Terror in Tower Grove

The House

The day Robert was dreading had finally arrived.  Tricia Kelly had gone out on a limb by buying a six-bedroom, one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old house in an iffy neighborhood, according to some.  It was familiar territory for her, though, and she had utmost faith that the area around the botanical gardens would rebound yet again.  Historical figure of local fame, Henry Shaw himself had donated his private gardens, which had ultimately evolved into the landmark Missouri Botanical Gardens.  He had lived in one of the houses on his former estate and sold parcels of his land to friends and associates, who built their stately homes in what had now become the Tower Grove neighborhood.  Everyone there who had bought and refurbished houses claimed some association with Henry Shaw or a friend of his.  Most of it was idle chatter, but some of it had to be true.

Tricia Kelly couldn't resist the beautiful hardwood floors and other architectural features, which captured her heart at first sight.  That was her excuse, besides the fact that she couldn't bear many more nights in the home of Robert Warbritton, nor to continue living in their loveless relationship.  It had ended months ago, maybe as much as a year ago, but he did not seem to see it that way.  The reality hit her over time that she needed to buy a house of her own.  She plotted and planned how to pull off getting both the loan and the down payment, and then she set about convincing her young daughter to make a move she did not want to make.

As a writer, her income was unstable, but she could show bank statements, income tax forms, and even open her QuickBooks files to scrutiny, if necessary.  She considered herself to be an excellent money manager and had done all the correct things:  paid her bills on time, established an emergency fund, and even invested cautiously.  But it was still a fact that banks preferred paychecks, established long-term employment, and careers that were more conventional.  Tricia felt it was unfair since it wasn't as if she were some flake that wrote poetry, screenplays or novels—she wrote consumer education books at a reputable publishing firm that had been in operation for ages.  Ultimately, she had to pay a higher interest rate and save a larger down payment, but she had finally done all they required to approve her loan.

Tricia actually liked Robert Warbritton.  There was no one who could fail to be charmed by his boyish personality—and he had been a great surrogate father for her child over some very important years of her life.  Tricia appreciated that, and hoped Robert would continue to take Andrea to concerts, sit in the front row during her violin performances, and take her to Ted Drewes for ice cream when the girl broke down into tears over a new concerto she was having difficulty mastering.  They had been almost a family for almost five years—from the time Andrea was seven—after her father died from a prolonged illness.

The child barely remembered her real father.  She had diverted all her feelings of emotional loss into her music, quickly becoming a star pupil at the Visual and Performing Arts Academy, a free public magnet school in the historic south Saint Louis neighborhood where they lived.  Robert's house was directly next to the neighborhood and on the opposite side of Tower Grove Park from where Tricia had purchased her new old house.

Robert had come along at a time in her life when she was very vulnerable and very needy.  She thought she loved him then, but she learned slowly and painfully that she did not.  He had rescued her from all the confusing details of Michael's estate when she was in anything but optimal condition to deal with wills and trusts.  Michael had set up his affairs well.  Whenever he tried to explain these matters to Tricia, she couldn't endure it.  Knowing he wouldn't live a long life, Michael lived a full one, rich with love and security if not extravagances, and he planned for a future that he knew he would not share with his beloved and their small daughter.  Of course, vultures had come out of the woodwork when he died, and they clamored to claim some of the proceeds.  Unfortunately, among them had been Michael's very parents, who tried to take Andrea, claiming that their daughter-in-law was unfit to raise her.  Robert Warbritton and his firm had protected Tricia's interests well.  And the relationship Andrea could have had with her only living grandparents was destroyed forever.

If Robert's paternal feelings for Andrea are real, she thought, the bond between them will continue.  Tricia would not interfere in that, and in fact, she hoped he would not abandon her—something she feared likely once he had eventually moved on and had another woman in his life.  Such had been the case in countless other step-parent situations she had witnessed from afar.

Michael had been the love of her life.  When he became weaker and weaker due to a heart condition he'd had from birth, Tricia missed him desperately, even long before the end came for his time on this earth.  She was only twenty-six when he died; he twenty-eight.  They had been young passionate teenagers, a first love for both of them, living out a fairy-tale romance that included prom night, graduation, and then a marriage that quickly followed both events.  They had produced an unexpected but very wanted love child between them.

Today Tricia packed the last of her belongings and couldn't help but notice that in Andrea's room no effort had been made at all in spite of the fact that the moving company was arriving in the morning.  She could hear the strains of Dvorak sifting through the hallway from the dining room.  Tricia began packing her daughter's dresses and formal wear hanging in her closet and planned to attack the chest of drawers shortly after.  If she did not get finished, they could come back later for all the rest.  All Andrea really needed were clothes on her back and her violin.  If pressed to make a life-or-death choice, the child would opt to play naked.  Tricia could not feel angry; it was too easy to understand that this was difficult for her daughter.

Tricia felt sure that Andrea would come to love their beautiful house and eventually take part in decisions about purchasing furnishings and choosing color schemes.  It was in a neighborhood that permitted her to remain in the same school, which clearly would have been a deal-breaker had it not.  Contrary to what the girl believed, Tricia was not trying to ruin her life, only to have one herself as well. 

Andrea had not screamed, bawled, or thrown any tantrums.  She was not that kind of girl.  Her protests had been in the form of pleading, attempts at bargaining, and acts of passive resistance—like never finding the time to pack her things.

Tricia had gotten a surprising amount of her daughter's possessions into boxes neatly labeled Andrea's Room before the sudden silence in the air was quickly followed by footsteps at the doorway and the squeal of bouncing springs as Andrea jumped horizontally onto the bed.  Before any words had passed between them, the girl arose, came to her mother's side, and began wrapping her Avon bottle collection from her dresser.

I'm sorry I left you with all this work, Mom, she said sincerely.  I didn't mean for that to happen.  Things just kept being more important to me than packing.

I know, she said, really, I do.  And you will like the house.  I promise you will.

It's not the house.  It's exactly the kind of place where anyone would dream of living, she admitted for the first time.  Do you think Robert will come and visit us there?

"I think Robert will come and visit you there," she said, the understanding of how things were between herself and her past lover was no secret between them.  Andrea knew that they had not been sleeping in the same bedroom for months, and she felt the coolness in the conversations she witnessed, as well as hearing their arguing after they'd thought she'd gone to bed. 

You're not old enough to understand, honey.  I like Robert, too, but not the way I should, Tricia said softly, but someday, you will—unfortunately.  Why didn't you listen to me when I kept telling you not to get bigger?  Where's my little girl gone?

Mom, I'm twelve, not two, she teased with affection, as she went to sit on the bed where her mother folded clothes into suitcases.  And I go to a very progressive school... and you've never shielded me from reality.  You always allowed me to watch anything on TV that I wanted, as long as we talked about it.  Remember?

Her mother smiled.  And now I'm beginning to have doubts about some of my liberal child-rearing decisions.  Just when I find out it's too late; you've already grown up on me.  They laughed together and hugged.

The truck will be here at nine sharp, missy, so you'd better get some sleep.

I know, Mom, she said, reaching for her pajamas. I told Robert already, and he's going to be ready at eight.

Robert!  Why would you do that, Andrea?  Tricia groaned.  We are moving to make a life separate from him.  This is going to be a problem.  I can tell.

What's wrong with him helping, Mom?  It's not like we're never going to see him again.  It's not like we're sneaking out without giving him our forwarding address to disappear into oblivion.  Beside, your job doesn't exactly provide us with a bunch of co-workers that could be bribed with pizza to come over and lend a hand.

Okay, okay, honey, Tricia conceded.  It'll be all right.  As long as he leaves once the unloading is done.

In the morning, Tricia and Andrea followed the moving van in her car filled with the more breakable or awkward items that couldn't easily be packed.  Robert took his own Subaru filled with Nana, his large Saint Bernard, who wasn't so easily packed as well.

Why is he taking Nana along? Tricia asked, pulling out of the driveway.  She's only going to get underfoot—or in Nana's case over, under, and around foot. 

We have a large, fenced yard, right? Andrea explained.  She can play outside.

The day did go smoother than Tricia had imagined.  It took the three moving men not much more than an hour to unload all their belongings.  Robert helped with furniture placement.  They really didn't have much—just personal things and a few pieces of furniture from her former life that Tricia had kept stored in Robert's garage.  Andrea gave Robert a grand tour, while Tricia unpacked the essentials they would need for the night and next morning.

Mom, Mom, guess what? shrieked Andrea running, down the winding staircase.  Robert is going to let us keep Nana.

No.  Absolutely not, Tricia said firmly.  She is his dog.  We can't take her away from him.

Really, Tricia, he said from the doorway, It would be best for everyone concerned if the dog stayed with you two.  She's practically Andrea's godmother, for Christ's sake.  She would miss that kid a lot more than she would miss me.  And two women living alone will need a dog for protection, in addition to your alarm system, which I'm happy to see you've installed.  Besides, I'll be around from time to time.  I get visitation rights, don't I? he teased at the end.  I want to see both my girls—and more often than every other weekend.

You're starting to sound like a lawyer again, Robert, she said, already giving in.  She was hoping that by his reference to his girls he meant Andrea and Nana.

I am a lawyer, and a damn good one, he joked, so don't give me any trouble.  Then he added, What are you going to do with this huge place?  Just the two of you.  What do you need with six bedrooms?

I'm not sure, but I love having all this space, she said, not wanting to share her plans with him.

It was decided that Nana would sleep with Andrea, in the blue bedroom she had chosen for herself—the one Tricia knew the girl would pick.  Apparently that had not been carved in stone because Andrea had already announced she was changing her mind.

Mom, she said out of breath from the stairs, the front room on the top floor is amazing.  I want that room.  The acoustics are great, and it's huge.

Tricia decided to go upstairs and see if that could possibly work.  She didn't like the idea of her daughter so far away from her own bedroom on the second floor, one of four there that shared one large bathroom with a claw-foot tub and another one at the end of the hall, which was smaller but had a huge shower big enough for a whole family.  That one had been newly added by the previous owners to appease modern tastes and preferences for showers over baths.  But they had done a good job matching the style of the house with lovely period tile work.

I see what you mean, honey, Tricia admitted, following behind her.  "It is a beautiful room, and the other one on the south side of the center staircase—I planned to make that into