Ventura - Gated

Gated
2018 J.D. Ventura

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Print ISBN: 978-1-54395-511-8
eBook ISBN: 978-1-54395-512-5

To Sean, and second chances.

Contents

Chapter

It was a sunless October day and the ride out of the city was depressing. Five years of circling the block for parking spaces and homeless people peeing on their stoop and pigeons mating on their skylight and a growing list of miscellaneous urban annoyances should have made leaving the city a more desirable option. He needs to leave, Claire. Its not about you any longer , she reminded herself. In deference to him, she kept her protests infrequent and comedic. Still, selfishly oh so very selfish, Claire! moving to the exurbs felt like an unbearable indignity and a painful confirmation that they were no longer young and carefree.

Its not the house, right? You like the house? Sam pressed, his knuckles tightly clenching the steering wheel of their Audi, the unbuttoned cuffs of his plaid flannel shirt showing the Rolex she had given him last year for their fifth wedding anniversary. She had inscribed, always time for you. They had both chuckled at how corny that was, but when the fit of laughter had subsided, he leaned in and kissed her gently on her forehead, pushing away her dirty blond bangs with his thumbs. I love it, babe, hed said.

The house is fine. More than fine. Its fantastic. And Ill be fine, Im just going to miss the city a little. Its what weve been talking about. But I know you need this-

We need this.

Thats what I meant. You know that. Okay, well, now I feel like a stupid, selfish bitch for even saying this

But since I asked

But since you asked, I guess I just know who I am in D.C. Who am I in I cant say it without laughing Frontier Village?

Let me stop you right there and remind you of who you were as an urbanite. You were a woman who was sick of the rats and the trash and the crime and Im just talking about the political toilet of a job you loathed. You also hated the actual rats and trash and crime in our neighborhood, which you once described as, and I quote, Brooklyn without the fashion sense. Claire, you need to trust me on this. Frontier

Howdy pardner!

Frontier Village is going to be a lovely place to live. And I think working at home is going to be a nice change for you. Starting your own PR agency. Thats exciting! Its only for a few years, until I

She inhaled sharply as if from the prick of a needle. Sam, dont. I know, I know. Its fine. Im onboard. I am. Can we just drive?

She wanted to believe the move was a good idea. Financially, it made a lot of sense. Theyd bought the house way below market value. A steal, they had both agreed. Its a fresh start , she told herself . One big reset button. But major change of any kind had always made her uncomfortable to the point of nail-biting. Early on in their relationship, he had tried to change this about her with exotic vacations to Iceland, Japan and Australia. But usually, by about day three, she was anxious and homesick and generally no fun to be around. Maybe if the circumstances were different, she could get more excited about the present move. But she was so damn tired. Tired of worrying about him. Tired of waiting for the other shoe to fall. Tired of being tired.

Self-identity concerns aside, she also had a general distaste for suburban and rural living. To Claire, it all represented a kind of red state conformity, an averageness that left everything feeling bland and mediocre. She always thought people went to the burbs to get pregnant or fat usually, but not always, in that order. Wives sat near the bar at Chilis so their husbands could keep one eye on the game and the other on their two fidgety, pre-diabetic kids. Romance was almost always inspired by guilt and solved with cheap, cellophane-wrapped carnations from the grocery store. Birthdays were celebrated with box cakes. Florida was an exotic getaway.

Life beyond the city limits meant jalapeno poppers and trips to Michaels craft stores and scrapbooking and potpourri and a paralyzing predictability she was terrified might grow on her. She already took too much comfort in routine and the thought of any more of it in her life made her want to grab the wheel from Sam and turn the car around. Of course, these worries were trivial when she considered Sams needs. His reasons for wanting to leave the city were real and she would honor them. How could she not?

Sam was still talking. This isnt post-war suburbia, babe. Its entirely different. This is planned rural. Its like soft urban with more trees and less retail.

Sam loved a good plan! It will be fine, honey. Im excited. Really I am.

Youre a sucky liar for someone whos in PR, he said, batting his eyes at her playfully and throwing her a goofy grin.

Through her passenger-side window she could see just a blur of green trees and then cows and then empty fields and then trees again, rusting farm equipment, dirt roads, No Trespassing signs, the occasional farm stand. It was dusk when they crossed into West Virginia. After an hour more on the road, they crested the hill leading down into the valley where their new home awaited them. From this distance, the neighborhood looked more like a settlement, surrounded on two sides by rolling foothills and otherwise encircled by cornfields and orchards. A massive house on a sharp rise overlooked maybe 40 or 50 smaller houses. The cluster of homes had an appearance of congregation that felt necessary given the barrenness of the surrounding landscape. When she saw it now, at sunset, she was overcome with a panicked sense that they should hurry up and get there before nightfall. Before the nothingness of the countryside engulfed them in darkness.

When Sam and Claire toured their first apartment, a brownstone in Capitol Hill, she had fallen in love with the exposed brick. It felt sturdy and reliable and somehow a little mysterious. She had come to regard her husband in this way, too.

They had met at an inter-agency holiday party. She had just moved to D.C. for a public relations job at the FDA, and he was an aerospace engineer for NASA. On paper, they had pretty much nothing in common. But there was something about the way he had joked with her that cold December night. Some people called it a click, but she would later describe it to friends as more of a wink. His pickup line was still a fond memory.

FDA, huh? he had said, squinting quickly at the plastic name badge attached awkwardly to her left breast. She turned slightly, startled by his baritone, nearly knocking her gin gimlet over before looking up. She instantly wondered how she hadnt heard his approach. Her slight yet athletic frame seemed practically wispy when compared with the six-foot two-inch man now towering over her. He wore a perfectly-tailored navy suit and his face was somehow architectural and chaotic at the same time. Its cleft chin, mounted ruggedly to a steely jawline, was dusted by just the hint of a beard. Claire thought he looked like a coal miner who had reluctantly accepted high societys invitation. What had he asked again?

What?

You work at the FDA? I noticed your name tag. Im Sam. Sam Sturgis. My pickup line was going to be something about how Im a huge fan of food and drugs, but then I lost my nerve.

She laughed, as if to say give me a break, but the blood rushed to her cheeks like floodwaters over a dry plain, and the whole response came off as flattered. Her thick blond hair and fit, toned body, the hard-fought results of 6 AM spin classes and a religious diet of shitty-tasting super foods, attracted comments from men of all types. But this guy was different somehow. Her need to flirt with him was instinctual, sudden and primal. Hopefully your nerve loss isnt permanent, she zinged back. Wink, wink.