A House on Eden

5. Sunday

Bruce called my cell phone at nine on Sunday evening. His voice sounded slurred and harsh.

"Bruce?" I said. "Anything the matter?"

"Nothing," he said. "Having myself some beers."

But I knew better. The binging had already begun.

"So, you're not home," he said. "What the hell's going on, Jessie?"

"My mother is ill," I said, "and my father is still out of town for another week. She asked me to stay until then."

"What about your work?" He said.

"I've taken the week off," I said. "I'll be home next Sunday."

"You damn well better," he said. "This was not the deal."

"One week, Bruce," I said. "Enjoy your beer."

He hung up.

Something happened in the house. Something resisted the phone call coming in, not wanting it, wishing it away.

"It's okay,' I said, "he's not coming here. Relax."

I ate the left-over pizza and took a glass of wine out on the porch. A huge German shepherd stood erect against the picket fence, barking and showing his manhood. I walked over to him and reached out with my hand, turning the palm downward. He stopped barking instantly and licked my fingers. I stroked his thick fur, his back, his head. He nestled closer to the fence, looking at me with silent brown eyes.

"That's Max," a woman's voice said. I looked up and a young woman was standing there. She had long dark hair and large eyes. She was wearing a white tee shirt and jeans shorts.

"I'm Jessie," I said, "your new neighbor."

"I'm Beth," she smiled. "You seem to have a way with dogs. Max doesn't like strangers, huh Max?" She stroked the dog's face and he turned to lick her hand.

"Do you know Marjorie?" I asked.

"She was my best friend," she said. "We were like sisters, telling each other everything. You should have seen her when she first moved in. She was destitute, at her end. She had just left her husband.

Then he started coming around, the yelling, the screaming, the beatings. I don't know how many times I came over to pick up the pieces he left.

But she got over him, finally. He gave her her divorce. You should have seen her then! She blossomed; she started playing music again, going out on gigs, working in her garden in a tee shirt and shorts and no bruises. I almost did not recognize her without them. It's terrible of me to say it."

"I've left my husband too," I said. "Just now."

"My God," she said. "Good for you. Just be careful. Don't let him in. The house won't like it."

"I won't," I said. "He doesn't know where I am."

"Keep it that way," she smiled. "The house will take care of you. It did of Marjorie."

"What do you do?" I said.

"I work at the opera house, "she said. "I'm in charge of all the bookings. And at night I take courses at Hollins. I'm working on my master's in creative writing."

"Wow!" I said. "Do you want to be a writer?"

"Sure," she said. "And what about yourself?"

"I'm a legal secretary for Johnson and Cline," I said. "I've been there exactly ten years. I like my job."

"Good," she smiled. "I like my job as well. Would you like to have dinner with me some time?"

"I'd love it," I said. "What about tomorrow night?"

"Deal," she said. "Your place or mine?"

"Mine," I said. "I haven't had a real dinner guest yet. What do you like to eat?"

"Pasta," she said. "Anything with pasta."