The Deadening by Kerry Peresta

Author:Kerry Peresta [Kerry Peresta]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Level Best Books
Published: 2021-01-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Three

Olivia

I tossed off the comforter in frustration. Another confusing nightmare.

The moon cast a silvery glow, and the reassuring night symphony of frogs and cicadas floated into the room. I stretched, then rotated my neck, still thrilled and grateful for the simplest physical movement.

The images in my dream faded. I rolled onto my back and slapped the mattress angrily. As much as I wanted to sleep, the dream might be important. I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated.

The house smelled faintly of used cat litter. The neighbor I’d lined up to take care of our cat had dropped the ball, I guessed. Riot walked toward me, stuck his tail straight up, and walked away.

I laughed. “You’re mad we left. I get it. I’ll give you some space to pout.”

The girls had disappeared into their rooms upstairs and I could hear them putting things back in drawers, shoving them shut, emptying suitcases. They’d slept most of the drive home.

Had I taken a trip? Where? I slowed my breathing and put myself back in the scene.

I saw my rambling old house, a two-story Maryland farmhouse, circa 1885, before we’d restored it. Good bones, the realtor had said. Really, really old bones, I’d thought.

We’d bought it twelve years ago. Close enough to the city to make a good living, Monty had said; far enough from the city to avoid getting shot. I saw us scraping and repainting molding, replacing crystal doorknobs, unsticking, stripping and re-caulking windows.

I opened my eyes. So, once upon a time, Monty and I had been happy and content, remodeling the house, working together. When had things taken a turn for the worse? Like storm clouds, memories floated across my mind.

We’d remodeled the bedroom closet. Rows of neatly hung suits and color-coordinated, starched shirts hung on his side, and the handy niches we’d designed as drawer space held his socks and underwear, all facing the same direction, all folded just so.

I smiled. His side of the closet long-empty now, I thought about my things, all stuffed and jammed in. No wonder I had been uneasy in my cavernous closet. He had probably neat-freaked out about my sloppiness over and over.

A breeze sighed through the window. Riot, curled in a tight, fuzzy ball at the end of my bed, lifted his head, licked a paw, and put his head back down.

My eyes fell to the dresser that flanked the wall. Ancient, claw-legged, and marble-topped, I wondered if it was one of the many antiques Monty and I had restored. I stared at the dresser for several minutes. The memories tugged at my brain. I closed my eyes and waited.

I saw a crisp, white rectangle with black lettering—a business card. I picked it up with a smile, my fingers caressing the letters. Niles Peterson, Heritage Fund Group. Richmond address. I laid it carefully on the dresser in the empty space where Monty’s caddy had been before he’d moved out.

My eyes popped open.

Niles. My mother had told me about that business card, but her call had been a dead end.

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