Mother (34 page)

Claire snorted. “Screw that. Did you remember the chopsticks?”

“You’re eating in bed.” Jason pulled plastic utensils from his shirt pocket. “You’re stuck with a fork.”

“You’re such an amateur, Magic Man.” She grinned and grabbed the fork. “Soy sauce?”

“I didn’t bring any. You’re pregnant. That’s too much salt - it’d make your ankles swell.”

“Spoilsport.” She smiled. “Thank you for thinking of that. I sure didn’t.”

As he ate, Jason looked around the room. “Do you want me to bring anything over from the apartment? Things that might make you feel more at home?”

She shook her head.

“Not even your music box?”

“Especially not that. I don’t want Mother snooping through it. Besides, it’s already packed.”

“Have you heard from Dr. Putnam yet?” Jason asked around a mouthful of fried rice.

“I was going to call her office but I slept too long. Stupid pain pills. I’ll call tomorrow. No more pain pills for me.” She dug under her hip and drew out the two she’d stashed. “Would you dispose of these?”

He dropped them in his shirt pocket. “You’re sure you don’t need them?”

“Nope. Got a dull ache, same as I did when I was taking them - but the difference is, my brain is working.”

“What did your mother say?”

“Jason, Jason, Jason. If I told her, I wouldn’t be asking you to ditch them, would I?”

“Don’t you think you should? I mean-”

“She’s a nurse, yada yada yada. No. She’d just dither. It’s going to be our little secret.” She forked up chow mein and chewed. “I need you to bring me my laptop before you go to work in the morning. And something to stash pills in.”

“Sure. Or just throw them in the toilet.”

She grinned. “If I do that, we can’t sell them on the black market.”

Jason laughed. “You
are
back, my little smart-ass. I’m glad you don’t need those pills anymore. I missed you and your big mouth.”

She threw a noodle at him.
 

It stuck to his forehead and he calmly picked it off and put it in his mouth. “Two can play that game.” He lobbed a nugget of orange chicken at her. It landed on her chest and fell into her cleavage.
 

She giggled.
 

Jason set his plate on the nightstand and bent toward her. “Let me get that out for you.” His hand snaked into her nightgown.

“What in the world?”
 

Claire and Jason froze.

Mother stood in the doorway. Claire had never seen her with a dropped jaw before. She giggled again, loving her clear mind and Mother’s expression. “Jason dropped his orange chicken, Mother. He’s just retrieving it.”
 

Jason’s eyes were wide, the color drained from his face. He shifted, hand still cupping a breast, and said, “Umm …”

Then, the unthinkable happened. Mother
smiled
. “Oh, you kids,” she said, waving a hand. “Just make sure the curtain’s closed. You know how Aida likes to spy.” She chuckled, then turned and disappeared, closing the door gently behind her.

Claire stared. Jason gaped.

“Holy shit,” he said. “I thought we were going to get a major lecture.”

“Maybe she’s been taking some of my pain pills.” Claire was as stunned as Jason by Mother’s easygoing response. “That is
not
the woman who raised me.”

“Maybe aliens stole her.”

“We can only hope.”

Three Little Words

Burke Collins had been out of jail for several days, and found himself alone in a studio apartment overlooking Pink Blossom Park where, despite its cheery name, hookers roamed, junkies shot up, and boozers drank from brown paper sacks. Burke watched as a ragged homeless man tipped a bottle to his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of a ratty flannel sleeve. “There but for the grace of God go I,” he whispered. It was just one of the many soul-soothing colloquialisms he’d recently picked up.
 

Geneva-Marie, quite rightly, had filed a restraining order and filed for divorce. He didn’t blame her, but he wasn’t giving up either. In the days since his brawl with Geneva-Marie and the kids, he’d dedicated himself to sobriety, attended several AA meetings, and was prepared to start the anger management and substance abuse courses required by the court. When his wife next saw him, she’d lay eyes upon a changed man. But whether or not she forgave him, he reminded himself, was not his business.
I will make amends because it’s the right thing to do, not because I expect it to wipe my slate clean.
 

He felt good about his new life, his rediscovered self, and was looking forward to getting the furniture business back on track.
But nothing before sobriety.
That was his motto now, and he was going to live by it.

He looked around the tiny apartment, envisioning what it might look like with some new drapes.
And maybe I’ll get the new Xbox for the boys.
He liked the idea of them coming over to visit once the restraining order was lifted and Geneva-Marie was comfortable with them having contact. He sighed, hoping that day would come sooner rather than later.
But
I’m not in control of that. I can only control my own reactions, one day at a time.
 

He took a seat in his small chair and cracked open the Alcoholics Anonymous book he’d received at his first meeting - the “Big Book” as the recovering drunks all liked to call it. He was on chapter five,
How it Works,
and so far, it
was
working.

A knock startled him. It was after eight p.m., and he knew nothing of his neighbors; he couldn’t imagine who might be out there, and he stared for a long moment at the door, confused. Another rap sounded, and he sprang up.

A ratty-haired woman in a dirty wool jacket over several stained sweaters looked at him.
 

“Can I help you?” Clearly, she belonged in Pink Blossom Park.

“You Mr. Collins?”

“Collins, yes. That’s me.”

“This is for you.” She held out a wrapped gift box with a light blue bow that seemed very out of place in the woman’s dirty hands.

“What? What is it?”

The woman shrugged. “I don’t have a damned clue. I’m only delivering it because I got paid fifty bucks.”

He took the box from her. “Who’s this from? Who paid you?”

“Can’t say. It’s part of the deal.” She turned and sauntered down the hall.
 

Burke closed the door, and stared at the package.
It must be from Geneva-Marie.
Hope swelled his heart. Maybe it was a peace offering, and since she couldn’t violate the restraining order either, she’d paid that woman to deliver it. Yes, that made sense. He smiled as he began unwrapping the box. Geneva-Marie had always been so rigid about following the laws. That kind of nobility had been part of the reason he’d fallen in love with her so many years ago.

He frowned, pulling out a tall bottle of scotch. “What the hell?” There was a card attached to the neck. He opened it and read the three typed words, but they weren’t the three words he’d been hoping to see. And this, he was certain, was not from his wife. “You’ll need this,” said the delicate white card.

Resting on a cloud of fluffy purple gift paper at the bottom of the box was an envelope. He opened it and read the words, typed in Times New Roman.

As he read, his entire world collapsed.

The Christian Thing To Do

The following day, Father Andy arrived at Priscilla’s house against his better judgement. He’d meant it when he promised Dave Flannigan he wouldn’t go to the Martin home under any circumstances, but he hadn’t anticipated Claire’s injury. When Priscilla said a visit from him would lift her daughter’s spirits and show that the community and the church cared, it seemed like the decent thing to do.

Priscilla ushered him upstairs and into Claire’s bedroom without any eyelash batting, then returned with tea and cookies. She did nothing to make him feel uncomfortable, and for that - and for her quick departure - he was grateful. He hoped his leaving would go as smoothly.

“You look very well for someone who’s stuck in bed.” He sipped tea.
 

“Thank you.” Claire favored him with a smile. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Certainly.”

She picked up her phone and turned on Pandora. She turned the volume up and Fleetwood Mac’s
Silver Springs
played. “Would you take this to the other side of the bed and set it by the vent?”

An odd request, but Andy honored it.
 

“It will keep Mother from eavesdropping.”
 

He nodded. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m able to get around. I’m just being careful because of the baby. I’ll be off bed rest and into our new home soon.”

“New home?” Priscilla hadn’t mentioned that.

“Yes. Jason’s boss is renting a house to us way out on the other side of town, not far from the airport.” She lowered her voice. “I can’t wait to get out of here!”
 

He couldn’t help asking. “Why is that?”
 

She hesitated. “I prefer to fend for myself. My mother means well, but I’m not the patient type.”

He laughed. “She must take very good care of you.”

“Too good.” There was a desperate look in her eye and she lowered her tone to a near whisper. “You’re a priest. You won’t repeat anything I say, right?”
 

“Of course I won’t.”
 

She studied him. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t talk to a stranger, but …”

“Sometimes it’s good to talk to someone who isn’t involved.”

Claire nodded. “That’s exactly right. My mother is being kinder than I ever thought possible. I mean, I’m seeing a side of her I’ve never seen before. But …”

He waited.

“But she had me taking pain pills and the first few days were a total haze. I stopped taking them over a week ago and should have stopped sooner. Even the first time I skipped them, there wasn’t even enough pain to warrant an aspirin.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Yes, it is. But she still thinks I’m taking them. A couple times, I’ve suggested that I should cut back, and she says no, that I need them, that she’s a nurse and knows best. She won’t discuss it. I don’t need them, Father Andy. I don’t like them; they make me drowsy. She wants me to take them, so I pretend to.”

Alarm bells sounded inside his head. “You’re doing the right thing. I’d advise you to consult your doctor, but I can’t imagine it’s good to take medicine you don’t need at
any
time, let alone when you’re expecting.” He paused. “But don’t you think you should simply tell her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because then she might put them in my food.”

“Okay …” At first thought, that seemed unlikely, yet after the things Father Dave had told him about Priscilla Martin, he wasn’t so sure.

Claire cleared her throat. “There’s something else.”

He waited.

“Have you ever met my father?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Did you know he’s just down the hall?”

“So I’ve heard, but your mother has never asked me to visit him.”

“Remember, this is between us.”

“Of course.” More alarm bells.
 

“She doesn’t even like Jason and me to visit him. She says we upset him - but we’ve seen him and I think he’s afraid of her.” She hesitated. “Father, I’m only guessing, but I think she keeps him tranquilized. Does that sound crazy?”

Andy flashed on Priscilla trying to give him prescription pills for his headache during her recent surprise visit. He didn’t know how to answer, so he spoke the truth. “I don’t know. Can you tell me anything else?”

“When we’ve sneaked in to see him and he’s awake, he’s happy to see us. He has a hard time talking, but he tries, and we can understand him. But Mother claims he doesn’t communicate at all.” She shook her head. “The first night I was here, I looked out my window from the apartment and saw him, so I waved. He waved back. Jason and I went to see him after that - she keeps him locked in but we found the key; he
can
speak. He’s done so repeatedly since we’ve been here.”

“Why does she lock him in?”

“She says it’s for his own protection,” Claire said. “She always did, even before I left home. She said he almost tumbled down the stairs once.”

“Why not put a gate at the landing?”

Claire stared at him. “I’m guessing that would be too easy.”

Andy nodded. “How many times have you seen him since you’ve been back?”

“Very few. She caught us that first day and hid the key.” Claire’s gaze was direct. “We found another one, but have had few opportunities to use it. And most of the time, he’s asleep. I’m not an expert or anything, but I think she gives him tranquilizers - he won’t wake up. It’s not normal.”

“Why would she drug him?”

Claire shrugged and winced. “He’s less trouble?” She rubbed her shoulder.
 

“True, but why doesn’t she just hire someone to spend a few hours with him every day - or at least a couple days a week - so she can have some time to herself?”

Claire shook her head. “It sounds nuts, but it’s like she’s hiding him from the world - I don’t think he’s as incapacitated as she makes out.” She paused. “She never lets anyone come upstairs. I’m amazed she invited you up here.”
 

“Why would she want to hide your father?”

“She doesn’t like anyone touching her property. And he
is
her property - I think she’s trying to make me her property, too.” She paused. “She’s a hoarder. You should see all the junk in the other rooms.”

He almost laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

“They’re all full of junk except for my father’s room, her bedroom, her workroom, and now my bedroom. It was so full of stuff a few weeks ago you couldn’t even walk in here.” She hesitated. “And Timothy’s room is spotless. It’s like … a shrine.”

“You’re not joking.”
 

“No, I’m not. Swear to God.”

“I believe you. It’s just so - well, your mother is so neat and orderly. The way she dresses and behaves; she’s a very precise woman. She single-handedly keeps the Ladies Auxiliary organized. It’s hard to imagine she’s a hoarder.”