Free Love Is The Beginning (Valerie Dearborn) by Caroline Hanson Page A

dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand,
chewing furiously. Jack knew his father's attitude towards his mother: “Indulge
her—she'll talk and talk, and then run herself down like a toy top,” he always
said. “Watch her spin and then stand still.”
    “Hush Maria, they have booked every room and are paying for
food, even if they don't eat it. That should cover the cost of a drunken ruckus .” 
    His mother sighed heavily in disagreement. To Jack, his
mother was a whirling dervish with her flapping hands, voice rising and falling
in quick staccato rhythms as she worried over every possible problem. Jack's
father let her talk, eating steadily and looking at Jack with a smile in his
eyes. The look said, 'Women, what can you do?'
    Jack saw that look, and it made him calm in a way he didn’t
understand. A child's calm, where the world is as big as your parent’s house,
and the only disasters and problems are caused by the changing emotions of
one's elders. As long as they were happy, the world was perfect.
    And they were just about always happy.
    The next day was similar to the one before. He cleaned, had
some ice cream, and went back to the beach, lamenting how long summer vacation
was. When Jack came home at sundown, the lobby was filled with people. 
    Some held newspapers, while others drank coffee.  The men
wore expensive suits, and he saw more than a few pocket watches, which seemed
unusual. The women were dressed a little oddly as well, as though they had
raided an expensive costume shop: gowns that required corsets, some with
feathers in their hair, even a flapper skirt. Maybe they were actors, he
thought.
    One of the women turned and looked at him, her hazel eyes
boring into him until he jerked his gaze away and looked at the floor instead.
She was a striking woman with sharp features on a heart-shaped face. But just
thinking about her made him afraid. 
    His heart sped up and several guests turned to look at him,
their heads swiveling towards him in sharp coordination.  They stared at him
unblinkingly, with no expression upon their faces, and Jack had the crazy idea
that they had heard his heartbeat speed up. 
    Ducking his head, he walked quickly but quietly through the
lobby, sure that he felt the woman's hazel eyes locked on his back.
    When he reached his apartment, he leaned back against the
door in relief, his hand absently rubbing at his neck. It was as if there was a
hand hovering for a moment above his skin, the sensation tingly and
unpleasant. 
    Jack went to his room and closed the door, creating another
barrier between himself and the strange guests in the lobby. He could see the
entryway in his mind, those few moments on a loop in his brain. Why did he keep
thinking of it? What was it that had spooked him? If he identified the problem
it would go away.  He took a deep breath, wanting to be practical. They were
tourists like any other group that came to stay, nothing to worry about, right?
    Jack walked to his dresser and impulsively put on his
rosary.
    Stillness . That was what had seemed wrong. The men read
the newspapers, but they didn't fidget. The pages never trembled or got snapped
straight. It had been so quiet, as quiet as an empty room, instead of one
filled with people. And the women had sat bolt upright, as though their bones
were made of solid steel. It was like being in a wax museum where the
mannequins spoke to each other. Even the coffee cups hadn't clinked as they
were returned to their saucers.
    He shook his head, trying to shake out his feelings of
unease. He was being silly, he thought, even as his fingers traipsed down the
beads of his rosary in a self-soothing manner. Then his mother came to the door
carrying clean sheets for him to put into the linen closet upstairs.
    When Jack opened the upstairs closet door, the floral smell
of soap rolled out to meet him. The little bars that got put in the guest rooms
always made his nose twitch when he was in this little room. The