“You think there’s a rational explanation, I’m not surprised.”
“Listen, the first night, I heard strange sounds in the walls like the house was haunted, but I discovered they have a whole dumbwaiter system. It was probably just housekeeping. Or the chefs. If you want to get weird, maybe it was a stray animal who got lost in the passageways.”
I try to imagine a whole maze of passageways in the walls, not like our Southampton laundry chutes, but something complex enough to deliver food, flowers, sheets, and towels to rooms without disturbing us.
“Okay, I’ll give you something woo-woo. I found a tarot card in my dumbwaiter. Two, actually. When I told Rini she said she doesn’t use tarot cards,” Margot adds.
“Really? Eden said she found a tarot card on her bedroom floor.”
“She did?” Margot sounds disappointed, as if she wanted to be the only one receiving magical messages. “Did you?”
“No, no cards for me.”
“Do you want to see the dumbwaiters?” Margot asks.
“Now?”
“Let’s go hunt for ghosts.” Margot pulls me by the hand and we sneak into the pantry off the kitchen. We wait, listening to “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None The Richer and pretending to look for snacks in case anyone followed us. When the coast is clear, Margot places her palm flat on the wall and presses down firmly. A rectangle pops open.
“So cool.”
“Get in,” Margot says.
“Really? You think it could hold me?”
“Absolutely. You’d have to crouch, but you could fit.”
Even though there’s no audience, this is exactly the kind of wild thing pre-motherhood Aimee would have done without a moment’s hesitation.
“Hold my wine,” I say. I slide my butt onto the counter and swing my feet around and into the dumbwaiter. I scoot in and turn around, sitting cross-legged in the box. Margot and I giggle like third graders playing hide-and-seek at recess.
“Take a picture of me,” I exclaim. I reach into my pocket, but there’s no phone. I must have left it in the living room, where the dance party is still happening.
“Pull your knees up a bit and I’ll close the door, send you for a ride,” Margot says.
“A ride?” I ask, wide-eyed. “Do you think you can operate this thing?”
“Sure. I’m not even drunk. I’ve had a couple, but you know we’re trying to get pregnant. I don’t want to overdo it.”
I thought Margot was using “not drunk enough” as an excuse earlier. I hadn’t imagined how anyone who had been stuck in this house with endless bottles of wine could be anything but wasted, and yet now that we are alone and in a quiet room, I know she’s telling the truth. I can see clarity in her eyes and hear strength in her voice. I trust her.
I nod my head and pull my knees up. Margot slowly closes the door and presses it hard so it locks. She speaks to me through the wood panel.
“There’s obviously a whole bunch of passageways, but only a single joystick to maneuver. I’m going to keep it simple and send you up to my room, which is directly above us.”
“And then I’ll come down from upstairs and no one will know how I did it,” I squeal.
Margot gives the door a tap and I wait for the box to move.
“Hold on, I’m moving the joystick but nothing’s happening. There must be a button to start the motor,” Margot says.
As I wait, I look up and down. Below me is darkness, but there’s light peering through the cracks above. I see two ropes dangling in the middle of the shaft. Suddenly there’s a loud roaring noise and the box shakes. I press my hands into the walls for balance.
“Found the motor button,” Margot says. “I have to hold it down. I let go too quick; that’s why you didn’t go anywhere.”
“Okay,” I say, noticing that it’s getting warmer in here. “Ready when you are.”
Margot presses the button and the box jerks violently. I begin to creep up slowly.
“I’m probably pushing the weight capacity on this thing,” I say. Margot either ignores me or can’t hear me over the motor.
I look down, and I can see the bottom of her shirt and the top of her pants through the crack between the box and the shaft below. This is so fun, I think.
The dumbwaiter stops abruptly.
“Margot?”
Silence.
“Margot?”
“Sorry, my finger got tired pressing the button so hard. Switching to my thumb,” she says.
Margot wouldn’t be so casual about the starts and stops if she knew it felt like a popcorn kernel in a microwave every time she presses the button. The entire box rattles and shakes. I can feel that I’m both trapped in a small space and hanging precariously, ready for a free fall. As the seconds tick on, the fun is being eaten up, along with my oxygen.
The motor roars to life again, and above me I watch the light from Margot’s room inch closer. I begin to count the seconds under my breath. Eight, nine, ten… The dumbwaiter stops in place. I’m lined up with the rectangular door, but I can’t open it. I press my hands against the wood panel but it doesn’t budge. I feel my hands in the dark for some kind of latch or handle, but there’s nothing.
“Uh, Margot. We have a problem. I don’t think these doors are meant to be opened from the inside.”
