Page 4 of The Girl on Hallow's Eve

I pause for a few seconds, gathering all the words and letting them trickle through my brain so I can really process them.

“What are we actually talking about right now?” I ask.

He lets out a sigh and I stand up, making my way toward the yellow phone on the wall beside the pantry.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks.

“I’m calling Xavier so he can say something about this that makes no goddamn sense but will eventually fix everything.”

Xavier wasn’t home. I left him a message on his answering machine, but I don’t put a lot of stock in getting a call back from him anytime soon. For someone who is unendingly curious to the point of filling his home with gadgets, most of them of his own invention, Xavier has a strange relationship with technology. Answering machines make him wary. He says he doesn’t like the idea of a machine answering the phone for him but not interacting with the caller.

Answering the phone is part of a social contract. It implies a willingness to engage and take in what the person on the other end of the line has to say. The convenient thing about that is if you aren’t in the mood to talk to someone, you simply don’t answer the phone. Answering machines eliminate the option of refusing that transaction, according to Xavier. The machine takes it upon itself to answer, extending the implication that while he may not physically be capable of answering the phone at that moment, he is still open to whatever message needs to be related. The actual recording of a message only amplifies his anxiety.

Seeing the little red light blinking on his answering machine is an uncomfortable experience for him. When he sees that light, every potential scenario flashes through his head. That message waiting for him could be anything and he doesn’t know how to prepare himself for it. At least in a conversation, voice cues or the words people choose to introduce a topic can give some hint of what’s to come. It provides the opportunity to ready a reaction or even stop the conversation. Xavier might not be the best when it comes to fully understanding how others are feeling or reading emotions and intentions in interactions, but this gives him some chance to interpret the situation. Playback on an answering machine just throws the words at him and he’s automatically given the responsibility that comes with having heard them.

If he chooses not to answer the phone, he doesn’t have any of that resting on him. But a recorded message means the weight of whatever was said has been passed along to him. It’s practically nothing to get a wrong number or Ava calling to see if the guys want to meet up for lunch, but to Xavier, it’s a lot. The days are far gone when there was any thought that he might settle down into recognizable emotions and understandable thought patterns. If those days ever actually existed. From the first time I met him, I knew there was something about him that was unlike any person I’d ever encountered. I didn’t know then just how different or how much he’d impact my life from then on. And I’m pretty sure I still don’t.

But for tonight, I’m going to have to do without his words of wisdom that might help me better understand Sam’s outburst about the demonstrations. It means I’ve abandoned the lasagna where it sat on the stove and instead have about a quarter of the tiramisu on my plate beside me as I sit on the front porch. A blanket over my lap staves off the early autumn chill, and the bright lights on either side of the door illuminate the notebook in my lap where I’m making notes about my most recent case.

The door opens and Sam comes out. I don’t look up as he comes and sits beside me on the wicker loveseat. We sit in silence for a few seconds, me continuing to write down questions and thoughts to guide my investigation and him seeming to wait either for me to say something or for him to figure out what he wants to say.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I didn’t mean for this whole thing to blow up like that.”

“What I don’t understand is why it’s a whole thing to begin with. This isn’t the first time you’ve dealt with civil unrest for one reason or another. And compared to some of the other things you’ve been called in to assist with, the farmers angry about the mall are downright tame. They’re upset that their way of life is being completely changed and there’s nothing they can do about it. They have no say. The land was bought from them, but it wasn’t like they were able to say no.

“The amount of pressure they were facing was far too much. Besides, a lot of the people who are out there protesting aren’t even the ones who sold their land. They are the ones who refused, not wanting to let a mall take up what used to be fields and ruin the area. But it didn’t do them any good. The people around them gave in. They took the offers, which meant the mall was going to be built no matter what. Their livelihoods were affected even though they did everything in their power to prevent it.”

“I know,” Sam says. “And that’s what’s bothering me.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“Everybody is talking about progress. Everything is progress. No matter what it takes away. Things are changing so much and sometimes it’s just really hard to deal with. Sometimes change is good. I know that. But it seems like people are willing to just forget about everything that is already good just because they want something new and different. They automatically think that’s better, and it isn’t always better. But once it’s been changed, it can’t go back. You can’t undo it. Once you’ve made that decision, it’s what exists from then on, even if you know it was a mistake or you wish you could have what used to be again,” he says. “And sometimes it scares the hell out of me. Everything is changing so fast and I feel like I can’t keep up. What am I going to miss because of what’s being forced to come next?”

“You don’t have to miss anything,” I tell him.

“You don’t always have the choice.”

“Are you worried about the officers?” I ask. “Do you think that this is going to escalate to something more serious than it already has?”

I know the possibilities. I understand what could happen with these people getting more and more worked up as the days count down to the mall opening and their worlds changing completely. But I don’t talk about it. I’ve taken to feeling that worry and knowing what could happen, but not giving voice to it and instead hoping it doesn’t come to pass. It doesn’t always work. And there are times when I feel like I’m going to split open as I watch things crumble, knowing I can’t do anything about it. But this time it’s about Sam. I need to hear what my husband is feeling. If he’s worried about how far this will go, something needs to be done.

“That’s part of it,” he admits. “I hope it won’t. I hope that everything will just settle down and they’ll realize there’s nothing that can come of them continuing to act like this but trouble. I don’t have a lot of patience for people putting the safety and lives of officers at risk because of something like this. But if that does happen, I know we’ll be called in to help handle it. It won’t go too far.”

“But there’s something else,” I intuit.

He takes a breath in the way that he does when he’s trying to figure out how to say something uncomfortable. “Someone offered to buy the house.”

Of all the things he could have told me were bothering him, I wasn’t expecting that.

“This house?” I ask, confused.I would think I would have heard something about that. Or at least noticed people looking at it.

“No. My parents’ house,” he clarifies.

“Oh.”

Now I understand the intensity of his reaction. The thoughts I’ve been having about the house wash over me again. They mean something different now.

“Is that your entire reaction?” he asks.

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