The Fall of the House of Dorothy Lynch
by Astrid Munn
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
conclusion
The stairs were almost pitch-black, but a slice of light under the kitchen door lit the way. Beatriz could hear rock music and the lower parts of the men’s voices. Clearly, Harry had finished reading some time ago. Surely, they would not consider Beatriz a bother.
“I just need someone,” Beatriz whispered to herself. “Akin to a veterinarian. To check the hummingbird. Inside my chest.”
Beatriz reminded herself to be cute and charming as she turned the knob and slipped in. She was immediately hit with bright lights — from the ceiling fan, from the microwave, from the linoleum under her — it all made her eyes ache.
Beatriz squinted as she reoriented herself with the other half of the barbecue. Uncle Mitch, Harry, and Dr. Hagen stood around the kitchen island, beers in hand. Farther off, in the living room, Grandpa Leroy dozed on a recliner, his mouth agape.
Beatriz took a deep breath and called out from the corner, “Dr. Hagen?”
Dr. Hagen spun around and coughed for what felt like an eternity. “What’s up, Beatriz?”
This was all the doctor could string together after so much coughing. A familiar skunk hit Beatriz’s nose, and that is when she spotted the honey bear bottle with a carb poking from its tummy. This is why they were trying to keep her downstairs. So she wouldn’t see Dr. Hagen like this. It was understandable, and she was a tad scandalized. After all, a man of his means could afford something better than a honey bear bong. A vaporizer, at least.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with Leslie?” Harry asked. “You know, downstairs?”
“Um, I’m not ‘supposed’ to be anywhere, man,” Beatriz replied. Uncle Mitch raised an eyebrow at her sass. “And Leslie had to go out for a minute. I was hoping your dad could check something for me.”
“What’s that, sweetheart?” the doctor asked.
“I don’t know what I did or what I ate,” Beatriz started, careful to insert a giggle, “but I feel as though my heart is beating out of my chest! Am I dying?”
“Well, I don’t have my scope or anything, but let’s take a look.”
Before Beatriz could grab a seat, Dr. Hagen marched up to her, pressed two fingers to her neck, and studied his watch. Beatriz could feel Dr. Hagen’s wheezy breath on her clavicle. Unsure where to look, Beatriz stared down at her chubby brown toes as they gripped the gleaming white linoleum. There was still some nail polish on them: Goin’ Ape-ricot. More than six seconds had elapsed, but Dr. Hagen kept counting.
That is when Lindy burst in. “What’s going on up here?”
“Heart’s a little fast, that’s all,” Dr. Hagen reported coolly.
“Oh, for Chrissakes, Paul, a healthy young woman doesn’t get tachycardia from nowhere,” Lindy scolded. “Did you even check her eyes?”
“Oh God,” Beatriz gasped, her heart rising to her throat. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”
Desperately, she searched everyone’s faces for reassurance that everything was OK. Harry just stared at her, taking in the whole scene. Uncle Mitch slipped the honey bear behind some canisters. Grandpa Leroy remained asleep despite Lindy’s scolding.
“Your eyes are a little dilated,” Dr. Hagen explained, “But I didn’t say anything because, you know, it’s a Saturday and I didn’t want to make you nervous.”
Beatriz darted to the bathroom to examine herself in the medicine cabinet mirror. Two pools of black looked back at her; she strained to find the familiar rings of brown around them.
“What did Leslie give you?” Harry asked, leaning against the doorway.
Beatriz was unsure how to answer the question. She didn’t want to get Leslie in trouble, especially considering how she was probably driving at the moment.
“Just some... leftovers. From Eudoratopia.”
Lindy snorted as she pushed past Harry and shut him out. “Hmmph. Leftovers.” In her arms were some clothes and a towel. “C’mon. Get in the shower.”
“Why? Do I smell?”
“No, but I think you’ll calm down and feel better if you shower and go to bed.”
“Bed? Here? But aren’t all the rooms taken?”
“You can share a guest bed with Scout.”
“Scout? Can’t I take Leslie’s bed instead?”
“You’re a little too stoned to handle the logistics, but if I put you in Leslie’s bed and this Kane fellow spends the night, where is he going to sleep if you and Leslie are in her bed? Not with me and Paul. Not with Didi and Mitch. Not with the children, obviously.”
Beatriz wanted to suggest the sofas, but this was not her house.
Lindy settled herself onto the toilet lid and flipped through a battered SkyMall while Beatriz undressed and turned on the water. Leslie once described showering on E as some transcendental cascade of sensation; maybe this would be similar. But Beatriz did not want transcendence right now, not with Lindy nearby. When she stepped in, however, the water was just water.
“Does this ever end?” Beatriz asked herself, rubbing her eyes after the tiles started to pulsate.
“It will, don’t worry,” Lindy called out.
“You heard that?”
“I hear everything,” Lindy said, reaching in to turn off the taps after it became evident Beatriz was just standing there, letting the water sluice over her. Lindy handed her a towel; it was faded but still silky and plush. Beatriz wondered if the fabric softener folks had yet to vertically integrate with the body lotion people; it would save her a lot of time in the morning.
“I know you and Harry like each other, but he has to keep his eye on the ball.”
Beatriz almost tripped as she fumbled on some Tweety Bird pajamas. “Uhhh... what ball is that?”
“Uhhh, only a little thing called the GRE?” Lindy said, mocking Beatriz’s cadence. “And, like, this thing called an MFA?”
Beatriz’s father had warned her about MFAs; he was not going to bankroll one. Beatriz kept this to herself and nodded earnestly.
“OK. We all have goals,” Beatriz said. “But would it be so bad if he and I went out?
“Harry is a catch,” Lindy insisted. “He’s done playing the field. He’s already 25. After he gets that degree, it’s the white picket fence and the minivan.”
A Superman toothbrush sat on the edge of the sink in a Batman cup. Its bristles — faded, smushed, and splintering — signaled to Beatriz that it was Harry’s, not the children’s.
“I’m not out to get barefoot and pregnant,” Beatriz retorted. “My parents want me to go to grad school, too. Law school, even!”
Lindy heaved herself up and scoffed. “I’m not arguing with a girl tripping balls. Let’s get you to bed.”
* * *
Beatriz tiptoed up to the four-poster where Scout slept and slipped under the bedspread. She stayed near the edge so as to occupy as little space as possible. She felt bad for Scout; no one had consulted the girl beforehand. Lying there, Beatriz reminded herself of Moby Dick; how Ishmael suddenly woke up next to Queequeg on the Pequod. Not so bad, right? Beatriz resolved to offer this comparison should Scout wake up and scream bloody murder upon discovering a near-stranger in her bed.
When dawn broke, Beatriz slinked out in search of her street clothes and purse. Once dressed, Beatriz peeked into Leslie’s bedroom. Her careful arrangement of teddy bears and toss pillows was still intact. In the living room, Leslie slept upright on the sofa, not unlike Grandpa Leroy the night before. On her lap rested a head full of blonde dreadlocks - this was probably Kane. A DVD menu looped in the background: The Constant Gardener. Beatriz wondered who sought to impress whom with that movie choice.
Not wanting to wake Leslie and go through the pain of meeting Kane, Beatriz passed through the cluttered breezeway and onto the porch. Aunt Didi and Uncle Mitch were perched on the steps, coffee mugs in hand and another Parliament dangling from Aunt Didi’s fingers.
“Are you leaving already?” Uncle Mitch asked.
Beatriz could not tell if he was teasing. She was never good at sarcasm.
“Uh, yes,” Beatriz stammered. “I have some reading I ought to do.”
“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you,” Aunt Didi said. “You are a beautiful girl. I wish Lindy would see that.”
Beatriz smiled and shrugged. “Well, I think she has definitely seen me,” Beatriz said, unsure who all in the house knew about the shower. “I just don’t know whether she sees me with the minivan and picket fence she’s pictured for Harry.”
Aunt Didi scoffed. “Please. You’re both youngsters,” she said, “not dolls for Lindy’s dream house.”
Once inside her car, Beatriz checked her eyes in the rearview mirror. The rings of brown were back. Driving away, she hummed a few lines from “Rocky Horror.” They were her favorite lines, from the part where Barry Bostwick lies on his side, face painted like a clown, and kicks a leg high in the air. He always sounded so haunted by everything he had done at the Frankenstein Place. Finally, Beatriz felt she could relate.
Copyright © 2025 by Astrid Munn
