The Haunted

Saturday morning, Claire decided to sleep in. It had been a long week, and she’d stayed up late last night watching an old Audrey Hepburn movie after Julian had gone to bed. Sabrina. They didn’t make movies like that anymore. They didn’t make stars like that anymore. It was an old-lady thing to think, and she wondered idly whether she had been born in the wrong era, whether her taste in popular culture would have been more mainstream had she been born forty years earlier.

There was noise from the kitchen, the exaggerated sounds of annoyed children forced to make their own breakfast, and Claire smiled, closed her eyes and promptly fell back asleep.

When she finally woke up for good, the noises were gone and so, apparently, was her family. The house was quiet and felt empty, and when she called out, no one answered. She pushed off the covers, stood and picked up her bathrobe from the back of the chair next to the bed. She’d bought that chair at an antique store in Pasadena with money her parents had sent her for her twenty-fifth birthday, and she found herself wondering whether that antique store was still there. Back in California, on free Saturdays like this, she often used to go antiquing with her friends, not necessarily buying but looking, window-shopping, and that was something she genuinely missed. Although she had to admit that moving back to New Mexico had been the smartest move they’d ever made. Especially after …

She didn’t even want to think about it.

Staring out the window at an army of billowy clouds stretched across the endless deep blue sky, she realized how much she depended on this place—the land, the sky, the town—to keep her grounded and centered. She felt at home here, and if that meant that she had to give up some of the more sophisticated pleasures of the big city … well, it was a small price to pay.

Although she was not sure Julian thought so. Oh, he claimed to like it here, and he never really complained, and he spent a lot of time with the kids, which seemed to make him happy. But even after all these years, he just didn’t seem to fit in here. Her family saw him as someone who was here only temporarily, who was enduring life in Jardine until he had the chance to move back to Los Angeles, and though they’d never really discussed it, Claire thought that that was the way he saw himself, too.

She walked out to the kitchen. According to the note he left, Julian had taken the kids to play miniature golf. They’d both earned free passes in the library’s summer reading program and had been begging him to take them for the past week. Claire was grateful for the time alone—there was a lot of housework she needed to catch up on—and she poured herself some orange juice, made herself some toast, and took her breakfast outside to eat on the picnic table in the backyard. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the clouds were rolling across the sky. It was nice not having to listen to the noise of the television or the kids bickering or Julian commenting on whatever newspaper article he was reading.

She ate slowly, leisurely, then brought her plate and glass back inside. As usual, everyone had piled their bowls and cups in the sink. She thought about putting them into the dishwasher, but it seemed like a waste to turn it on for such a small load, and she didn’t feel like letting them sit in the machine until she had enough for a full load, so she did what she usually did and washed the dishes by hand.

Squeezing soap into the sink, Claire wondered whether Julian had bought refried beans yesterday when he’d gone to the store. She was planning on making tacos for lunch, and if he hadn’t, she needed to give him a call and tell him to pick up a few cans on his way home. She paused to check the cupboard, saw that they were set for dinner, and immediately started to plan out the meals for the rest of the week. She’d seen a story on the nightly news a few days ago that said more husbands were helping out with the cooking these days, that more couples were sharing household responsibilities, and she wondered on which planet that survey had been taken, because it certainly wasn’t true for her or anyone she knew. Even though Julian was home all day, he never lifted a finger to help around the house unless she yelled at him.

Returning to the sink, Claire turned off the water, picked up a sponge and started to wash the dishes. She stared out of the window at the empty backyard. No one was out there, but it felt as though someone was watching her, and, involuntarily, she glanced over at the door that led to the basement.

She didn’t like the basement.