Mother (10 page)

“Popcorn balls are not adequate. This is a
bake
sale.” Pris looked down her nose. “I’m sure Iris can manage a few cakes or something. Make sure and tell them that. Double fudge.”

“Pris-”

“They can do it. After all, I’m making eight dozen cannoli!”

You’ve ordered eight dozen from Bartoli’s.
Babs just smiled. “The thought of your cannoli makes my mouth water. I don’t know how you do it.”

Pris snagged a third Oreo. “And what are you contributing this year?”

“I think I’ll make two dozen each of lemon, raspberry, chocolate, blueberry, and cranberry bars. My usual.”

“Last year-”
 

Babs cut her off. “I
know
I only did half that last year, but I was still recovering from pneumonia.”
 

“You’re an angel. I guarantee you, you’ll have one of our new Santas gracing your lawn next season.”

“That’s nice of you, Pris.” Babs hesitated. “What about the Stines and the Lowells?”

“Phyllis will surely contribute more gingerbread than we’ll sell; it’s not very good, you know, but her heart’s in the right place, even if her eyes and lips aren’t.”

“Prissy!” Babs shook her head.
I swear, no secrets are safe on Morning Glory Circle. None at all. Of course, it’s pretty hard to hide all those nips and tucks.

Pris dipped her cookie in coffee. “As for the Lowells, why don’t you ask them for some pumpkin muffins and pumpkin bread? Surely that woman can figure out how to make those.”

Babs suppressed a smile. While Pris hated the Sachs and their pink house, she absolutely abhorred the Lowells - her other immediate neighbors. She perceived their burnt pumpkin home as much worse than it was. Perhaps it was the yard full of kids and dogs, Hank’s Hawg, or Crys’s fire engine red hair - probably all those things - but the Lowells really put Prissy’s panties in a bunch. Babs looked down, hiding her amusement.
Poor Pris, surrounded by houses painted in colors like in the old Ticky-Tacky song.
Babs secretly enjoyed the bright colors. If it weren’t for Pris, her own pale gray, white-trimmed Colonial would be a lovely bright spring green.

Jason brought the last suitcase into the bedroom and dropped it on the bed. “What’s in here, sweetheart?” An anvil?”

Claire grinned. “Yep, Wile E. Coyote said we couldn’t leave home without it.” She hung a dress in the closet, slipping it off a cheap plastic hanger with a broken tip and onto one of the many wooden ones Mother had stocked. She tossed the crappy hanger in a cardboard box on a heap of other discarded hangers. “We brought more hangers than we did clothes,” she said. “I wonder how that happened.”

“I don’t know about you, but I was packing in a hurry. I just swept everything into boxes. Sorry.”

Claire laughed. “It’s not a problem.” They’d sold their good ones at a yard sale they’d held when they were trying to drum up some extra money. They hadn’t made much. “I hate those cheap hangers.” She glanced at the box. “To the trash with them all! When we move, we’ll get some nice ones.” She looked at the stack of clown portraits she’d removed. They now rested - face-down - in the corner. “I’ll get these. You get the hangers.”

Jason picked up the box and they headed outside where he counted six large garbage cans awaiting pickup on Mother’s curb.
 

With great relief, Claire dumped the clown portraits into the large garbage can. “Good riddance.” She shivered. “I’ve dreamed of trashing those horrible things since I was little.”

“They are pretty hideous. Good therapy.” He went back to work.

“No, no,” Claire said when she saw Jason lifting the wrong lid. “The hangers are mostly plastic.”
 

Jason frowned. “Oops.” He moved to the recycle bin and began dumping the hangers.
 

“Jason. Wait.”

“Huh?”
 

Claire felt ridiculous. “Mother has more than one recycle bin.”

“This one’s almost empty.”

“See the white dot she painted on the lid?”

“Um, yeah.”

“That means it’s for plastic.”

“Fine.” He started to pour.

“See the blue dot on the next one?”

He nodded.

“Metal. You have to put the metal hangers in there. And the brown dot? That’s for cardboard. You put the box in that one.”

“Wait, we come from the recycling capital of California. You’re saying Snapdragon is pickier than Berkeley?”

Claire shook her head. “Nope. Mother is.”

“Let me get this straight. The city sends out trucks just for her, or what?”

“No, they dump them all in the same truck. The collection guys shut her up by claiming there are separate sections inside.”

Jason laughed hard and long then dumped the entire box into the plastics bin.

Claire was laughing now, too. “Mother’s going to be all over you for doing that. Just you wait. And don’t say I didn’t warn you, Magic Man.”
   

“She’s going to notice? I don’t believe it! Who looks in their cans after they’re on the street?”

“Mother. She doesn’t want anyone stealing out of them, you know.”

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“Look in the other bins.” She lifted the brown-dot lid. At the very bottom, they saw several neatly flattened boxes. “I can almost guarantee you that now that she has a cell phone, she takes pictures. As evidence. In fact, I’d bet on it.”

Jason snickered and moved to the one with the blue dot and peered in. Claire joined him. Neatly washed vegetable and soup cans lined the bottom. They moved to the green bin and it was empty except for a few small twigs. “Why does she even bother putting these out?”

At the front door, Mother and Babs appeared. They said their goodbyes and Babs smiled as she passed them. “It’s wonderful to have you back, Claire. And nice to meet you, Jason.”

As Babs headed home, Claire saw Mother standing in the doorway, her mouth a shocked little “O” as she watched Jason and Claire. She disappeared into the house.

“Uh-oh,” said Claire. “Here it comes.”

“What?”

Before she could explain, Mother was marching toward them, several empty black trash bags in hand. “Wait! Wait!”

Claire sighed and crossed her arms. “Here we go …” Hopefully Mother would be so concerned with the recyclables she wouldn’t notice the clowns in the garbage can.
 

“Just hold on a minute,” said Mother, opening the recycle bin. “Oh, no. Let’s not throw these out, kids.” She dug several hangers out and stacked them on the ground.

“And why not?” Claire’s voice was hard but she didn’t care.

“Because,” said Mother, “we can donate them. Or, better, sell them at the yard sale!” She reached into the bin and brought more out. “That’s as far as I can reach. Jason, would you mind fetching the rest for me?”

“I, uh … Sure.” Jason gave Claire an uncertain glance and started digging for hangers.

Mother crouched and began placing them just so, inside the garbage bags.

Annoyed, but not wanting to make waves, Claire bent to help her, trying not to get too much of Mother’s overbearing perfume up her sinuses.

“No, no, no,” said Mother, snatching several hangers from Claire. “You have to stack them right or they’ll tear holes in the bags. Like this.” She demonstrated the correct method.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” said Claire under her breath.

“You mustn’t take the Lord’s name in vain! You owe the swear jar a dollar!”
 

Jason snorted a laugh and set the rest of the hangers on the ground as Mother stacked them into neat piles and placed them carefully in the bags.

Claire stood - too fast - and fighting a wave of dizziness, she crossed her arms against her stomach.
God, she’s exhausting.
When Jason bent to help Mother, he was given the same reprimand and demonstration; the look on his face warning her that they were moments away from owing another dollar to the swear jar.
 

They both stepped away as Mother filled the garbage bags, all the while mumbling beneath her breath. When she was done, there were three bags full of hangers.

“I’ll just take them inside for now. Surely, someone can use them.” Mother looked at Claire and Jason. “I just hate throwing away something that might come in handy for someone else. Charity begins at home!” And she was off, like a little hanger-collecting tornado.

Claire blew out a sigh of relief that her mother hadn’t noticed the clown portraits. As Mother disappeared up the walk and went inside, Claire said to Jason, “The hangers will go into the house, all right. And there they’ll sit until the day she dies.”

Jason looked incredulous. “I thought she’d be happy we were recycling them.”

Claire shrugged. “Apparently not.”

“But why does she want to keep them?”

“She keeps everything.”

“But why?”
 

“Because she’s crazy. Just like I’ve told you a hundred times.” Claire shook her head and sighed. “Now, let’s go make sure the U-Haul trailer is empty so you can get it turned in before five. We don’t need to pay another day’s rent on it.”

They headed up the driveway. The trailer was empty. “I need to grab my keys,” Jason said. At the foot of the stairs, he paused, eyeing the garage. “So what’s in
there
?”

“Shit. Lots and lots of shit. Neatly stacked, but it’s still shit. It’s probably the same stuff that was in there when I was a kid. And more, of course. Mother likes to use every last inch.” She paused. “And now you know why there’s no trash, don’t you?”

In The Swing of Things

It was nearly four-thirty when Claire rolled up the bamboo blinds covering the picture window to let in what was left of the wintery sunlight. Jason would be back soon and she thought about dinner; they’d grill the little beef filets and have them with baked potatoes and salad. There was plenty of time for that. For now, she wanted more sunlight so she crossed to the narrow wall near the TV and opened the blinds on one of the smaller windows. Below was Mother’s back yard.
 

The AstroTurf lawn was pristine - Mother had a gardener use a leaf blower on it a couple of times a month. He also cared for the rose gardens that grew between the neat, white, garden sheds lining the big rectangular yard. She’d paid to have black shutters attached to the fake windows on the sheds so they’d match the house. There were more sheds than there used to be - several of the rose gardens had been cropped to half their original size, and at least one obliterated. The waterless birdbath - birds were messy and not wanted on Mother’s property - still stood in the center of the yard, and off in the far corner was the swing set she and Timothy had played on. Looking at it made her stomach knot and a wave of dizziness passed over her. She had a sudden feeling of falling, and gripped the windowsill to steady herself.
 

When it passed, she opened her eyes, and stared at the ominous old play set. She didn’t know why the sight of it bothered her; she couldn’t even remember playing on it except for the times Tim stood behind her and pushed the swing.
God, Tim, I miss you.
He’d been the best part of her childhood.
 

Claire crossed back to the picture window and gazed down at Mother’s big potting shed that Mother actively used. It was huge - hand-built by Dad when she was little. The roof cranked open to reveal a flat Plexiglass inner ceiling that let the building serve as a greenhouse as well. Mother loved to show it off. She started her snapdragon seeds there every year. The roof was open now, and no doubt Mother had an award-winning crop of seedlings going.
 

Raising her eyes, Claire looked at the back of the house. It was as neat and perfect as the front, with sliders at the kitchen and the den behind the living room. Upstairs, there were two balconies. The far one belonged to Mother’s master bedroom. The other, almost directly across from the apartment, was part of a smaller bedroom Dad still lived in, as far as she knew. Even now, she avoided looking at it. She’d found it dark and frightening when she was young, with drawn drapes and handicap bars in the adjacent bathroom and near the bed. It had a medicinal smell. But nothing had been scarier to her than her father after his accident.
 

As a child, she’d been afraid of him because he could barely speak and when he did, it was garbled. What must have been nerve damage to his face rendered his features frightening to a small child. She’d avoided him, and now felt bad about it. She wanted to get to know him and apologize for having been so distant.

She made herself look at Dad’s balcony. The drapes were open, revealing darkness beyond … and movement.

She stared, thinking she’d imagined it. But she hadn’t; slowly, an arm appeared and then, at a nearly imperceptible pace, the slider began to open. She couldn’t look away. Her heart pounded.
 

I’m not a child anymore. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

Wispy white hair appeared as the man rolled his wheelchair out onto the balcony. Slowly, he straightened, revealing his entire face. His dark eyes staring at her, boring into her soul.
Boogeyman
. Mother’s voice in her head.
Boogeyman! Stay away!

Even Mother wouldn’t say that … would she? I must have made it up.
She wanted to turn, to run, but she didn’t. Instead, she waved.

The old man grimaced and she knew it was a smile. She waved again.

Slowly, so slowly, he raised his arm and waved back; she could see his hand tremble with the effort. Joy replaced fear. She returned the wave then gestured at herself, then him, then herself again and pointed.
I’m coming to see you!

Her father nodded and smiled.

Jason pulled the Prius into the drive and looked down at the sparkling cider. Champagne wouldn’t do in Claire’s condition, but he was feeling festive. After dropping off the trailer, he’d been overcome with a feeling of hope. This was a new beginning and it called for celebration. Killing the engine, he grabbed the bottle and headed toward their upstairs apartment.
Maybe I’ll even get the TV hooked up and see what movies are playing.