The House on Oyster Creek by Heidi Jon Schmidt

Author:Heidi Jon Schmidt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-04-30T04:00:00+00:00

“ ’Lo!” Henry called up from downstairs.

The same life was sitting here waiting for her, just where she’d left it. Fiona’s socks were still on the clothesline, sopping now, though they’d only been damp when Charlotte hung them out.

“Hi!” she called down to Henry. So her voice still worked; it didn’t come out as a moan or caw or scream. “I’m going to pick Fiona up.”

“Okay. We need milk. . . .”

“Okay.” Milk. Socks. Charlotte moved electrified through the world of milk and socks, the roly-poly beetles in the stair corners, laundry on the bathroom floor. She seemed to be hovering over herself, watching as she changed into dry clothes. The bed was pulled apart, the sheet on her side and the quilt on Henry’s, as if they’d spent all night in a tug-of-war. She made it up. She would have to call Mulligan Appliance and see if they could fix the dryer. Hearing Darryl’s truck come up the beach, she stepped away from the window.

At Mrs. Carroll’s door, Fiona jumped into her arms. “We’re having a recital,” she said. “We’re singing ‘Jingle Bells’ and ‘Piggy-Wig’ and you can bring cupcakes.”

“I don’t think I know ‘Piggy-Wig,’ ” Charlotte said, buckling her into the car seat.

“It’s a great song,” Fiona said, in a Henry-esque tone that suggested Charlotte must be a philistine if she didn’t know “Piggy-Wig.” Then she broke into heartfelt, tune-free song. Mrs. Carroll waved good-bye. No one noticed that Charlotte happened to be in flames. She got milk and a box of animal crackers from the SixMart, waited at the bridge while Bud Rivette crossed from the other side, took Fiona home and gave her the snack at the kitchen table, went out to get the socks off the line, laid them out on the radiator, where they gave off a wet, comfortable smell. Was this her life? Yes, yes, she could hardly believe her good luck!

Henry came up at five o’clock with a wooden ruler in his hand—the old-fashioned kind with a metal edge.

“Here’s something for you,” he said to Fiona, who was so unused to being spoken to by him that she didn’t look up from her coloring book.

“Fiona, look,” Charlotte said. “Daddy has something to show you.”

“It’s a ruler,” Fiona said politely, going back to her work as Henry would have if she’d interrupted him. She had a ruler already, pink Lucite with dogwood blossoms, that Natalie had sent from Fayetteville when she was tracking down Bernie Kerik’s secret first wife. This one was not nearly as cool.

Henry’s shoulders sagged and he glanced over to see whether Charlotte had taken note: He was trying; it was Fiona who was at fault.

“Let me see,” Charlotte said. “What did you find?”

It was printed with block letters advertising his father’s business. HENRY F. TRADESCOME, INSURANCE. ACCIDENT AND INDEMNITY. TRUSTWORTHY, HARDWORKING, RELIABLE. 797 BEACON STREET, BOSTON, MA. MULBERRY-4-5202.

“My desk drawer got stuck, so I had to pull it all the way out and I found this caught in the back.

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