The next day, Frannie woke to find Darwin’s tank lying on its side beneath the window. A puddle of water and loose pebbles spread out over the floor. Benny lay on the ground next to the empty tank, frozen, staring, staring, staring.
Flecks of gold glimmered between his clenched fists.
10
The Spielman Family
July 27, 2018
Hunter Spielman gazed out his bedroom window at Lee Road at the cars speeding past, wishing he were with them, going anywhere else but the creepy old mansion. It is so frigging boring here! he complained almost daily to his friends back home.
His mother’s voice would cut through the house with its own grating mix of concern, guilt, and desperation.
Good morning, sweetie! What do you want to do today? Want to go for a walk?
Who left the light on up in the attic again?
Have you seen any other kids in the neighborhood?
Did someone get the mail today? I haven’t seen it.
Who ate all of the cheese?
Hunter, honey, please don’t leave the back door unlocked. Okay?
How are you feeling today, sweetie? Are you alright? Do you want to talk?
No, he didn’t.
With every helpful suggestion, nagging comment, or worried glance, Hunter grew more distant. The harder she tried, the more time the boy spent cloistered in his room with his headphones on. It’s like she won’t leave me alone, he had complained to a friend on the phone. I don’t know. I wish she’d get a job or something.
Margot tried to give her son space but couldn’t seem to make it a day without bothering the boy in some fashion. She paced the house. Four thousand square feet of room and only one other person to talk to, and he couldn’t be bothered. When Myron was home from work, even he seemed to be pulling away from her.
“It’s like they don’t even want the money, Myron!” she said, pacing across the ungrouted kitchen floor after a week of no progress on the construction project. “It’s me, isn’t it? They just can’t face the fussy bitch from Boston, right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, hon.” Myron sighed and kissed the top of her perfumed head. It was getting harder for him to act like everything was fine. “It will get done, okay? You going to the club this afternoon? I’ll meet you there.”
Margot, standing there in her yoga pants and indoor booties, stamped her tiny foot in protest. “Don’t change the subject! When are they going to be finished?” She motioned to the boxes of unpacked custom cabinets that populated the old breakfast room and butler’s pantry she’d insisted be opened up to the kitchen with a cold steel beam shoved into the ceiling. “This place looks like a goddamned warehouse! It’s no wonder Hunter won’t even leave his room! I’m worried about him, Myron! He’s so unhappy here.”
Hearing his name creep under his bedroom door, Hunter had stopped typing at his computer and listened a moment to their voices winding up the back stairs.
“He’ll come around,” Myron said with a gentle brush of her cheek. “It just takes time. He misses his friends.”
Tears pooled against her mascara. “You don’t think I know that? He’s done nothing but talk to them since we got here. They FaceTime. They Snapchat. God knows what else they do on their computers all day and night. He’s certainly not talking to me about it . . . I feel like coming here was a big mistake.”
Myron dropped his hand from her cheek. “Let’s not overreact. He was on his computer all the time before anyway. This is what they’re all like now, right?” He stole a glance at the large clock over her shoulder. He was going to be late for work.
Margot lowered her voice. “It’s just . . . we don’t know what he’s doing up there. I’ve been reading terrible things, Myron. These pedophiles get online and pretend to be kids. They groom lonely boys like him. They pretend to be their friend and then start to pry photographs and addresses out of them. How do we know he’s not talking to someone like that right now?”
Upstairs, Hunter rolled his eyes in disgust. Pedophiles?
“You’ve got to stop reading every paranoid article on Facebook, okay? He’s a smart kid. He’s not going to be lured into a van with some candy. Now listen, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got a meeting at ten a.m.”
Pouting, she followed him to the mudroom door. “Are you going to call Max again, or do I have to do it?”
“I’ll give him a call this afternoon, okay? I’ll let him know that if they don’t get it done in the next two weeks, we’ll void the contract and get someone else.”
He’d said the same thing three days earlier. Even so, his firm voice seemed to smooth the worry around her eyes. “Thanks, honey. Call me later and tell me what he says.”
“Okay. Gotta run. So will I see you at the club tonight?”
“What else am I going to do?” Her voice had the light hint of a laugh, but it wasn’t funny to either of them. She hadn’t made any friends in their new neighborhood. No one had visited in the ten days since they’d moved in.
“Why don’t you see what that Jenny DeMarco is up to this afternoon? Harold was just telling me she’s having a hell of a time finding an interior designer.”
The idea soured Margot’s face. “I don’t know that I’m Jenny’s type . . . Why don’t we see if the Zavodas will join us for drinks Friday night instead? I heard Emily collects art, and I need some advice. There are so many blank walls it feels like a prison in here. Hey! Why don’t we host them for a dinner party in a few weeks when the kitchen is done? It’ll give me an excuse to cook again.” Margot reached out and smoothed his silk tie. Her expression softened into something less tense. Less demanding. Almost girlish.
Myron smirked at her, lulled by her hand stroking his tie, ignoring half of what she’d said. “When have you ever been inside a prison?”
She arched a perfectly penciled brow. “Oh, you think you know everything about me?” Still strikingly beautiful even at fifty, she batted her lashes and cocked her chin. Almost a dare.
The grin fell from his lips. He dropped his suitcase and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her against his expensive suit. The two mashed their lips together with the urgency of young lovers. His hands groping her tight curves. Hers grasping the sides of his face as soft mewing sounds escaped her throat. He pushed her back against one of the boxes, lifting her bottom up onto it, grinding against her.
Margot kept her eye on the back stairwell, watching for Hunter, as she unzipped his trousers. “We shouldn’t do this here,” she whispered, her hand between his legs.
Leaving his briefcase sprawled on its side, Myron carried his wife straddled around his middle into their den and shut the door.
Ten minutes later, they emerged red-faced, embarrassed, and angry.
Margot was sputtering placations. “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have started something when you’re already running late. Really.”
“No, don’t. You’re fine. You’re beautiful. It’s me. I’ve just got so much on my mind right now.” Myron planted a stiff kiss on her swollen lips and grabbed his briefcase up off the floor. “I’ll make it up to you later, gorgeous. Promise.”