The Universal Cover Up

Annabelle Raines sat stiffly in the plush beige arm chair, suddenly aware of the extent to which her life was painted in monochrome. The chair was beige, which matched the carpet, both of which were just a half-shade darker than the off-white flat paint on the walls of her modest, two-bedroom home. The couch matched the chair and even the side tables and coffee table were made of blond wood. Annabelle hadn't sat in the room in months, but when the young couple from down the street rang her doorbell, she found herself doing something she wouldn't normally consider: she invited them in.

Sitting there with them, she suddenly saw the room – and all its deficiencies – through their eyes. She registered the colorless-ness of it all; contrasted with the deep blue jacket and red wool cap the man wore, and the flawless pink coat and matching hat worn by the woman.

The couple sat just on the edge of the beige couch; the way you sit when you don't plan to stay somewhere very long.

“We can't stay long,” the man confirmed. “We have twelve more houses to get to.” He glanced out the window where the weak afternoon winter light had already begun to fade.

The picture window in the front room was dirty on the outside, making the fading light even weaker. She hadn't paid to have someone wash that window for her this year. She didn't trust that boy who was mowing her lawn to do it right, and when she attempted to drag the ladder out of the garage she succeeded only in pinching two fingers in the blasted contraption. In retrospect, a streak or two left from the teenager's incompetence would have been preferable to the dirt and cobwebs she now saw.

The boxwood bushes hadn't been pruned, either. They had grown up to cover half of the picture window, and they were topped with an additional six inches of snow which reduced the visibility even more. The room felt small, and closed in.

The man finally stopped looking out the window.

“We weren't sure you were home,” the young woman said. “What with no tracks in your driveway and the walk not shoveled. But we're glad we stopped just in case.” She patted the red cookie tin in her lap.

Annabelle told the couple she hadn't been out since the snow fell earlier in the week, and that she didn't feel comfortable driving in such weather at her age, and that she didn't see any reason to justify being out in such weather anyway.

She wondered if her voice betrayed her nervousness. She feared that it did. She wasn't used to visitors. Even more surprising than having someone show up at her door was her response to this young couple: inviting them, and then babbling on about the weather and other common things.

“Anyway, since we are new to the neighborhood, we thought it would be a good way to meet everyone,” the young woman said, patting the cookies again. Their house was recently finished and now sitting on a lot that had been empty the entire time Annabelle had lived in the subdivision: some 28 years now.

(Had she really been only forty-five years old then? Had her Richard lived with her here for eight of those years? He was gone twenty years now? Could it be so long? It was getting harder and harder to remember these details without looking at something official, like a deed or mortgage paperwork or a death certificate.)

It was beyond her reasoning how such a fine lot had been left undeveloped for so many years. How they could build such an eyesore on such a pretty lot was another matter altogether. She cringed every time she turned the corner and saw it. She had even started coming and going “the back way” to avoid looking at it. She didn't mind that the “back way” added a quarter mile to every trip and caused her to have to pull out onto a busy street at a stop sign, rather than at an intersection with a signal. It was worth the hassle to not see that ugly brick they had chosen, those cheap imitation shutters, and all that ugly brown of unfinished yard landscaping.

But, she had to admit, there was a bit of redemption for them in their hospitality. It didn't make up for their architectural sins, but it did make it a little easier to know they were at least considerate people.

*****

After the couple – they said their names were Chris and Kelly, but for the life of her, Annabelle couldn't be sure which was which – went on their way, she sat the tin of cookies on the coffee table and watched them making their way from house to house, on down the street. She noticed none of the other neighbors invited the couple inside, though they all took the cookies.

She wondered if her friendliness had been too strong. Maybe, she reasoned, I should have left them to stand on the porch, like everyone else did. She figured they were talking about her even now, as they walked between houses.

“The lonely old lady who made them sit and listen to stories of how the neighborhood used to be,” she said aloud to the empty room. She hated how weak her voice sounded. She used to speak so confidently. She was so sure of her words.

“The crazy lady who talks to herself,” she mumbled as she picked up the red cookie tin, and pried off the lid. “Chocolate Chip. How original.”

She bit into one, nibbling just the smallest portion. The cookie tasted plain and boring just as she suspected, except for a slight aftertaste that left Annabelle wondering if they had used some sort of artificial sweetener. She didn't consume the “pink stuff” or the “blue stuff”. She'd read somewhere that they both cause cancer in rats. She tossed the barely-bitten cookie back into the tin, and walked the tin into the kitchen where she pitched it into the wastebasket under the sink.

*****

Annabelle found herself dozing in the recliner in the family room, the television turned to the evening news and then followed by Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. She usually stayed awake through the news and Wheel, often napping throughout Jeopardy. She found herself thinking about the new neighbors. They projected a sense of a happy and perfect life in their small talk, but everyone seems perfect on first inspection. Annabelle knew better. She knew they were flawed, just like everyone else, though it was hard to tell just what sins were percolating there beneath the shiny, young exterior.

The man was likely a womanizer. Most men are, she reasoned. And she didn't see anything to make her think otherwise. Maybe he was even worse. Some sort of pedophile. Or a cross dresser. She saw them on that Springer show all the time, and she was getting good at spotting men with deviant tendencies.

The woman – was she Kelly or Chris? Regardless, she was a more difficult book to read. Women usually were. There was a hint of loneliness in her eyes, the way she focused on anything in the room and practically refused to look Annabelle in the eye. She was certainly hiding something. Maybe some sort of addiction, or petty jealousy. Or maybe it was just the lonely look of a woman playing second fiddle to her husband's career and drinking buddies an whatever other perversion he was likely preoccupied with.

The thing that was clear from their talk was that both Kelly and Chris were dishonoring their parents by moving to the suburbs of Chicago, leaving their families behind in Kansas. What were they thinking, living carefree lives while shunning their family responsibilities back home? It was this lack of responsibility that reminded her of one of the reasons she was content not having children of her own. They would have likely left her alone and in need. She'd rather just look after herself.

*****

She awoke in her chair. There was another police procedural on the television. Different setting. Different names. Same premise. Television programming wasn't what it used to be.

Hitting the power button on the remote plunged the room into darkness. Annabelle waited for her eyes to adjust, then lowered the foot rest of the recliner, and lifted herself out of the chair. Padding into the kitchen, she passed the doorway leading into the front room. Through the dirty window pane Annabelle saw a streak of red and white lights. An ambulance, passing by with lights on, but no siren blaring.

Curious, she went to the front door and opened it, stepping out into the cold night.

Her entire street was lined with ambulances and police cars; one or the other at each house on her street. She stood in awe of the sight, and saw two of her neighbors – those people with the loud, barking dogs – strapped to stretchers, wheeled down snow covered driveways, and loaded into the back of one of the transports.