork, scooped a smidgeon of cold egg onto it, and dropped it again. “Okay,” she said in a puff of breath. “I’ve just been so fucking nervous. He’s been acting like such an ass…”

“Uh yeah, since we’ve met, coincidentally” Joey chimed in. “Emille, he calls all the time—hangs up. Cruises through the complex—doesn’t come to the door.”

“Have you called the cops?” Emille asked.

Joey looked smug. Lifted his hands and waved them in the air like they had a winner. Pointed a stiff finger in Emille’s direction. “Brilliant idea. I’m glad you said it.”

Emille stood and faced him. “God damn it, Joey! He hasn’t done anything!”

“Yet,” Joey slid in.

She walked past him, her knee crashing into his own as she passed. “Just drop it. It’s time for Lizzy to get up anyway.”

Emille waited until only Joey and she remained before pressing for information. “What’s the deal, Joey?”

Joey gathered the remains of breakfast, straining to balance it between two arms. “It’s not my place to talk about it,” he said, heading towards the kitchen. Then he stopped and said without turning, “but you know, fuck it. They’ve been arguing over custody, Emille, and I think the guy’s a prick. He didn’t give two shits about Lizzy until I started coming around, and now…” he just shook his head and continued on his path.

Emille followed him into the kitchen and helped him lower the teetering plates onto the counter. “You think he’s dangerous?” she asked, scraping the food into the trash. “More important, is Lizzy safe?”

Joey hesitated. “How can I know? I don’t know him that well. I worry about them both, but Elise won’t hear it.”

Emille smiled, patted Joey’s shoulder. “Well, I’m here now, and I love that little girl like she’s my own. Maybe I can help.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Joey answered, studying her expression. “We could use it.”

------

Elise tossed her shoes down by her bedroom door. Removed torn socks, rolled them into a ball, and aimed them for the hamper in the far corner. Too tired to react, she watched as they bounced off its side and rolled half the distance back to her.

She was bushed, crawled slowly across the bed still dressed. Joey didn’t even flinch as she crashed into the pillow next to him, only breathed evenly like he was fast asleep. She watched the methodical rise and fall of his scrawny shoulders beneath the bulky sweatshirt; eyed the watch on his wrist. A creature of habit, she knew he could not fall asleep without putting it away. She sensed a fight was on the horizon.

“Well,” she said gingerly, trying to put a finger on his mood, “Emille brought a costume for Lizzy to wear tomorrow night.”

She stared at the back of his head, awaiting his response. “Joey?”

“Yeah, I heard you,” he said, his voice taut. “What did she bring?”

“It’s an angel.” She leaned over and scratched at the nape of his neck, a gesture of peace, should that have been what he was waiting for. “It’s cute, I guess. Not really what I had in mind, but I…”

“Don’t want to be rude,” he finished her thought like he had heard it once too often.

She pushed herself up on an elbow “What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked, trying hard for playful rather than confrontational.

Joey threw his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself into a sitting position. “I thought we already had her costume.” He looked back at her over his shoulder. “I thought that’s what you took three days making.”

She lay back again, felt hatred for the ceiling above her. “Right. I took three days—not you. So why do you care?”

“I care because you made it. Because you cared.”

“Okay, that’s fine, but see, now things have changed. And with Emille here, my daughter getting to know her takes priority. I don’t expect you to get it, being that you don’t have any children of your own, but I want her to love my sister…”

Joey dropped his head, swallowed hard. From her angle, he looked to be headless. “Well, not everyone deserves to be loved, Elise. And you know what? Your sister’s a manipulative bitch.”

“What?” she asked, feeling invigorated by the clash. “Excuse me, Joey, but you are way out of line.”

He turned and found her red face only inches from his own. “Well then I might as well add this: you need to get your priorities straight. You talk a good game about all of this shit you do for your daughter, but in the end, she comes second to any creep who happens to pass by.”

Tears gathered in Elise’s eyes, her nose stinging as they drew nearer to falling.

“You’re so god damned worried about being rude that you’re willing to jeopardize…” He stopped himself at the escape of her first tear. Wondered what he was accomplishing.

Elise clenched her teeth with such force her temple rippled beneath her skin. “Fuck you, Joey,” she said in a cold voice. Her stare dead upon him, eyes flat from fury. “Well, as long as we’re being forthcoming,” she continued in the unfamiliar tone, “let me tell you what I think. I think you’ve got the hots for my big sister.”

Joey just shook his head, embarrassed by the accusation.

“I think you can’t handle having her around, so you come up with all of this…”

He stood up and moved to the dresser, shifting various items around until his keys became visible. He snatched them up and squeezed, the grooves and peaks indenting his flesh, and answered to her reflection in the mirror. “I think we’re done here.”

“So I’m right?” she asked, wanting to be wrong, believing she was wrong, but too deep into the battle to retreat.

“I think I should go to my dad’s tonight,” he responded, his anger dissipating into resolve. “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.” He reached down and grabbed his jacket, stopped at the door and leaned on the frame. “I was supposed to take Lizzy tomorrow night for trick-or-treating…”

Elise sobbed freely, leaked tears like a dam under stress. “Just go, Joey.” She said heaving, surrendering into hysteria. “Get out!”

------

October 31st

The wind howled on the other side of the window, an occasional gust making it tremble in its frame. Elise shivered, pulling her robe tight beneath her chin. She had awoken to the phone ringing, the sound shrill and disturbing at such an early hour, and had emerged from her bedroom to answer. She felt a chill as she watched Paul’s number light up the display. Sought out extra layers, adding one with each additional call, but found the chill was unmanageable. Now, in full garb, she was colder than ever.

Elise’s eyes were swollen from crying. From not enough sleep. And Paul’s intermittent calls were like salt in an open wound. Each time the phone sang out, jarring the thick silence, it sounded more desperate, like Paul was deep in descent, and it ate at her stomach like acid.

Elise picked up the cordless, letting her thumb glide over the top of Joey’s numbers. Contemplated making the call.

“Hey,” Emille said with a raspy voice, clearing her throat. “You all right?” She was making her way for the couch, looking rested, almost luxurious, in plush black slippers and matching robe.

Elise dropped the phone next to her, pushed it away. “Yeah, I think so. Had a pretty rough night.”

“You guys fought, huh?” Emille inquired, wrapping an old throw around her shoulders.

“You heard it, huh?” Elise retorted, dismayed.

Emille nodded. “So what was it about?”

Elise tucked her knees and cold toes under her robe. Resembled a piece of abstract art in fuzzy gray. “Honestly?” she asked, already knowing the answer. “You.”

Emille drew in a great big breath, seemed bothered, but not surprised. She clasped her hands together like a librarian. “I kind of figured as much. You know,” she started, moving over and taking the seat next to Elise, squaring up to face her, “something’s just not right about him, honey.”

Elise remained still, shifting only her eyes to meet her sister’s. “Okay,” she said, juggling feelings of defensiveness and relief.

“I’m not gonna lie, hon, he’s done some stuff that makes me a little uneasy. I mean, I kind of feel—“

“Like what?” Elise asked, more interested in hard examples than a soft analysis.

Emille closed her eyes, looked like she was meditating on it, conjuring up images like old spirits, then said slowly, “I just don’t know if I like the way he handles Lizzy.”

It blew Elise away, her mind stumbling on each word like it was delivered in a second language. “Are you saying—”

“I’m not saying anything. I’m only making an observation. And suggesting that maybe you keep an eye out.”

Feeling like she was suffocating, Elise shook loose from her robe. “Like something sexual?” The word was nauseating. Her stomach turned.

“Look. I don’t want to upset you, I just wanted to bring it to your attention. I think what bugs me is that he’s just too attached, and with my history, I can’t ignore that—”

“Emille, not to be rude, but don’t you think you’re having been molested could make you a little paranoid?”

Emille frowned, saddened by the answer. “No, I don’t,” she said simply. “I think it makes me the expert.”

“Oh, Emille,” she whispered, picturing every bit of interaction between Joey and her child, wondering what she had missed. “I am so sorry…” She rested her head against Emille’s warm shoulder.

“Always apologizing,” Emille whispered back from somewhere above her head. Her words were light, like they were passing through smiling lips. “We have plenty of time to talk about this, and we will figure it out, but, unfortunately, we have another pressing issue to tend to.”

“Mom,” Elise offered, thinking of the ashes in the other room.

“Yup,” Emille replied.

Elise was relieved at the change in topic. Wondered what it meant about her that death was preferable over dysfunction. “You’re right. I was thinking about having a little ceremony—maybe…”

“I was thinking we could just get her in the ground and be done with it,” she winked at Elise as she sat up again. “After all, it’s Halloween—the perfect day to send her home.”

------


A drizzle fell from the sky so light it was barely more substantial than a mist. Darkness had come early, riding in on the shirttail of rumbling clouds. The leaves that were alive and dancing only hours before had become soggy, clinging to the landscape. Clinging to her window as if for dear life.

Elise lit her candle, imagined it a roaring fire. She poured herself a generous glass of red wine and settled down to wait.

The apartment was empty, almost hollow. Each creak echoed like a single violin chord in a concert hall. Saddened her. It was nearing five in the evening, but the stove was cold, the television silent, and the air stale like death had invaded her home.

Her pulse quickened at the sound of the phone. She was fast to answer it, slow to speak.

“Elise?” Joey’s voice cracked.

“Joey, hey,” she responded lifelessly.

“What’s up?” he asked in a warm tone, not waiting long for her response. “Leesie? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just been a long day. Paul’s been calling,” she said flatly, stingy with the usual details.

“He called again?”

It was the same question Joey had asked her time and again, but somehow it sounded whiny, like his inabilities as a man had been exposed. “Yup. Drove by twice, too.”

“Jesus,” he replied in a heavier tone. “Well, I’m worried about Lizzy.”

Elise flinched, aching at the sound of her daughter’s name in his mouth. She picked up the halo that Lizzy had refused to wear, rubbed its lattice border between her fingers.

“Is she ready? I’d like to get her early, maybe bring her back to my dad’s—”

“She’s not here, Joey. I sent her with Emille.”

------

He was inside the apartment within the hour, pacing the room like an inmate. Elise sat quietly and watched his feet as they passed by. “I was nervous about Paul,” she said, knowing it was a lame excuse. “I didn’t want Lizzy here, so I told Emille to take her.”

“That’s bullshit, Elise. You’re playing games,” he said, steaming. “So why isn’t she answering the phone?”

Elise picked up the phone and hit redial, listened to the canned clicks between rings. “They’re fine, Joey.”

“You shouldn’t have done this, Elise. It was wrong. What I wanted to tell you last night before I left was I think Lizzy was saying ‘No Emille’. Remember the other night? When she didn’t sleep? I wanted to tell you, but I knew you wouldn’t listen. Think about it, Elise, she stopped saying it once I was in the room…”

“Stop it. Listen to yourself, Joey! No Emille? Seriously?” She was on her feet and heading for her wine. “You’re telling me not to trust my own sister, she’s telling me not to trust my fiancée. Told me she wasn’t comfortable with how you were with Lizzy…”

He stopped, stared at her glass as she lifted it to her lips, her words in a pile in front of him. He sorted through them like a trial transcript, looking for discrepancies. “She said what?” he asked, astonished. “That woman is delusional.”

“Is she?” Elise asked.

Joey leaned on the counter, rubbed two throbbing temples. “I would leave right now if it weren’t for Lizzy. But I’m not going anywhere until Lizzy is home safe. You want me to leave then, that’s fine. But right now, I suggest you get your sister on that phone.”

Elise picked up the phone again, feeling jarred. She knew Joey hadn’t harmed her. Knew he was right. She watched the beam of headlights crawl slowly across the living room wall as the car came to a stop outside the window. She hit redial, blew warm breath into her clenched fist as she listened to each ring.

Joey crossed the room to take a look at the vehicle, half-expecting to see Elise’s rusted blue Toyota. As he parted the drapes, he saw how the car shined under the lamplight. That it was a well-groomed black.

Four rings. Five rings. She was about to hang up. “Elise?” Emille’s voice was shaky, her breathing jagged.

“Emille! Oh my God! I’ve been trying to get you for hours!” Elise started, waving down Joey, signaling she had made contact.

But Joey only eyed the parked vehicle, his brow creasing with concern.

Emille’s voice had become a whisper, somewhere between a sob and a plea. “Oh God, Elise. Something’s terribly wrong,” she said, the words sounding too far from the phone.

“What Emille? Can you speak up?”

Joey turned his head between Elise and the window like he was looking for a break in heavy traffic.

“Oh Elise,” Emille’s voice quivered. Then louder, “It’s Paul. He’s taken Lizzy!”

Elise could hardly discern the sound of Emille’s voice from the thud of her heart in her ears. The room was spinning. Joey’s lips were moving, but his words, his movements, were all a tangle of distress. “Jesus,” she heard herself say, the word thick, hanging in the air like a sad song.

“Did you hear me, Elise?” Joey’s voice demanded. “What the hell’s going on?” he asked, still holding the drapes in place.

Elise closed her eyes, gathered enough concentration to get information. “How long ago, Emille? How long ago did they leave?”

“I’m watching him drive away now,” Emille answered, her voice tight but tearless. “It’s fucking Paul! He drove right up and just put her in the car!”

“Elise!” Joey again, louder. “Damn it! What’s Emille saying?”

She could feel herself unraveling, like her skin had popped at the seam. She had crossed the room to Joey, stood before him with one hand extended, grasping the phone. She held it up for him to take with trembling hand, her face devoid of sensation. She wanted Joey solve it, find Paul. Bring Lizzy back. “Paul has her,” was all she could say, pushing the phone in his direction.

Joey stepped back in repulsion, like Elise was offering him a dead fish. Shook his head, slowly at first, gaining momentum with each twist. “No, Elise,” he said, looking back at the window. Pointing at the car. “Paul’s right there.”