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Rearview Mirror - Chapter 1
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Chapter One
“Is this a separate address?” The UPS truck idled in the driveway.
The driver waited for her to confirm the address, comparing it to the
one on his electronic tablet.
Liz stared at him as he rose from his seat. The driver’s tall frame
was adorned with brown shorts, his logoed shirt, and ankle socks to
match.
“Yes, I subdivided the land. You can leave it for them on the front
porch.”
“Thank you,” he called back. He disappeared into the back of the
truck, emerging with a box. She watched his long legs take the stairs
of the porch two at a time. He slid the box across the slatted boards
and ran back to his truck. He settled into his seat, grinding the gears.
He waved to her as he barreled down the driveway. For the driver, it
was all routine. Liz had a routine once, and so did Duane. Their
routines had meshed well, thriving through an eight-year marriage.
Dust spewed from behind the tires, clouding her peaceful view of the
fresh, blooming fields. For early May the air was already sultry.
Duane had been gone for four months, passing away eight months
after his diagnosis. He’d left a hole that Liz tiptoed around every day,
in fear that if she fell in she’d never be able to find her way out. The
tick in Duane’s back had led to a diagnosis of acute myeloid
leukemia. Duane gave it all he could. The doctor had been honest,
saying it was a complex cancer—“a tough disease,” he called it.
One induction blast of chemo and two consequent treatments had
finally taken him down. Even though the doctor told them, since
Duane hadn’t been symptomatic, he’d have more time, as the months
rolled on his health quickly deteriorated. The disease had been
festering for too long. If it hadn’t been for that tick, they would’ve
never known what was going on inside his body.
The fifty acres they’d owned had been bought with big plans.
Liz’s life was at a virtual standstill. She had quit her job as a librarian
to be with Duane during his last months. Her boss, Roger, had
encouraged her to come back. She tried. After three days Liz left her
keys on the circulation desk before leaving for lunch and never
returned, ignoring Roger’s pleading messages on her voice mail.
She had half of Duane’s pension coming in from the steelworkers
union and access to his annuity. His life insurance was substantial, but
Liz couldn’t blow through all that money just trying to survive. She’d
made the decision to subdivide her and Duane’s land, selling twenty
acres to two men who’d recently relocated from California. What led
them to the small town of Cedar Mills, New Jersey, Liz had no idea.
They were an odd pair. One was a white-collar worker, a lawyer
who was well-dressed and carried a briefcase. His name was Ben
Neilson. His housemate, Noah Finley, looked to work a job much like
Duane’s, a blue-collar tradesman maybe. She knew nothing about
them, only their names. Her lawyer had handled the sale. She’d often
contemplated whether they were gay, not that it would matter to her.
A balmy breeze blew across the field, rustling the lush, dripping
branches of the willows that occupied the backyard. Liz reached
underneath the cushion on the back porch swing and pulled out the
small tin box.
Duane’s medicinal marijuana stash seemed endless. What she’d
do once it ran out was unknown to her. She’d been relying on it too
much. Liz had never used drugs, but when Duane got sick they’d both
picked it up. Smoking dope was the only thing they were able to do together in the end. She removed one of the neatly rolled cigarettes
and lit it.
Pungent smoke swirled around her as she inhaled deeply. Her
throat burned as the anesthetizing compounds raced through her body,
numbing any pain that often lurked. Liz’s grief was like a monster
that needed to be kept caged. She was petrified of what might escape
if she were to open the door.
The sound of a smooth engine drew near. She shifted her gaze, her
reactions hampered from an impending high. A dark-green Range
Rover moved over the stones, pulling alongside the quaint Cape Cod
that was adjacent to her backyard, a hundred yards away. Duane had
called it the carriage house. It’d sat vacant for years. They’d thought
of renting it or maybe selling it, which is what she’d chosen to do.
Ben and Noah had already begun their renovations. Liz often
witnessed them carrying lumber and other accoutrements into the
house. The car door slammed. The package! Liz jumped off the
swing, her body now suddenly wired. The marijuana had a habit of
doing that. Usually she’d feel calm and at ease, but at times that
paranoia would come, overwhelming her. She slinked to the other
side of the porch, hiding in the corner.
She lifted the joint to her lips, taking another mind-blowing drag.
The paper wilted, burning black at the glowing tip. The smoke
expanded in her lungs. Liz stifled a cough, watching her new neighbor
retrieve the package off his porch.
Ben’s tall, lean frame bent down to pick up the box. Dark waves
of styled hair made his sharply structured face complete. The glare of
the sun rebounded off his sunglasses. He unlocked the front door and
set the box inside but didn’t enter the house. Liz lifted a finger to her
mouth, gnawing on a nail.
Liz’s altered state had led to carelessness. She should have gone
inside where she had hid all winter, feeling the need to avoid any type
of interaction. He turned suddenly, catching her huddled in the corner
of the porch. While he set his briefcase down, Liz quickly crushed out the joint in the soil of a nearby spider plant. Ben descended the porch
stairs, making his way across the shared dirt lane.
“Hi,” he called, waving. He trekked across her yard. Liz felt her
face cringe in embarrassment. Her yard was ravaged, just like
everything else in her life. Residual dead leaves had made a home
around her rose bushes, strangling any life out of her flower beds. The
grass was yellow and brittle, yearning for fertilizer and a tender hand.
Why is he coming over here? Liz’s heart jumped into her throat,
her pulse now racing as she watched him climb the stairs at the end of
her back porch. The gentle breeze lifted his cobalt-blue tie. Once
under the canopy, Ben removed his glasses. Vibrant blue eyes flashed
at her, the color of faded denim. He extended his hand.
“I want to apologize,” he said, smiling. Tiny wrinkles around his
eyes deepened his soft expression. A light layer of growth was neatly
trimmed around his chin and mouth. He resembled a cologne or
clothing ad. Tommy Hilfiger came to mind. “I’ve been meaning to
come over.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Liz said. Her fingers braided with his
quickly before withdrawing back into the comfort zone inside her
pocket. His masculine scent enveloped her. He smelled exactly the
way he looked—expensive. She could see the joint stuck in the soil
under the plant’s leaves. She moved into his line of vision.
“I want to express my condolences,” Ben said kindly. His face
went blank with seriousness.
“I appreciate that.” Liz forced a smile, pained again with the
never-ending farce. “How’re things going over there?” she asked,
needing to change the subject. She was somewhat curious about them
as well as their renovations. Ben glanced back at the house and then
rerouted his eyes back to hers. His brows rose.
“Not too bad, it’s coming along. Maybe you should stop by
sometime and see it.” He paused. He fussed with his tie, as if feeling
trapped in his white-collar attire. “Then you could meet Noah.” Ben
shifted his weight. Liz’s eyes fell to his feet, his dress shoes now dusty with dry earth. He cleared his throat, dragging her attention
back to his face. “You like wine?”
“Yes,” she stammered, swallowing through a dry throat. I’ve
become a social invalid. He’d scared her straight, her heart drumming
relentlessly. “I do.”
“Red or white?” Ben asked. He smiled, flashing a set of
impeccable teeth, his demeanor friendly.
“Both.” Liz laughed.
“Well, okay then.” He chuckled. “Once we sweep up and put
away the belt sanders and power drills, will you come over?” He
rubbed his chin. His fingers dragged over the shallow growth of
beard. Liz fought the heat that was building, spreading over her skin.
Was it the weather, the dope, or him?
“Sure,” she answered quickly.
“Great. Well, let me go put my play clothes on.” He laughed,
scratching his head. “I’ll speak to you soon, Liz.” It sounded as if he
were ending an incoming call to his office. Ben turned and strolled
across the long porch, bolting down the stairs. Liz watched him walk
back to his own yard, their grass much greener than hers.
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Rearview Mirror
