Lakewood(24)

Another dip in the road. She could feel every pothole. Bumps and rattles. It sounded like they had gone off road.

“The air is so clean here,” she tried.

When the man parked and she was allowed to sit up, Lena could see they were in a forest, light dappling between green leaves. The observer got out of the car and opened the back door for her. He walked as if he knew the path, gesturing at a high root.

“Has it already started?”

The man turned. He looked as if he was almost on the verge of laughing. “Sorry, my throat.” His voice came out high and thin. “I thought you could hear me in the car.”

“Oh. Feel better,” Lena said.

They walked on, passing white mushrooms and dead leaves. A blister was forming on each of Lena’s big toes. Sweat dripped along her hairline and down her back. “You all could have told me to wear sneakers today,” she said.

The man gave a short laugh, which turned into a cough.

The woods were a dream. Birds chattering so loud that they sounded as if they were inside every tree trunk and below the ground. In the distance, a deer with its head and neck bent low. After about 10 minutes, where Lena almost walked into a patch of poison ivy, they came upon a small cabin.

Some cigarette butts and crushed beer cans were scattered around it; they made Lena feel as if they had scared off a bunch of partying teens. All the windows were nailed and boarded shut. The observer opened the cabin’s door and turned on his phone’s flashlight. On the ground were shotgun shells. Empty plastic bottles. She cleared her throat. He didn’t take the hint.

There was a small pile of empty water bottles all crushed in the middle. A beach chair Lena kicked lightly, making it wobble, confirming that one emphatic plop would force it to collapse into a heap of rust, metal, plastic.

“So?” Lena asked. “What are we doing here?” Grass poked through the floor slats. It was a place where you would see zip ties, blood, knives, plastic, shovel. A woman’s voice asking for help. The floorboards creaked beneath Lena’s feet.

“You’re going to stay here. You won’t be able to leave the cabin.” His voice was so hoarse, he sounded as if he had been struck by lightning. “I’m going to tell you a secret.”

In the dark, Lena rolled her eyes. Never in her life had she felt so simultaneously scared and annoyed.

He told her when he was a boy, a woman who was so good-looking it made him nervous to even look at her lived next door to him. She was good and kind and liked to bake cookies for his family because his mom was always busy. Her husband was terrible. They could hear screaming and the sounds of an argument at all hours of the night. Lena took a breath. No matter where this story went, it would not be pleasant. One night, when he couldn’t sleep, he looked out his kitchen window. His flashlight wobbled as he spoke, illuminated different parts of the dirty cabin floor. Their kitchen windows faced one another. Sometimes, the moms would wave to each other as they cooked. You know, real neighborly. He saw the wife and husband arguing. The husband slapped her once, twice. Lena’s hand crept to her mouth. She felt that in daylight, with people around, this story might mean very little to her, just more proof of how horrible people can be to one another. Blood coming out of his neighbor’s nose. So much blood, he said. It was coming out of her mouth. Then she reached into the drawer, pulled out a knife, and stabbed her husband. “I was only a little boy, 7 years old. But I thought, good. Good.”

Lena turned toward him. She let out the breath she had been holding.

“Don’t tell this to anyone.”

“I understand,” Lena said. She sneezed. The air stunk of rain and mold. “Did she get in trouble?”

“I don’t remember,” he said. She could tell that was a lie. He pointed the flashlight over to a box. “Food, water. Be measured.”

She stepped toward the box to look through the supplies. The door creaked, opened, then slammed shut.

“Well, bye,” Lena said. Once her eyes adjusted, it was easier to find the sources of light. A small chip off the cabin’s door, parts of the roof in need of repair. She practiced walking, arms spread wide. A scuttling was coming from above. It sounded like an animal on the roof. At least it wasn’t inside.

A person with a clipboard was crouched in the darkest corner. They were bent over, but Lena could feel their eyes on her. Her hands curled up into fists. Especially if the person was a man, she felt completely unsafe being alone in a small cabin with him.

“Hello?” She tensed up and took a few steps toward the person. No reaction. She moved closer until, even in the dark, she could see what she had mistaken for a person was a second chair.

“I almost gave myself a fucking heart attack,” she whispered. Leaning against the wall, she let her heart reset to a normal rhythm. Relaxed and stretched out her fingers.

It had to be almost dinnertime now. If Deziree was feeling well, she would be eating a salad, probably out on the small porch. If she wasn’t, Miss Shaunté and Deziree were probably splitting takeout. They would talk about men or gardening or yoga. Her mom would have all the medicine she needed today. Tomorrow was her first physical therapy appointment. If they were trying to scare Lena, they were doing a bad job. She could live in this cabin alone, using the corner as a bathroom. Stay long enough to lose her sight, if it meant not having to do the mental calculations of what was better: paying the water bill or asking her mother to be miserable.