The Haunted

“Even your kids’ rooms look like something out of a magazine.”

Claire laughed. “Well, we made them clean up before packing them off to Grandma’s. Believe me, they don’t usually look like that. Especially James’s room.”

“It is a nice place, though,” Pam said. She punched Claire lightly on the arm. “Now aren’t you glad you did this?”

The doorbell rang.

“Ask me in two hours,” Claire told her.

Julian reached the door before she did and ushered in a pleasant-looking young man who had also brought a bottle of wine and whom Julian introduced as Cole Hubbard, one of their neighbors. It was his turn to give the tour, so Claire graciously accepted the gift and brought it to the kitchen, while Julian took the man upstairs, no doubt to show off his office.

Julian’s friend Rick was the next to arrive, and Claire forced herself to smile at him as he entered, bringing nothing. Rick was a printer, and Julian had met him years ago when he’d needed some new business cards. The two of them had hit it off for some inexplicable reason, though outwardly they would seem to have nothing in common. Jardine-born and -bred, Rick had never finished high school, let alone gone on to college, and his sole interest appeared to be beer, his favorite brands of which were advertised on the series of grimy, faded T-shirts that made up his wardrobe.

Claire had never liked Rick, and she knew that, as usual, he would end up drinking too much and railing against his ex, who’d moved to Las Cruces over three years ago. Declining to take him around their new house, she pointed him toward the food, and was saved from further conversation by the ringing of the doorbell. It was Julian’s other friend, Patrick, along with his wife, Kathleen. The two of them, both workers at the hospital, were the polar opposite of Rick, and she stood with them in the entryway for a few moments, talking and catching up and apologizing for not having them over sooner. It was getting too crowded to give tours, so she bade them explore to their heart’s content and answered the next ring of the doorbell, which turned out to be her friend Janet.

The floodgates opened after that, and for several minutes she did not even have a chance to close the door between arrivals. They’d decided not to invite family, only friends, and while she’d bristled at that at first, Claire was happy now that Julian had stuck to his guns. It was hard enough dealing with the disparate personalities of their respective circles without throwing relatives into the mix.

Julian had turned on some music, low and not overpowering—one of Brian Eno’s ambient records, she was pretty sure—and the party seemed to be going well. People were eating and drinking, talking and laughing, her friends from work getting to know the neighbors from her street, and though her natural instinct was to hang out with her closest friends, the ones like Janet whom she’d known forever, she made a concerted effort to mingle. There was a long-haul trucker, she discovered, a retired accountant, a veterinarian, a bank teller, a contractor. It was an eclectic group, their new neighbors, and Claire was glad she and Julian had decided to host this get-together. Two of the couples from down the block were just as unfamiliar with their other neighbors as she and Julian were, and they made a special effort to let the two of them know what a great idea this was and how much fun they were having.

After spending a few moments talking to Patrick and Kathleen about recent cutbacks at the hospital and an unseasonal uptick in flu cases, Claire excused herself and maneuvered her way into the dining room to refresh her drink and grab a handful of chips. She practically bumped heads with Julian, who had arrived at the table to snag a couple of taquitos.

“It’s going well,” she said.

He motioned toward the table. “Do you think we have enough food?”

“We have enough drinks. So if we run out of food, it’s your job to make sure everyone’s drunk enough that they don’t notice.”

He smiled. “Deal.”

In the kitchen, Rick and Cole were arguing politics. Loudly. Claire hadn’t noticed before, but now their voices were carrying. She nudged Julian, nodding toward the open doorway.

“It’s those damn pensions,” Rick was saying. “Public employee unions have taken this nation hostage. Our tax dollars are going to pay off the retirement of those bureaucrats.”

Cole shook his head. “Your dollars are going to pay off everyone’s retirement. Oil company CEOs? That’s where those extra pennies you pay at the pump go. Computer company pensions? That’s why you’re paying a hundred bucks for a word-processing program that cost fifty cents to mass-produce in China. You know, instead of pissing and moaning about how other people have it better than you and how their retirement systems should be as bad as yours, why don’t you insist that your retirement be as good as theirs? Instead of trying to drag everyone else down to your level, try to push yourself up to their level.”