Mother (53 page)

Mother smiled. “What’s so funny?”

“My food is singing to me. I swear! Can you hear it?”

Mother’s smile widened. “When you were a small child, you used to sing to your food.”

“And now it’s singing to me!” More giggling. Mother had been so pleasant, the food so good - and Jason’s call so welcome, that her stress had melted, leaving her with a feeling of such lightness that she thought she might float away. It was incredible.

“Mom?”

Prissy stared at her.
 

“Yes, I called you Mom. Do you like that?”

“I’m charmed. What is it, dear?”

“Those canned peas I ate.”

“Yes?”

“Are they from this century?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

Claire giggled. “This decade?”

“What? Why? Is something wrong?”

“I’m in such a good mood, I thought maybe I’m high on aged peas.”

A smile. “There’s my silly girl. You’re in a good mood because we had a lovely dinner together.”

“Maybe the peas will sing to me, like the gravy is. But they’ll sing
Marching to
Pea
-toria
.” Claire began singing but couldn’t remember the words. “Mother, Mom, Mommie Dearest.” She giggled when Mother glared at her. “Do you have
We are Marching to Pretoria
downstairs? I’d love to hear it if you could crank it up nice and loud so it really comes through the vent.” Her own voice sounded strange in her ears - hollow, distant.
 

“I’m sorry, I don’t have that one.”

“What about
Margaritaville
?” She could still hear it playing behind
Marching to Pretoria
.

“Sorry.”

“Mama mia?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Why do you play
Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree
so much?”

“It was my father’s favorite song. He used to sing it to me. Later, I sang it to your brother. It was his favorite, too. Why, every day after school, he came in and put the record on. Every single day.” She dabbed her eye with a napkin. “I guess you could say it makes me feel close to him. It helps keep him here.”

“He’s here?” Claire looked around. “I don’t see him, but I’ve heard you talking to him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Carlene. Don’t be silly. I don’t talk to Timothy.”

“Why not?”

“Are you okay, dear?”

A dark cloud crossed Claire’s bright mood. “Is Timothy
really
still here?”

Mother stood and put the dirty dishes on the serving cart, then folded the two dinner trays before pulling her chair up close to Claire’s so they were knee to knee. She took her hand. “Are you feeling all right, dear?” As she spoke, her red lips streaked the air, like the blur of a slow-exposure photograph.

Claire shook her head and giggled. “You have a wonderful complexion for a woman your age. Your pores are
so
tiny.” She saw the tiny, inconsistent clumps of her mother’s makeup, the jagged details of her eyeliner. “You wear a lot of cosmetics.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say, because Mother’s face was all there was, all she could see.

“Carlene, darling, I think it’s time for you to rest. You seem a little … distracted. Are you sure you feel well?”

The thought of her beloved brother haunting the house swooped back into her mind and frightened her. She didn’t know why - maybe because of that thing she saw on Facebook. “I’m scared,” she said.

Mother took her hand. “Of what?”

Her mood flickered, like a failing light bulb, light and dark, light and dark. “Of Timothy.”

“You don’t need to be afraid of your brother. He loves you almost as much as he loves me.”

Claire’s train of thought had wandered. “What do you mean?”
Marching to Pretoria
was drowning out her thoughts. She wondered if the iced tea had a theme song, too. “I’m not afraid of Tim. I just don’t know the iced tea’s song. I need to know that. Do you know what it is?”

Mother stood and kissed her on the forehead. “Do you have to go potty?”

“No. Jason says I’m a camel.” She inspected her mother’s hair, seeing every strand, every fiber. It was like shining onyx - or a spider’s web. “Wow, did you know your hair is so black it’s almost blue? Black and blue! Your hair is bruised!”

“Okay, Carlene, I think you should lie down and have a little nap. I’ll check in on you later.” Mother smiled and pushed the serving cart out of the room. “Get some rest. I’ll put on some music for you.”

“See you later, alligator.”

“Yes, you will.”

“You’re supposed to say, ‘After a while, crocodile.’ Timmy always said that.”

Mother didn’t reply, just closed the door.
 

A sudden feeling of dread, of being closed in, pressed hard against her.
Did I say something wrong? Is she mad at me? Why did she leave?
“Mom?”

Mother didn’t reply. Claire stood and hopped to the window and looked out. The streetlights glowed, bright balls of gold, like the beaming halos of a dozen angels. She looked down and felt a sudden rush of vertigo. The ground rippled, seemed to move up to meet her, but when she focused her eyes, it was normal.
I’m fine. Everything is fine.
But she felt closed in.
 

If she didn’t have a cast on, it would be easy to climb out the window - she’d done it many times as a teenager, leaving her bed stuffed with a body made of pillows. It had been easy to shimmy down the trellis.
You can’t do that now. You have a baby in your oven!
She giggled and returned to the desk chair. She wasn’t going to rest; she was going to surf. It was the first time in a long time that it sounded like fun.
We’ll have fun fun fun,”
sang the Beach Boys.

Downstairs, the Andrews Sisters started singing. The music filled her senses, and she smelled fresh apples, and then tasted them on her tongue, as sweet as they were sour.

Humming along with the song, she decided she needed to do something to distract herself from the strange state of mind. She opened her email.

“Jason,” said Paul. “I was just about to call you. That storm is moving toward Denver more quickly than they were predicting. You and Jake might want to be in the air really early.”

“Agreed. I was just watching the news. I’ll tell Jake. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Anything wrong?”

“The opposite. Claire and I are moving into your house this weekend. As long as that’s fine by you.”

“That’s excellent. Claire’s off bed rest?”

“Not yet, but it doesn’t matter. A good friend has offered to stay with her while I’m at work.”

“I’ll bet Claire’s relieved.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s relieved about a lot of things. We had a nice talk. I brought some of her brother’s journals along and started reading tonight. Priscilla Martin did some weird-ass shit to her son. Freaky, creepy stuff. It convinced me we need to get out right away.”

“Like what?”

“I’ll tell you later, but Paul, I’m really worried about Claire’s safety.”

“I talked with Steffie and she told me some things that gave me the same worry. But I don’t think we need to lose any sleep tonight. I called Claire and she was just fine. But if you want, I can go get her now. She can stay at my place until you land. She’d only be alone a few hours - or she can invite a friend over.”

“Thanks, Babs made the same offer, but Prissy would probably freak out, and that would be worse.”

“I’m bigger and stronger than anyone named Babs. I’d be happy to take on your mother-in-law.” He laughed. “She’s been a pain in my ass since high school.”

“Claire says she’d rather wait, that her mother is playing nice. And if Claire thinks it’s okay, I’m going to trust her. But thank you.” He paused. “If something does come down, Babs and her husband - and a neighbor who’s a cop - can be there in minutes. But again, thank you. You’re a good friend.”

“The offer stands if you need me. I’m taking off for Brimstone this afternoon. Steffie’s schedule cleared early, so we’re going to spend the evening together and fly back tomorrow morning.”

“You like her, don’t you?”

“I’ve liked her since we were kids, but she only had eyes for Tim.” Paul paused. “I gotta tell you, some of what Steffie told me tonight really backs up your feeling about getting Claire out of Priscilla’s right away. Steffie says she’s worse than Claire thinks. That’s gotta be pretty bad.”

Jason felt a chill. “I’ll call Claire again and see how things are. Just to make sure.”

“I think that’s a good idea. Let me know.”

Claire marveled at the beauty of her email page. She’d never noticed it before, but the background was such a brilliant shade of blue that it glowed, and the darker blue-gray of the toolbars complemented it perfectly. She wasn’t quite so fond of the black Arial font.
A serifed font would look better. Maybe Cambria.
She made a note in her desktop Stickies to try the color combination on one of her website jobs, then lost focus when the computer made a short but fascinating musical chime and a new email appeared at the top of the box.
 

It was from Stephanie Banks. Excited, she opened it and read:
Hello, Claire. I just want to let you know that I’ll be arriving Saturday and am looking forward to seeing you again after all these years. Paul has said such nice things about you and your husband. It will be wonderful to talk about old times, and swap stories about Tim. My phone number is in my signature below. Don’t hesitate to call if you need to talk before I come. Paul has told me a little about what’s going on and I guarantee you, it’s not in your mind.

Claire squinted, fascinated as the words waved and slipped from their places. If she focused her eyes, they stayed in place, but if she relaxed, even a little, the letters moved, rolling as if riding waves.
 

Paul told me about the fake Facebook page for Tim, and that he had a girlfriend listed. Do you happen to recall her name? I’ll check it out.
 

Stephanie’s words turned from black to purple to blue on the screen and the font flipped between Arial, Times New Roman, and Trebuchet.
Hmm. Ashley? Yes. In Michigan. Ashley Perkins. That was the girl’s name.
She focused on the keyboard and began pecking at the wavering letters.

How about a nice Lucida?
Stephanie’s words lilted through her mind, imbued with a soft Irish brogue that suited her red hair perfectly.
 

I’m using Lucida because it’s graceful, like you. But not me. I’m a klutz. Mother says so. But anyway, Tim’s girlfriend on Facebook is named Ashley Perkins. She’s in Michigan.
Claire retrieved the link and pasted it in. With the changing of every screen, bright colors bloomed, distracting her -
I think I need to lie down or something
- but she got the job done.

“You’re sure you want me here?” Carl Vandercooth said as Babs rang Prissy’s doorbell.

“You bet I do.”

“Why? Prissy’s your friend, not mine. I can’t stomach that old witch. What she did to us was reprehensible.”

“I told you, Carl, she’s not my friend anymore, but I’m worried about Claire. If you stand tall and cross your arms like you mean business, Prissy may let us go see her. Or me, at least.”

“Oh, no. I’ll go up and see Claire with you, but you’re not leaving me alone with that woman.”

“You’re afraid of her?” Babs smiled. “A big strong man like you?”

“I’m not afraid. I can’t stand her. Big difference.”

The porch light came on and then Prissy Martin opened the door a crack. The usual Andrews Sisters song poured out of the house. “Good evening, Babs. Carl.” Her voice was haughty and ice-cold. “I wasn’t expecting you. Do you need something?” She didn’t take the security chain off the door.
 

Babs spoke up. “We’re here to visit Claire.”

The old record ended and began again before Prissy answered. “Claire is having an after-dinner nap. I’m not going to disturb her.”

“We’ll wait.” Babs ignored Carl’s look of dismay. She’d told him she was worried about the girl, but she hadn’t told him enough. She’d remedy that later. “Aren’t you going to invite us in, Prissy? We can chat.” Babs ignored Priscilla’s glare and smiled sweetly. “A visit would be nice.”

Priscilla looked even more surprised than Carl. “It’s not a good time.”

“Why is that?” Another surprised look. Babs, proud of herself for finding her backbone, smiled.
 

“I’m shampooing the carpets.”

“At night?”

“They need it, if it’s any of your business. I’ll see you later.”

“Very well. We’ll be back in an hour.”

“Sorry, no visitors tonight. The carpets will be wet. You understand.” With that Priscilla closed the door and locked it.

“Damn it,” Babs said as they left the property. “I’m going to try to call Claire again.” She pulled out her phone and pressed Claire’s number. Within moments, Claire answered.

“Claire, sweetie? It’s Aunt Babs. I hope I didn’t wake you. Your mother said you were napping.”

“I’m not sleeping, no.” She sounded fine. Distracted, but fine.

“Is everything okay, sweetie?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, it’s great!”

Babs smiled. “Good. You’ll call me if you need anything, right?”

“I sure will, Aunt Babs. Thank you for thinking of me. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Honestly.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Mother’s even being nice to me!”

Babs laughed. “That’s good, sweetie. Call me if you need anything.”

Carl put his arm around Babs’ waist as they walked. “I’ve never seen you like this before, Babs. I like it.”

She smiled. “You haven’t seen anything yet. I’m going to make sure that little girl is safe.”

You Give Me Fever

Claire watched in fascination as words floated out of her phone. She heard them first, and then saw them.
Call me if you need anything.
They streamed like smoke, each letter a swirling mass of white steam. She wanted to laugh, but wasn’t sure it was funny.
 

The words rose, hovered, then slowly dissipated, like vanishing ghosts. She reached out and tried to touch them. Her fingertips passed through the final G, breaking it apart and sending it swirling into invisibility.