Bentley Little: The House

The West was supposed to have a booming job market these days, and once again he found himself thinking that it might be better to just pull up stakes and follow the sun rather than sit here in this crummy row house and wait for something to turn up.

At least he wasn't such a macho jerk that he resented Margot for bringing home a paycheck. He was grateful that she had a job, and he had no hangups about having to be the primary breadwinner of the household. He and Margot weren't in competition, they were a team, one for all and all for one, and he was proud of her success.

Still, for his own sake, he wanted to work. He wasn't creative, was not an artist or a writer or a musician, and he had nothing productive to do with his free time. More than the money, it was the desire to dispel this feeling of uselessness that he wanted.

The phone rang. Margot. He'd forgotten that he was supposed to call her, and he quickly apologized before giving her a thumbnail sketch of his morning.

She sighed sympathetically. "Doesn't look good, huh?"

"I'm not holding my breath."

"Don't worry," she said. "Something'11 turn up."

"Yeah."

"Are you busy this afternoon?"

He snorted. "Yeah. Right."

"I need you to go to the store and pick up some hamburger buns and ground beef. I forgot my ATM card and have no cash."

"I don't have any cash either."

"My card's either on the dresser or the bathroom sink."

"The sink?"

"I don't want a lecture."

"Sorry."

"I'll pick up Tony on my way home."

"I can do it."

"You can do it tomorrow. We'll switch cars."

Daniel understood. "He's embarrassed by the Buick?"

"He didn't say anything, but yeah. You know how kids are at that age. Embarrassed by everything."

"Especially parents."

Margot laughed. "Especially parents." There was noise in the background, talking. "Wait a sec," she said.

There was a pause, the sound of muffled voices as she conversed with another woman. "Gottago," she said, coming back on the line. "We have a crisis here. Make sure you stop by the store."

"I will. Love you."

"Me too. Bye."

He hung up the phone and switched off the TV, walking through the kitchen and down the hall. The house seemed silent with the television off, too silent, uncomfortably silent, and Daniel immediately began whistling a mindless tune in order to generate some noise.

He was filled with a vague sense of unease as he entered the bedroom, a feeling that intensified as he passed the dresser and approached the narrow doorway that led to the bathroom. It was a strange sensation, one he didn't immediately recognize, and it took him a few moments to realize that it was fear. Not the rational fear of physical danger he'd sometimes experienced as an adult, but a baseless, groundless, superstitious dread he associated with childhood. A fear of the boogeyman was what it was, a fear of ghosts, an emotion he hadn't experienced in decades, and though he felt stupid, he turned around, expecting to see a shape or figure behind him, unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched even after he saw that the room was empty.

Where the hell had this come from? A moment ago he had been on the phone to Margot, having a normal conversation, talking about buying food for dinner, now he was getting the shit spooked out of him walking through his own bedroom.

It was irrational, he knew, and made no sense, but the feeling did not go away, not even when he found Margot's ATM card next to her hairbrush on the tiled counter next to the sink, not even when he hurried out of the bedroom and back down the hall.

It was only when he was finally outside, on the stoop, locking the front door of the house, that the panic left him, that he finally felt as though he could breathe.

Stress.

Maybe he'd been counting on getting that Cutting Edge job more than he thought.

Either that or his house had suddenly become haunted within the past five minutes.

Maybe Margot had died.

Or Tony.

He pushed the thoughts out of his mind. This way lay compulsion. Obsession. There were no ghosts, nothing weird, only his overactive imagination which, after lying in a coma for the past two decades, had suddenly decided to announce its existence.

Stress.

It had to be stress.

Nevertheless, he breathed a little easier when he was in the car and on the road to the grocery store and the house was safely behind him.

After dinner, Daniel sat with Tony at the kitchen table, helping his son with homework while Margot did the dishes.

Tony finally finished his assignment and asked if he could watch TV.

"Only until eight-thirty," Daniel told him. "Then it's time for bed. This is a school night."

"But, Dad--"

"No buts."

Tony slumped out of the kitchen and through the swinging door out to the living room.

"Next year, we'll let him stay up until nine," Margot said.

"If he keeps his grades up."

She smiled. "Never thought you'd turn into your father, did you?'

Daniel pushed back his chair, walked over to the sink, and put his hands on her shoulders, giving her right ear a quick kiss. "I love you, Mrs. Anderson."

"I know."

"Aren't you supposed to say, 'I love you too'?"

"Actions speak louder than words." She dropped her voice. "I thought I'd show you later."

He grinned. "That's why I love you."

From outside, there was the sound of a nunmuffled Charger engine, an earthquake rumble that roared to a crescendo before dying.

"Your brother's here." Daniel returned to his seat.

"Be nice to him."

"Always am."

"Brian looks up to you."

"How much you want to bet that he brings up the fact that I'm still unemployed?"

She looked out the kitchen window, quickly went back to washing, pretending as though she didn't know anyone was here. "Shut up."

Brian knocked once, walked in. He nodded to his sister, sat down at the kitchen table. "Hey, buddy, you found a job yet?"

"No."

"I got a lead on something. It might not pan out, but this guy at the site has a brother who deejays. You know, parties and dances and shit like that? He's looking for someone to help him haul equipment. It's a part-time gig, nights mostly, but, hey, it's something. Might even pick up a few tips."

Daniel shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Why not, man? Haul in a few speakers, hang, listen to some tunes, get paid for it? Can't get much breezier than that."

"Dance music depresses me."

"You really want to depress yourself, listen to Pet Sounds. You know, by The Beach Boys? Most depressing goddamn album ever put to vinyl. I bum out every time I hear that thing."

The employment opportunity was forgotten as Brian began riffing on music, chronicling his likes and dislikes over the past twenty years. Just as well. He wasn't a bad guy, but he was a flake and a half, and he only brought up these so-called "job opportunities" to lord over Daniel the fact that he was working and Daniel wasn't. Brian was six years older than Margot, five years older than Daniel, and though he'd always been loving and supportive in his way, he'd also been slightly resentful that they both had better paying, more respectable jobs than he did, and ever since Daniel had been out of work, he'd been in hog heaven.

It was after eleven before Brian finally left, grabbing his sister around the waist and spinning her once around the kitchen floor. They stood in the doorway, waving, as he woke up half the neighborhood with his car and drove off.

Daniel closed the door, locked it, and Margot kissed him. "Thanks."

Daniel smiled wryly. "Hey, he's family."

"You went above and beyond. Ready for your reward?"

"I've been ready all night."

"Let me go check on Tony."

Margot went down the hall to Tony's room, and Daniel double-checked the doors to make sure they were locked before turning off the lights and heading back to their bedroom. Margot was already standing before the dresser, loosening her hair, and he closed and locked the door behind him as he stepped into the room. He glanced toward the narrow bathroom doorway, saw darkness, shadow. There was a vague feeling of unease, a sense once again that something was wrong, and he walked quickly over to the bathroom and turned on the light, gratified to see that there was nothing out of the ordinary.