Page 22 of The Vacancy In Room 10

9

ANNA

I can’t be here anymore. I stand in the middle of Henry’s studio-turned-my-temporary-apartment. Flecks of dust dance in beams of sunlight streaming through the cracks in the curtains, canvases are piled against the walls, boxes stacked to the ceiling, and everything feels cluttered and like it’s closing in. I can’t be here. I can’t absorb what the police detective told me. Who would ever hurt him? He didn’t have enemies. He was just a normal person—but normal people don’t get murdered, right?

I think of going back to our house. They said it would sell quickly which is why I put everything in storage and thought it would make sense to just stay here while I sort his things and look for a place to move—maybe Costa Rica or Ibiza or one of the places we always talked about, but now I’m more lost than ever. I could move a bed back into the master and just get out of this hellhole until it sells maybe. I called my parents, and they thought that was a good idea. But there’s something keeping me here. Like, whatever terrible thing happened to him happened here, and people know more than they are saying.

I hear some shouting down at the pool, so I abandon my thoughts and open the apartment door. I lean over the railing and squint against the morning sun glare to see what’s going on.

I catch a flash of something in the pool—a kid I think—he’s flailing, sinking under the surface, and then I see Callum crossing the pool deck from the mailboxes, running, tearing off his messenger bag from his shoulder and jumping in, pulling the kid out.

My hand flies to my mouth. It all happened so fast, I take a moment to register what actually just occurred—that the kid was drowning. When he’s sitting safely on a deck chair, with Callum knelt down in front of him, I see something even more shocking. The father—that Eddie guy—yells across the pool at him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, bro?” He starts making his way over to Callum and the kid, marching across the deck with a scowl. A handful of residents are at the pool, but I didn’t see anyone else try to help. Maybe it just happened too quickly. People are muttering and watching what’s unfolding but not moving to see if the kid’s okay. It all seems so strange.

Eddie stomps up to Callum, and I see he’s actually angry, looking for a fight. Not at all grateful Callum just saved the kid’s life. He elbows Callum out of the way and yanks the kid up by one arm.

“Go inside, George,” he says, and although tears are running down the little boy’s cheeks, he doesn’t make a sound. He wraps the towel around his shoulders and runs, barefoot and shaking, toward unit 103 and disappears inside the door.

“Excuse me?” Callum stands. “Your son just about drowned. You’re asking me what the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“He was learning to swim. That’s how we do it. It’s not your place to interfere like that!”

“Are you out of your mind? He was under the water,” Callum says, but he’s backing up ever so slightly. He picks up his bag and holds it in front of himself. It’s subtle, but it looks like he’s trying to shield himself, and I don’t blame him. This guy looks deranged.

He pushes Callum’s shoulder. “I’m the parent. He learns to swim the way I decide he does. So you touch him again, it will be the last thing you do. Got it?”

“How about, instead, I call child services and report you for neglect and child abuse? Psycho.” Callum’s words are shaky as he says them, but he says them, and I cringe. You can tell he’s scared but trying to do the right thing.

“Yeah, try it. That will definitely be the last thing you do. And I mean that. Sincerely,” Eddie says, and everyone around the pool shrinks, probably wishing they were anywhere else—not knowing what to say or do.

“Oh, you’re threatening me? You hurt that kid again, and it’s the last thing you do, sir! Two can play this game, and only one of us needs a serious psychiatric evaluation, so try me, nut job!” Callum yells, but there is self-doubt in his bravado that I can hear all the way from here. The sort of ease and confidence with which Eddie confronts him is clearly not in Callum’s nature. I can even see his cheeks redden as he awkwardly tries to stand his ground.

Then I see Rosa come out the front door of her apartment, and Eddie must see her, too, because he immediately backs away as if nothing happened. He walks over to his truck and lights a cigarette. Rosa looks around a moment and doesn’t see him, then goes back in. Callum looks around, too, but much more insecurely, and then nods as if he’s won the argument and heads for his apartment door.

“He shouldn’t have done that,” a voice from behind me says, and I leap, hand to heart.

“Shit!” I say, turning around to see a tiny woman sitting in a torn deck chair next to her door, smoking a Camel Light and shaking her head as she peers down toward the pool.

“You scared me,” I say.

“Uncle Fester,” she says, holding out her hand. “I scare a lot of people, but I don’t take it personally. Boo,” she says, laughing.

“No, I mean. You startled me. I’m sorry. What was your name?” I ask, shaking her hand out of obligation because she hasn’t put it down yet.

“Babs, but they call me Uncle Fester, and...he shouldn’t have done that.”

I can see exactly why they call her that, although it’s awful. Her head is shiny bald, and the bags under her eyes are remarkable. I’m not sure if she’s sick, and of course, I don’t ask. I have no idea what to make of this strange woman who is apparently my next-door neighbor.

“Shouldn’t have thrown his own kid in the pool, you mean?”

“No. Callum. I think that’s his name. He shouldn’t have interfered. No bueno.” She chokes on a puff of her cigarette and coughs, waving the smoke away.

“What? He just saved that poor kid’s life. No one else was even paying attention, and his father just...”

“Be that as it may, he just embarrassed Eddie Bacco. He’s on Bacco’s shitlist now. You know him? Callum?”

“Kinda,” I say.

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