Excerpt:
The body of Miranda Finn was found by a maid she’d hired
to clean her house for the upcoming annual Finn Christmas party which would
never actually happen. Though few details were available, it was an apparent
suicide. This begins the story of two people, three if you count the dead
woman, in a subdivision located in suburban New England. None are remarkable,
what makes them interesting is how similar they are to the more than fifty
percent of the US population growing, fighting, fucking and living in suburbia.
Though the details of this story are fictional, they are close enough to truth
to be utterly terrifying. Next time you stand on your lawn laying seed in an
attempt to drive out the grubs, or mowing away the fallen leaves in preparation
for the inevitable winter snow blowing, look around to the neighbors who share
the same landscape, connecting parcels divided only by fences, trees, or shrubs
and remember they all hold secrets. The man next door has his wife tied up in a
strange sex game they like to call, ‘the oil man cometh.’ The woman walking the
pit bull, she passes off as a lab mix, has a fondness for swing and a bum hip,
which would explain the barely there limp. Gaze longer, delve deeper and you’ll
find what lies beneath, a real fucking suburban freak show.
◊◊◊
The Kelly’s moved into the house in the middle of a heat
wave. When he entered through the foyer, Cormac noticed it for the first time,
the smell of rot. Why not? Someone had died in his bedroom or was it the
playroom? The information hadn’t been offered liberally, instead they had to
dig and the few Spartan details surfaced only because the woman, two houses
down, had stopped by to warn them. The realtor, a bulbous, middle-aged woman,
was beyond angry. She chased the neighborhood gossip out in the most polite way
possible; she told her a dog had relieved itself on her lawn. Of course they
couldn’t complain, Mia said the house had been a steal. In this neighborhood things
had gone for double what they’d paid. But, since the settlement his wife had
changed. Cormac supposed he would have too if he’d been the one hurt in the
accident. After all she’d lost…
“Cor, can you help the movers Hun? They want to know
where to put the armoire.” Why didn’t Mia call the damn thing what it was, a wardrobe?
Lately she was the queen of spin. The money had gone to her head. Mia was going
to travel the country selling the strange contraption she’d dreamt of as she
slipped in and out of consciousness in the hospital. Cor sat by her side
praying, though for what he wasn’t sure. There were times he thought it would
be better if she didn’t wake up. Of course he would never admit to it now when
she was back among the living even if it was in a more diminished form.
“When do you leave for Topeka?” Cor directed the movers
as if directing traffic, arms shifting left or right, up or down, he felt like
a plastic policeman in a cartoon world which is what the neighborhood seemed
like. The houses were so similar it was hard to discern one street from the
next, and the names printed on wooden signs at the corner of the lanes and
circles didn’t help, Sycamore and Elm ran congruent to Maple and Pine. Mia
assured him the differences were palpable, but to Cor they were merely variations
on the same theme.
She never answered his question instead Mia pointed to
the calendar; a color-coded nightmare Cor found gave him migraines. After
trying to decipher the overly organized map of their life, he walked into the
bedroom, checked the bathroom, and when he knew he was alone, lifted the toilet
seat cover and vomited. He wondered if suburbia made him sick or maybe it was
the lack of purpose he felt being a new stay at home father or was he a househusband?
Either way, Cormac understood he had discovered purgatory at 6 Sycamore which
ironically looked a lot like 6 Elm or was it 6 Maple? Cor wiped his mouth with
the back of his hand and flushed the toilet. He had to help Mia pack and drive
her to the airport. Though he hated to admit it, Cormac would be happy to have
some time to miss his wife.
“Cor, where’s my purple Poppycock? I have a meeting with
potential investors in Wichita.” Mia joined him in the bedroom where he pulled
out the mesh contraption. He had often wondered if anyone would ever express an
interest in his wife’s penile device.
Before Cormac had a chance to really think about it, the baby began
crying. “Can you grab her?” Mia threw a pair of thong underwear in her travel
bag. He didn’t want to ask, because he didn’t want to know and equally as
troubling, he didn’t think he cared.
“Fine,” truth be told Cor was glad to have a reason to
escape.
“She probably just did a boom boom.” Mia’s cutesy way of
saying their six-month-old, Ryan, had taken a shit. He promised himself he’d
have a talk with his wife when she returned from her business trip. Things
weren’t working out since the accident, hell maybe things had taken a turn
before that.
“Marriage is hard,” he heard the voice of his dead
mother, “that’s why I keep trying. Your Ma ain’t a quitter.” This was true. In
fact, she held the record of most marriages in Newcastle with five, two
husbands she buried and three she divorced. Colleen Kelly thought of herself as
a pioneer, the town held a different view which wasn’t quite as favorable.
Cormac grew up a misfit whose only friend until he was 12 was an imaginary one.
Saint Seamus was an excommunicated priest who was banished by Cormac’s mother
in a traumatic ritual involving pig ears and red candles. Before she died,
Cor’s mother apologized for whatever role she played in ruining his childhood.
He forgave her more for himself than for her. Carrying grudges physically
manifested in Cor, the one woman he slept with outside of his marriage called
it a psychosomatic response. She tried to cure him, but wound up sleeping with
him instead. While Cor wasn’t exactly handsome there was something about him
women seemed to like, maybe the brogue.
“Hey there little girl,” Cormac held Ryan close to him
and breathed in the scent of sour spit up and urine. She needed a bath, he
added the task to his mental to do list, which with their first born, Shaun,
had been his wife’s to do list. “Daddy will give you a bath after I take Mommy
to the airport. The three of us will have a bit of a break.” He tried to never
mention his feelings for his wife around Shaun, who at five, was beginning to understand
and, more importantly, repeat everything Cor said. Shaun blabbed to Mia’s
mother, “Daddy said he doesn’t enjoy the way you smell, a combination (which
came out covinatin) of arse and old lady cream.”
Cor’s only response came in the way of denial, “Jeez
Rose, I don’t know where he comes up with this stuff. I think we’ll have to
look at what they’re letting him watch at daycare.” He was sure she didn’t buy
it and Cormac vowed to watch his tongue with Shauny. Apparently, Ryan was the
only he could speak openly with.
Cormac changed Ryan, loaded her into her carrier and
headed outside to retrieve Shaun from the backyard. “Shaun, your Ma’s going on
her trip. Let’s load into the car and take her to the airport.”
Shaun came running slamming into Cor’s bad knee before jumping into his
booster seat and telling his daddy to, “buckle me so we can see the zoomers,”
which was Shaun’s word for planes.
The ride to the
airport was less chaotic than he’d expected and to his surprise, the kids
seemed fine with Mia’s departure. Ryan held tight to him while Shaun watched
the zoomers , made flying sounds and twirled in circles.
“Maybe you’ll be a pilot someday Shauny,” Cor said on
the way home as he floundered between radio stations.
“Do they make a lot of money?” his son asked from the
back seat.
He’d never asked about money before, either Shaun was
growing up or Mia’s constant talk about how much they had, or how much she
wanted was easing and settling in his son’s head. “Shauny, you know money isn’t
all that important, right?”
Shaun stared at him in the rear view from his place in
the booster in the back, “But, you get to buy fings like cars and candy.” The
fings which was meant to be things bothered Cor. Should they be helping Shaun
in some way? He was in school now and if his speech was an issue…
“Daddy, you didn’t answer my question,” Shaun whined as
Ryan made nonsensical noises from her car seat. Cormac wished Shaun were still
a baby. These discussions which were becoming more and more frequent made him
uncomfortable. After his own upbringing without a male father figure, none of
his stepfather’s counted, he had no idea what it meant to raise children.
“Yes, they do make a fair amount of money I suppose.
Being a pilot wouldn’t be a bad way to make a living.” Cor tried to imagine a
grown up Shaun greeting passengers as they boarded his 747 and came up short.
He wasn’t the most imaginative creature. Cormac was a man of reason and
practicality. Mia was the dreamer.
“You don’t make any money because you don’t have a job.”
Shaun said casually.
“No, your dad’s a real loser,” he almost said before
catching himself. “I have a very important job, taking care of you and Ryan.
Just because you don’t get paid for something doesn’t mean it isn’t
significant. Do you understand that?”
The silence from the back was sudden and when he turned around he realized his
son was asleep, drool dripped from his bottom lip onto his shirt, and his
daughter was busying herself by watching the cars speed past them. Cor supposed
he should be grateful for the quiet, but instead found it unnerving.
He turned up the radio and listened to a man preach
about the negativity of living in modern times. Only when he pulled into his
driveway did Cor realize he’d been listening to a holy roller on the local
religious station. Cormac wanted to get inside, put the kids to bed and finish
his crossword puzzle, but the night would be filled with more interesting
things.
◊◊◊
The moving van pulled up early in the morning.
It was the same company they’d used only a month prior when they’d unpacked
everything and attempted to hit the restart button. Addison Everly dreaded the
whole thing, but didn’t have a choice not after everything happened.
“Babe, can you help
Hunter with his homework? I have a meeting with the big boys.” Which big boys
she wanted to ask her husband, but instead she smiled and moved from her
current activity, spying on the neighbors to one much less interesting. Addie
hoped Hunt wasn’t working on math, how she loathed numbers.
When Henry left them
in the kitchen, she didn’t mention the fact that it was Saturday because he
didn’t differentiate the work week from the weekend. Henry found weekends
irrelevant. His animosity for them had once been a shared connection between h
e and Addie for it meant an end to the frenetic work they both found so intoxicating.
Henry and Addie became parents twice by default. Neither enjoyed children much
though Addie never said this aloud. Instead, she did her best to appreciate the
offspring who seemed mini versions of herself and Henry. Of course, now she had
to learn to become the one thing she never wanted to be, a stay at home mother.
SAHM, the cute acronym the gen Xers came up with in their continued attempts to
shorten everything, was as annoying as LOL or TTYT. The laziness of her
generation sickened her. Instilling a fierce work ethic in her children was
going to be a daunting task especially after the nanny coddled them for so
long.
“Mom, I have the
whole weekend to do this and look,” Hunter held out his homework paper, “I’m
done.”
“You mean you are
finished and,” she stared back at him wondering how he’d ever get into Harvard
with his attitude, “you aren’t because there are several unanswered questions.”
“Those are the bonus
ones,” her son protested, “we don’t need to do them.” Hunter placed the paper
down on the countertop and began to walk away.
“Get back here young
man. Let me ask you a question, do you want to get by in life doing the bare
minimum?” She waited for a reasonable, thoughtful response.
“Yup.” Was his only reply
and a disappointing one at that.
“How do you expect
to get into a great college?” Addie filled her cup again. The caffeine was the
only thing getting her through the day.
“I might not even go
to college. I’m thinking about becoming a football star.” Hunter smiled,
grabbed an apple and walked into the backyard.
"Fourth grade
is a foundation year,” but he was gone and Addie sat alone in the kitchen
talking to the walls, something which happened with alarming frequency lately.
“Mom, pancakes?” Why
was he back already, her son?
Because he had just
gotten out of bed and the whole exchange with the homework hadn’t happened.
Instead she sat in her bathrobe at eleven am waiting for the day to either be
over or present something interesting enough to propel her forward.
“Pal,” Henry entered
the room or had he always been there? “Mom needs a minute to get things cooking
in here.”
Hunter laughed at his father, “Punny Dad.”
Hunter laughed at his father, “Punny Dad.”
“Glad you see what I
did with that joke.”
Addie hated the
simple ease between her husband and son. She wished for the same sort of
relationship with her eight-year-old daughter, but Presley was prone to
outbursts and drama. Her tantrums, well known in their old neighborhood, had
ceased since the move but seemed to have been replaced with rebelliousness.
“Honey,” where was
the Babe reference from this morning? Right, the first version of her morning
existed only in her mind. Henry wasn’t going to the office. Would he hang around pretending to busy
himself with yard work or would he call the babysitter to come watch her? “Can
you fix the kids some breakfast or do you need me to call Mattie?” Mattie was the
twenty-three-year-old grad student who could somehow manage to run the
children’s lives better than Addie did. Henry leaned into Addie and kissed the
top of her head. As he pulled back, she waited for the comment. “You need to
wash your hair.” A critical statement passed off as a casual remark.
Addie poured him a
cup of coffee and pushed the ceramic mug, a map of the world embossed in white
on the glass surface, across the table. “Black, the way you like it.”
Henry took a sip and
dumped the rest in the sink. He smiled as he stared out the window which made him
seem scary, a deranged middle-aged suburbanite. The smile, which revealed a
crooked incisor, the only imperfection in all 32 pearly whites, screamed,
‘we’re fine, just a man and his wife sipping coffee on a perfect Saturday
morning as he watches his beautiful daughter from the kitchen window.’ But
something was wrong, the coffee was filled with grounds because the wife forgot
to add a filter and the daughter, whose beauty overshadowed her mother’s,
though not by much, was burning ants alive with a mirror and piling their tiny
bodies inside of what looked like an empty plastic container, the kind used to
hold rings or stickers from the quarter machines down at Shanstacks. The kids used to collect the stuff until the
dog finally passed a large faux diamond ring, though the plastic used to hold
it was never found. Mr. Jingles was still plagued with constipation and fits of
nervous urination. While Addie couldn’t prove the plastic was the culprit, she
certainly couldn’t disprove it.
“New people moving
in across the street,” Henry filled the cup with water, swirled it around and
placed it in the sink. “Mattie sent a text. She’ll be here in an hour. You can
handle things for a bit.” This time he stood by the door and blew a kiss across
the kitchen. Addie found his fake attempt at affection more insulting and less
honest than the previous comment about her hair.
“Presley, keep an
eye on your mother,” Henry yelled as he opened his car door and threw his golf
clubs in the backseat. Presley ignored him and continued torturing and killing
the neighborhood ants. Her pile would soon be large enough to warrant another tiny
plastic container; maybe Jingles would finally shit one out.
“Dad, do I have to?”
Hatred oozed from Presley, and the child Addie once sang to years ago seemed
dead. She’d been replaced with a bitter and resentful girl Henry tried to pass
off as their little Taylor.
“Presley, I’m not going to answer that,” he said as he
pulled out of the driveway his smile still intact. Sounds from his car radio
filled the street, a song about dreams or visions, something she remembered
from a time when they didn’t hate each other, when they were the Everly’s
everyone remembered, successful, wealthy, and sane.
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