GATED by J.D. Ventura

GATED By J.D. Ventura CHAPTER 1 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. It’s 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. “It’s 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,” he’d said. “The house is fine. More than fine. It’s fantastic. And I’ll be fine, I’m just going to miss the city a little. It’s what we’ve been talking about. But I know you need this-” “We need this.” “That’s 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 DC. Who am I in – I can’t 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 I’m just talking about that cut-throat ad agency you despised. 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 studio, maybe even a gallery. That’s exciting! It’s only for a few years, until I –” She inhaled sharply as if from the prick of a needle. “Sam, don’t. I know, I know. It’s fine. I’m onboard. I am. Can we just drive?” She wanted to believe the move was a good idea. Financially, it made a lot of sense. 1 | Page They’d bought the house way below market value. A steal, they had both agreed. It’s 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. There they were, Sam, a 6’4” athletic giant to her wispy, petite frame, trapesing through the streets of Tokyo, Sydney and Reykjavik. He made her try whale meet, icepick up a frozen waterfall and swim with actual sharks. She fell in love with his adventurous spirit, but usually, by about day three of any trip, that side of him had her intolerably 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 Chili’s 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 Michael’s 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 Sam’s needs. His reasons for wanting to leave the city were real and she would honor them. How could she not? Sam was still talking, combing his thick black hair with his fingers, which he often did when excited. “This isn’t post-war suburbia, babe. It’s entirely different. This is ‘planned rural.’ It’s like ‘soft urban’ with more trees and less retail.” Sam loved a good plan, which was an attribute at NASA, where he worked as an aerospace engineer specializing in satellite operations. He was a scientist to which the world and all its riddles somehow made sense. She was a painter, who, through her art, showed, but never solved, life’s mysteries. So, her husband’s obsession with preparedness and detail was, at the same time, both comforting and irritating. “It will be fine, honey. I’m excited. Really I am.” “You don’t paint a convincing picture for someone who intends to paint for a living,” 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 2 | Page 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. They approached the guard shack now and two men in crisp security guard attire, complete with badges, caps and walkie-talkies affixed to utility belts, emerged from the booth, their exhalations blooming before them in the bracing chill of the October night. Both were tall, muscular and blond, and looked so much alike Claire thought they could be brothers. One guard crossed in front of their car and positioned himself on the passenger side as the other motioned for Sam to stop and, bending forward, gave Sam a friendly wink before waving hello to Claire. Sam rolled the window down. “Mr. Sturgis, sir, welcome home,” said the guard, glancing down at a handheld computer tablet, then at Sam’s face, then back down at the screen again. “And Mrs. Sturgis, welcome. Is this your first night in the Village?” “Yes, it is,” Sam replied before squinting at the name on the guard’s badge, “Officer Collins.” The other guard was now bending over to look in Claire’s window and when their eyes met, he gave a friendly wink and a satisfied smile before standing upright again. “And we have here your movers should be here by 8 AM tomorrow, correct?” “That is correct, sir.” “Well, Mr. Sturgis, if there is anything at all you require this evening, our phone number is right there,” he said, handing Sam a business card. “Don’t hesitate to use it if you need us.” “Will do.” “You both have a pleasant evening and again, welcome home. Myself and Officer Gaines are both glad you’re here.” “Thank you. Okay, cheers.” Sam eased the Audi forward before saying, “Well, that was impressive. Knowing our names like that.” Creepy if you ask me. She said nothing. 3 | Page “Claire, this is a good thing. It will be good for us. Good for me. I just can’t manage living in the city anymore.” “I know, baby.” “But…you’re holding back. What do you want to say?” he prodded. “No, nothing, forget it, Sam. Don’t make me feel self-involved again, okay?” “Babe, you’re still allowed to have feelings, despite everything that’s happening.” “You said that already.” “Well…” “Okay, well. Like I said. I had a sense of community in DC. And I know that community would have been there for us when, when things get worse. That’s all. And, I took comfort from my routines. There is a part of me that is … that is just going to have to acclimate to this. Leaving everything we know behind feels —” “Demented?” They both laughed at that and, as they drove slowly, taking in their new neighborhood, a procession of gigantic homes encircled by immaculately manicured lawns and paver stone driveways, she thought about the real reason they were moving to Frontier Village.

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