October Snow (13 page)

“Mrs. Bentley…”

“It’s ‘Ms’, please.”

“My apologies, ma’am. There isn’t usually much evidence to collect after a vandalism. We’ll take your report, snap a few photos, give you a copy for your insurance carrier, and then…”

“You mean you won’t be looking for whoever did this?” She turned to face her house, sweeping her arm for emphasis.

“We won’t be launching an official investigation, no.”

She dropped her jaw, exaggerating a look of shock. “Those are
threats
that are spray-painted on my siding!”

He glanced at the house, still writing on his clipboard. “Well, they are some pretty vulgar names, Ms. Bentley, but they aren’t in the league of threats.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, ma’am. Your report is useful to us, though, if a pattern develops in this area.”

He appeared to be almost done with the report, and Liz said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take down your badge number, Officer.”

As though he expected it, he began answering her before she finished. “…and my badge number is right here, ma’am.” He pointed with the tip of his pen, and circled it. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, and we’ll keep you posted on any developments in your case.”

Liz snatched the yellow paper from his hand, making grunting, chirping noises as she strode back to her front door. The word
SLUT
was painted across it in a strange, orange-ish color, stark against the barn-red of the door itself. She gave the officers one last, scathing look before slamming the door shut.

In the foyer, she reached for her phone on the table beside the staircase, dialing Sam again. “You’d better
pick up
this time,” she growled, waiting through the six rings before the voicemail picked up.

“Hey, hello, it’s Sammy. Don’t leave me wondering–leave a message.”

Liz waited through the automated message for the tone, tapping her nails on the staircase railing.

“Samantha, you can call me in the next few minutes, or you can
go to hell
.” She slammed the phone down, then picked it up again to call her insurance company.

Sam’s phone was vibrating. Jo pulled it from her pocket as the girls drove away in her truck, just as the message indicator came up. She debated for a moment whether or not to listen to it, deciding against it: the
missed calls
function told her the message was from Liz.

Back in her apartment, Jo put the coffee on before taking Daisy for her morning walk. She was quick about it, and for that, Jo was grateful. It was starting to rain hard, and she was a little desperate for her coffee and a cigarette.

She sank gratefully into her chair, sipping from her oversized mug, watching the rain pick up in intensity. There was a light layer of fog still hovering over the field, delicate enough that it seemed a good gust of wind would clear it away.

Even after so many years, the natural beauty of New Hampshire could still leave her breathless. She thought that she had lived in way too many places. Keith had always felt a need to relocate, and quickly, after making too much of a mess wherever they lived; as a result, she had lived all over the country, in more cities than she cared to remember. Some, she couldn’t even recall clearly. In those days, the heyday of developing technology, he was an independent consultant in the computer industry; and, as his career was in such high demand then, he could pretty much write his own ticket when it came to where he wanted to work.

The boys were very small at the time, and Jo always felt like she could never quite get her legs under her. Every year or so, it was another arduous move and another new city, where she knew no one and couldn’t find her way around. Keith allowed her no access to money, and she rarely had their only car–a fact which Keith would then use to explain that as she never left the house, she certainly didn’t need a car or money.

Eventually, Keith would make too great and too loud a scene, and a neighbor would call the police. Or he would worry that the police
would
be called, and he’d start looking around for a new job. Always, it was to be “a new beginning.” A “fresh start” for them. He seemed to live for the idea; but for Jo, it was another flurry of packing boxes and cancelling utilities, notifying landlords and filling out change-of-address cards. And trying to care for the boys, trying to give them some kind of a normal life in the midst of Keith’s craziness.

Ten months after they arrived in Denver, he stood screaming in the driveway of their town home, and Jo reached the end of herself. She enjoyed the memory of that feeling, like a door had slammed shut in her head: like she couldn’t–she
would not–
do it his way anymore.

After Keith had thrown his briefcase against the siding, leaving a dent there and breaking the case open–Jo had taken a fair amount of pleasure in watching his papers scatter in the stiff breeze–he gathered what documents he could, stuffed them back in the case, and peeled out of the driveway. The young couple across the street had seen him, and they shook their heads, regarding her with pity. The woman called out, “Are you okay?” Jo did her best to reassure them before she went back inside.

She comforted John and Matt, left crying in the playroom for the duration of the fight, and got them settled in before she went to the phone.

She had managed to make one friend in Dallas, where they had lived for almost a year before Denver: Patricia. She called her. Over the next forty minutes, they made a contingency plan for Jo and the boys to return to Texas and stay with her, should Keith decide that he wasn’t going to comply with Jo’s first choice from the places she had been researching for weeks - New Hampshire.

Keith was gone for two days. The woman across the street brought groceries over, and Jo was grateful that she didn’t pry; however, she did suggest that Jo have a distress signal ready for when Keith returned. Just in case, she had insisted, and Jo agreed: it would be the porch light going on. Keith never allowed the porch light, calling it a waste of money to leave it on at night.

When Keith finally returned, waiting expectantly for Jo to apologize, she let him know that this time,
she
was making the decision to move.

“I’m going to New Hampshire, if you’re coming along. That’s where I want to raise the boys, but it costs to live there. A lot. More than I can do by myself. If you aren’t going to go with me, then I’m going back to Dallas to live with Pat and her family until I get on my feet.”

His reaction shocked her. Of course, he cared nothing about her desire to leave–she didn’t expect him to be bothered by that. He had never cared how she felt about him, as long as she stayed. What surprised her was his ready agreement. “Sounds good. I’ll get a job out there.”

She had decided not to examine the gift horse; however, Jo found out–years later–that he’d had a six month affair with a coworker, and had made a scene at work when she tried to break it off. They had fired him, almost a week before the day he stood screaming in the driveway.

But by the time Jo found out, in the middle of yet another one of Keith’s tirades about what a useless, burdensome bitch she was, it didn’t much matter to her anymore. It took many years, but something about living in such a beautiful place–perhaps, partly because
she
had finally chosen something–gave her hope, if only briefly, that there was life out there somewhere. For her children,
and
for her.

Sam’s phone was buzzing again. Jo picked it up, absently flipping it open as she watched a robin busily constructing a nest in the birch tree just beyond the window.

It was another text from Jack:

Call me now or else

“Oh, I shouldn’t…” Jo smirked, feeling the thudding in her chest as her heart sped up. She brought up “Max” on the contacts list.

Jack textd call him now or else–ask sam if shed like me to call him/need to set up time for escort w police to get her stuff too

She closed the phone and waited. A minute later, it vibrated again.

CALL ME RIGHT NOW

Then right after:

She said you may as well and thanx

Jo grinned, scrolling to find Jack’s name in Sam’s contacts. His picture ID was titled
Lihom
.

What’s that mean?

She made a mental note to ask Sam later, copying Jack’s number into her own phone, then redoing it as she remembered to type in the *67 first. Jack didn’t need to have her number.

After eight rings, Jack picked up. She sighed, familiar with the power-grabbing tactic of making the woman wait. He said nothing, though, which Jo knew was yet another tactic–so she, too, was silent.

He eventually decided to acknowledge that he had received a call. “Why block your number?” he demanded. “You idiot–you think I don’t know it? I have it on my own phone!”

Jo lit another cigarette and stayed silent, wanting to play with him for a while.

“Hey!
Samantha
!” He sounded like he was becoming quickly unhinged. Jo was still mulling over what “Lihom” meant.

She laughed out loud as it came to her:
Legend in his own mind
.

“You think something’s funny, bitch?”

She closed her phone, still chuckling.

Sam’s cell started going off a few seconds later. After the fourth time Jack called, she opened her own phone and called him again.

He spoke immediately this time. “You do
not
hang up on me.”

“Screw you, Jack. Hey, you know, I’ve wanted to say exactly that phrase since the first time I met you.”

He stammered a bit, then said, “Who is this? Max? Jo?”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re interchangeable. I got your texts, by the way.
Charming
. What do you want?”

“Where’s Sam?”

“Beats the hell out of me. Oh, wait–that’s
your
thing.” She took a deep breath and rose slowly from her chair, digging her nails into her palms. “So what’s up?”

“What’s up? What’s up? Where’s
Sam
, that’s ‘what’s up.’”

“Samantha is busy. Can I give her a message for you?”

“Listen, you…”

“Careful, Jack. Other than the entertainment factor, I’ve got no reason to call you, and even less reason to stay on the line.”

“
Who the hell do you think you’re talking to
?”

“You don’t really want me to answer that, babe.” She crushed her cigarette. “Last chance, Jack. I’m not your wife. Actually, when you get right down to it, I’m your worst nightmare.”

“Is that a
threat
?”

“Just a fact, son.”

“Which means
what
?”

“I know you.”

He was silent for a moment.

“Besides, I’m your only connection to Samantha at the moment. Now, we need to…”

“I
will
not
be spoken to…”

“You interrupted me. Don’t do it again.” She pressed the
record
button. “Listen, I’m going to record this, okay? Hang up if you really are the no-balls wimp that I heard you are.” She waited a moment for it to hook him, and it did.

He exploded in a barrage of epithets. Smiling, she set the phone on the table, letting him cuss at her while she refilled her coffee. He was still screaming–death threats now, against both Maxine and her–when she returned a minute later, and she smiled again as she picked up the phone and closed it.

“Oh, Jackie–you are
truly
a useful idiot,” she mumbled.

He was calling Sam’s phone again within a couple of minutes, rapid-fire, as Jo didn’t answer. She wondered if it really had taken that long for Jack to realize that he was screaming at a dead line.

The clock on the kitchen wall said 8:56. The girls would be back any time now. She grabbed her phone again, hoping she could remember the number for the crisis center.

“Hillsboro Crisis. How may I direct your call?”

“I’m trying to find Rebecca Lowenstein. She used to be the Community Affairs Coordinator there.”

The young woman was very pleasant. “Yes, Becca’s still here. She’s actually the Director of Operations now. May I tell her who’s calling?”

“Tell her it’s Josilyn Kane.”

She paused. “Josie Kane?”

“Well, that’s…Yes.” She sat as her stomach suddenly knotted up.

“I’ll get her right away. Please hold.”

It was only a few seconds before Becca came on the line. “Holy cow.
Josie
?”

“Hi. Becca.”

“Okay, let me think what to ask first.”

Jo laughed. “Here you go: I’m fine, kids are fine, I’m still living in Manchester, and it’s good to hear your voice again.”

“Same here. And all’s well on my end, too.”

“Obviously. Director of the whole thing now, huh?”

“Yeah. I was a ten-year overnight success.”

“Of course you were.” She was distracted for a moment as she fumbled to turn Sam’s phone off. Jack was still calling every few seconds. “That was a bit of an odd reception from the girl at the desk. Do I know her?”

“Doubtful. Her name’s Julie. She just started here last year. You’re something of a legend in these circles, hon–I’m sure she’s heard of you.”

“Hmmm. I could do without that.” She was pulling a pen from her purse, rummaging for a slip of paper. “Becca, I’ve got a situation here.”