Michael Collings - The Slab

She shrugged.

There was no understanding kids. But then, that was something she had learned long before. She leaned over and planted a kiss on Burt’s forehead, knowing full well that before she was out of the room the bedding would begin its inevitable trek upward, past shin and knee and tummy and chest, to wrap like a friendly serpent around his neck and head. Oh well, as long as…

Thump.

She straightened so suddenly that she cracked her head on the edge of Will’s bunk. This thump echoed the other ones, the mysterious sounds that had drawn her from her bed and sent her on this nighttime search. She pulled herself away from the bunks and stood in the center of the room.

Eyes closed, ears strained, she concentrated. After what must have been minutes, she heard it again.

Thump thump thump.

It was coming from the roof! She was sure of it. She crossed to the window. The moon glowed faintly through a break in the cloud cover. The rain had stopped, but the wind was still high enough to rustle the elm in the corner of the lot.

Behind the tree, through its December-naked branches, she saw the lights of traffic on the freeway. Even at this hour, she thought, still as busy as ever.

Thump.

Now she had a handle on the sound.

She left the boys’ room and went into Suze’s. She slid the newly hung curtains open and watched as the wind fingered through a line of black yew trees bordering the property next door. The branches seemed dipped in silver and sable, at once intriguing and subtly frightening in the intensity of light and shadow. Catherine shuddered.

Thump.

Yes, that had to be it.

She left Suze’s room, with a final glance at the mound that hid her daughter, and returned to her own bedroom. Willard hadn’t moved. She stepped out of her scuffs and, still wearing the flannel robe, slipped beneath the covers, feeling their clammy chill where they had been turned back, the lingering warmth of her own body further down. Willard seemed to be radiating waves of heat, but Catherine knew that it was only because she had become chilled from her little trip. She put her feet on Willard’s calves. Part of her wanted him to wake up, at least enough to reach for her, perhaps enough to want to do more.

But another part urged him to remain asleep. She didn’t want to tell him what she had done.

She didn’t want to admit that the thumping of seedpods dropping from the yews onto the roof had nearly freaked her out as badly as had the hot water expanding pipes over a decade before. She didn’t want him to know that she had been nervous and upset her first night in the house…in their house. She snuggled against him.

Mentally she thanked the previous owners for being so desperate to move to their new, custom-built house in Newton Park, at the eastern edge of the Valley, that they took a deep cut in their asking price. After all, escrow had fallen through on two previous attempts to sell the house, and if it fell through a third time, Chuck Maxwell had explained, the other family stood a real chance of losing their new place. They had to sell.

And she thanked Chuck as well, with his creative approach to real estate that had gotten them just past the money requirements for the house. A five-thousand dollar landscaping allowance for the bare back yard, paid by the Merricks as part of the deal, had given them just the edge…and the house at 1066 Oleander was theirs.

Theirs.

The word made her feel snug and safe. She nestled against Willard’s back and, her arm resting across his shoulder, finally drifted into sleep.

From the Tamarind Valley Times, 5 November 1989:

SEARCH CONTINUES FOR MISSING VALLEY BUSINESSMAN

The investigation into the disappearance of Bryan Sidney, the Tamarind Valley realtor and construction executive missing since last Friday, expanded today to include county agencies. Sidney, 47, senior partner in Ace-High Construction and co-founder of McCall/Sidney Realty, was reported missing on October 30 when he failed to appear at a meeting of the County Realtors’ Association annual meeting in Santa Barbara, at which he was to deliver the opening address. A full investigation has been launched, said a County Sheriff spokesman today, although there are no substantive leads as yet.

A long-time bachelor, Sidney was last seen by his secretary when he closed his office Thursday evening. He had no scheduled appointments for that night, she claimed, but it was possible that he might have gone…

The Huntleys, January 2010

Settling In

Catherine Huntley jerked awake. She shot a glance at the luminous dial of the digital clock by her nightstand.

It read 2:37 am.

“What…?” she began, and then her sleep-numbed mind registered two things.

Sound…and movement.

The sound was a constant muted roar, an irritating rumble that vibrated on her ears like the approach of a heavily loaded eighteen-wheeler careening out of control down a city road, distant as of yet but drawing closer and closer. The movement was more subtle but for all of that infinitely more frightening. The bed quivered. The windows above her head vibrated tightly in their aluminum frames. The silver slats of the Levelor blinds rattled against each other, clicking like dozens of dice being rattled in a metal cup. Old hand that she was to Southern California’s geologic vagaries, Catherine Huntley recognized the signs.

Earthquake!

The shade on the lamp by her bed was swaying now, back and forth, back and forth, as if someone had jostled it in passing. The movement of the bed had intensified to a clear shaking. The roar grew.

The Big One!

Without thinking, Catherine punched Willard in the shoulder. ”Get up!” she yelled, then she was out of bed and pulling on her robe as she swept through the door, calling over her shoulder again to Willard, “Get up! It’s an earthquake!”

By the time she was halfway down the hall, the sound had stopped, the motion had stopped. The concrete slab again felt solid and stable beneath her feet.

Her bare feet.

She grinned in momentary embarrassment-she had broken rule one of Earthquake etiquette: NEVER WANDER AROUND BAREFOOT. There might be broken glass, broken tiles. All sorts of things that would not go well with bare feet. She could tell from the lack of sound behind her that Willard had remained dead to the world. As usual. Still, getting up at 5:00 am Monday through Friday for the commute into L.A. wasn’t easy on him, so she shouldn’t complain.

Anyway, the immediate crisis seemed to be over. She went down the hallway, straightening a favorite oil painting of a grey-and-brown rabbit huddling in unbelievably vivid green grass, done by a college friend years before. The nightlight in the bathroom shed enough light for her to see that the picture had been jostled well out of plumb by the temblor. With any luck, there wouldn’t be much more damage. Thank God they were still unpacking some of the moving boxes stored in the back bedroom. Grandma’s china and crystal were still safely crated away. If they had been on the shelves…

She glanced in at Suze. Sleeping as usual. The kid could sleep through fire, flood, and famine. Catherine envied her daughter that ability. Since moving into the new house, she had slept restlessly, lightly. She was easily awakened by the slightest sounds. Her cheeks reddened as she remembered the yew trees and the wind less than a month before.

The boys were also asleep. It seemed as if only Catherine had even felt the earthquake, let alone reacted to it. She was about to leave the room and make her way back to bed when one of the boys-probably Will-groaned. It was a long, fitful sound guaranteed to strike a chill up any certified mother’s spine. It was echoed by another moan, this time from the lower bunk.