The Other Side of the Door

Madeline held out hope that perhaps the knock at the door was Rog, but that would be a sign that something was wrong. Rog never knocked. He either unlocked the door with his own key or found the front door open. Being closer to the countryside than the suburban sprawl where he lived, this area was still fairly crime free and doors remained unlocked during the sunlit hours. It seemed a little soon for Penny to be arriving. The thought crossed her mind that it could possibly be Joan, since the girl was not answering Penny’s efforts at phone calling.

Trepidation began to play havoc with the cords of Madeline’s nerves. Not one prone to thoughts of hysteria, she was normally unfazed by much, but the change in Rog’s rituals were disturbing to her. It was unlike him not to call ahead and let her know that he would not be keeping their weekly date.

Carefully she looked out the window that faced her driveway. No unfamiliar or familiar car. Nothing, yet just as she supposed the knock had been her subconscious mind’s doing, it sounded again. Before crossing to the entryway of the house, she stood back and examined the figure behind the door, murky from the gaze-like curtains hanging over the door’s window. Before squinting at it more, she looked over at the corner of the hallway, behind where the door would open. Her shotgun lay in waiting, fully loaded, without a safety. She knew that this might be cause for alarm among many, but she had no little children running around, only grown ones, who had chipped in and bought her the gun a few years ago, along with training from the local fraternal order of the police.

Madeline squinted at the figure before her. It was decidedly female. No, it was not Penny, but it was familiar.

“Madeline, dear, it’s Rebecca. Are you there?” the voice on the other side said. Madeline let out a small sigh of relief and hurried to the door. It was not locked and opened to the friendly presence of Rebecca, who walked in unceremoniously and headed for the kitchen. In her hands she carried a towel wrapped parcel.

“Sorry to intrude upon your time with Rog, but I know how he loves my home-baked bread. Since Jamey is visiting, I made an extra loaf.”

Madeline followed behind her, but before she could speak her greetings, Rebecca continued, “Oh Maddy, where is Rog? I thought he would be in here?”

So Madeline, rather than speaking the greeting she had prepared, said, “He’s not here. Hasn’t showed up yet. But that was very sweet of you to make him bread. He should be here soon, I hope.”

Rebecca, ever one to be inspired by the normalness of a kitchen and its inhabitants, flitted about looking at the dinner preparations. She seemed pleased that her sauce was about to be utilized.

As she made herself at home, she asked, “So what has detained your son from your raspberry tarts?”