Mother (42 page)

Stephanie’s laugh was like the tinkle of bells. “You’re not porky, you look great. You’ve hardly changed a bit.”

“There’s a little more of me to love, and a little less hair to comb.”
 

 
She laughed. “Thank heaven you didn’t take after your father - you’d be a cue ball by now.”

He’d relaxed under Steffie’s old spell, as always. “I’m so glad you called - I wasn’t expecting you to.”

“I almost answered by email but it just didn’t sound as fun as actually catching up. So you said Priscilla Martin got you to hire Claire’s husband-”

“Jason.”

“Jason, thanks. How’d she get you to do that?”

“Jason’s a great guy. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s about to get a promotion to assistant manager.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Steffie, “but you know full well that’s not what I’m asking about.”

He sighed. “I hired him because Priscilla Martin told me to.”

“God, I’m glad I left Snapdragon. That woman. She’s still holding that high school drama over you?”

“Yep. She hasn’t forgotten a thing.”

“Mayor McDonald must be out of office by now.”

“Nope, he’s pretty much the King of Snapdragon to this day.”

“And Priscilla Martin fancies herself the queen.”
 

“She does, indeed.” Paul cleared his throat and told Steffie about the house and Claire’s accident. “Claire’s on bed rest, but Jason says they’re hoping to move in about two weeks - if everything goes according to plan and the doctor gives the okay. Jason says Claire is really chafing under her mother’s thumb.”

“I’ll bet. I would have shot her by now.” Steffie laughed. “I’d like to come visit. Maybe I can help move things along, or at least offer Claire some moral support.”

“You’re not thinking of talking to Priscilla, are you?”

“You’re joking, right? If I’m lucky, she’ll never even see me. Is Claire able to leave the house?”

“I don’t think so - she really doesn’t want to take any unnecessary risks with her baby. Priscilla goes out frequently - maybe we can take you to see Claire then.”

“That’ll work. Hang on, I’m checking my calendar. Most of my patients are vacationing over the next few weeks - my schedule’s fairly clear toward the end of next week. Maybe I can catch a flight to Snapdragon, come see you and Claire for a few days. Would you be up for that?”

“Are you kidding? I’ll fly down and pick you up myself.”

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“That’s an invitation I’d be a fool to refuse. Brimstone even has a nice little airport now.”

“Door to door service, then.”

They talked on, reliving their shared childhoods, remembering Tim, and catching each other up on all the changes in their lives. Like Paul, Stephanie had married badly and briefly years ago; they both loved to travel, and liked the same books and movies.
 

Long after sunset, they finally hung up; Paul sat smiling awhile before rising to make himself some sort of healthy dinner. After that, he’d take a walk. Steffie always loved to walk and he needed to get in shape in case she wanted to go hiking.

Cookies and Mayhem

Claire had barely heard the alarm at six a.m., had barely heard Jason tell her goodbye as he left for work Thursday morning. Now, noises coming from down in the hall woke her up. It sounded like Mother was moving stuff around just a few doors away. Drowsy, she thought she heard a child’s voice as she drifted back to sleep.

When she awoke again, it was nearly ten. She’d been dreaming about Winchester Mystery House, about Sarah Winchester, who always had carpenters enlarging her home because she so feared death. Now, hearing taps and knocks on a wall a few doors down, she knew the dream was rooted in reality.
What’s Mother up to now?

She sat up and grabbed her crutches, then crossed to the door and tried the knob. Once, twice. It wasn’t moving.
The door’s locked!
What am I supposed to do, pee in the trashcan?
“Mother!” she called. “Open the door!”

The tapping continued.

“Mother! Open the damned door!” She hammered on it. “Let me out!”

The tapping stopped then, smooth as you please, the door opened and Mother, wearing a flowered pinafore apron, opened it. “What’s the matter?”

“Why was my door locked?”

“It wasn’t, darling.”

“Yes, it was.”

“Perhaps it just stuck. We had a little rain last night. Sometimes that makes it grumpy. It used to happen sometimes when you were little, remember?”

“No, I don’t remember that, and it’s rained plenty since we arrived. This is the first time it’s happened.”
 

Mother shrugged. “You never know when it will stick. Did you need something?”

“I need to use the bathroom.” Claire crutched past her and into the hall. Looking behind her, she saw nothing except closed doors. She moved to the restroom.

When she came out, Mother stood outside her bedroom, blocking her path. “So, what are you doing, Mother? I’ve been hearing noises all morning.”

“Noises? What kind of noises?”

Claire waited out a short wave of dizziness. “Knocking and tapping. Things being moved around. Hammering.”

Mother watched her a long time. “It might just be the wind. Maybe a tree tapping at a win-”

“It wasn’t the wind, Mother.” Her voice was louder than she’d intended and Mother stepped back, surprised. “It wasn’t the wind. I thought I heard something going on in one of the rooms down the hall. Have you been in one of them?”

“I was in my workroom, darling. Sewing.”

The workroom was in the opposite direction of the sounds.
 

“Perhaps you should lie down, dear. Can I get you anything? Would you like me to bring your breakfast now?”

Claire narrowed her eyes. “No. Maybe later.”

“But you must eat right to have a healthy baby-”

“I said I’ll eat later.” She turned and went back into her room, shutting the door firmly behind her and wishing it had an interior lock. She counted to ten and reopened it - it didn’t stick a bit and she was startled to see Mother still standing there, her face wrought with worry. “Would you like me to call Dr. Hopper?”

“Absolutely not. You know I have Dr. Putnam back.” Claire shut the door and waited for the tapping sounds to return. Fifteen minutes later, she gave up; the house was silent.
Maybe it
was
part of the dream.

At her desk, she opened her computer, and checked her email.
Bingo!
Filled with excitement and a little dread, she opened the email from Stephanie Banks.

It’s wonderful to hear from you, Claire. Congratulations to you and your husband! I would love to talk with you about Tim and will be coming to Snapdragon toward the end of the week. Paul will let you know when. I look forward to getting to know you (again)! All best, Stephanie. PS I sent you a friend request on Facebook.
 
 

Claire smiled and deleted the email, deciding to check her Facebook account later. She hadn’t been on in ages and knew if she looked now, she’d be on for hours. It was time to get to work.

Babs Vandercooth had decided to skip the Auxiliary meeting. She was working in her front yard in pale green gloves, planting some of the seedlings Carl hadn’t gotten to on Sunday. As she worked, she watched for Prissy’s car. Finally, the Beamer slid from the Martin driveway and cruised very slowly down the street. Prissy always liked to check out the neighborhood.

Pris pulled over and honked as the passenger window lowered. Babs didn’t rise. “Hi, Pris,” she called. “Spring is almost here!”

“Have you forgotten about our meeting today?”
 

“No. The plumber’s coming. Can you believe it’s already been a year since I’ve had my pipes snaked?”
 

Prissy lifted her chin. “I told you that if you put enzymes in all your drains weekly, you wouldn’t have to have a plumber in.”

“Life’s too short to clean drains that often, Pris. A good snaking costs less than all that cleaner, anyway.”

“Hmmph. And that’s why you have plumbers traipsing in and out of your house and
I
don’t.” Prissy had never been lenient when it came to servicemen inside her house. She said they’d rob you blind. Babs knew that was her excuse for keeping strangers from seeing the mess she kept behind closed doors.
 

“You’re going to be late, Pris,” Babs called.

“See that you come next week. It’s important.”

Babs didn’t even bother to nod. As the BMW disappeared from sight, she stood, stripped off her gardening gloves and brushed off her knees. Then she headed toward Prissy’s to have that little chat with Claire, knowing that eventually, Pris would find out she’d been in to see her daughter.
No secrets are safe on Morning Glory Circle. None at all.
 

Claire, feeling better than she had in weeks, was almost finished with a mock-up of the website for a chain of California funeral homes when the computer chimed the arrival of a Yahoo IM. She raised an eyebrow: she hadn’t used that service in a couple of years.
Who could it be?
It was probably just spam .
..

Curious, she clicked on the blinking icon and the message box popped up.
 

How is your leg healing?
It was from someone with the handle
Angel4ever
.
 

Claire stared at the message a long time, considering the possibilities. She could think of no one who would message her.
 

Who is this?
She typed and waited.

An angel.

Claire sighed.
Look, I don’t have time for this,
she typed.
I’m working. Please tell me who you are.

She waited and no response came. Again, she asked,
Who are you?

She was just about to shut the message box when a reply came:
I’ve been watching over you.

Now she was certain it was some sort of scam. The only question was how this person knew about her leg.
What do you want?
 

To tell you something.

She stared at the message, not sure she even wanted to bother, but curiosity won out.
What do you want to tell me?

She leaned close to the screen, resting her chin in her hand while she waited for a response. When it came, Claire froze.

I’m not dead.

“What the fuck?”

A second message came:
I’m not dead. And I’m coming back.

She’d had enough of this game. If someone was playing a joke, it wasn’t funny. Her fingers stabbed the keys.
Tell me who this is or I’m shutting down the message right now and disabling my Yahoo account. Who is this?

After a long moment
the reply came. Her blood iced her veins.

Timothy.

The blood drained from her face.

Timothy Jacob Martin.

“Shut up.” She pushed her laptop away from her, but the messages kept coming:
TimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothyTimothy …

“Not funny!” She deleted the message quickly, slammed the laptop shut, and stared at it. Her hands began to shake.
 

Prissy had never given her a key, but Babs knew where she hid the spare. She walked up the driveway, toward the kitchen door, pausing at a big pot of holly to fish out the fake rock. It’d been there for thirty years. “You’re not fooling anybody with this,” she muttered as she slid the key out.
 

“Hello?” she called as she unlocked the door and entered. “Hello?”

There was no reply, but she thought Claire probably couldn’t hear her, so she pulled the door closed and went upstairs then began calling, “Hello? Claire? Frederick?” She hadn’t seen Prissy’s husband in many years and hoped he was okay. She only knew he was still alive because Pris mentioned him now and then.
 

Halfway down the hall, she called, “Claire? Are you here? It’s Babs.”

 
A door opened five feet away and Claire peeked out. “Aunt Babs?”

Babs smiled, relieved to see her. “I wanted to pay you a visit.” She held out a little white Pepperidge Farm cookie bag.
 

“Chesapeakes! Come in, come in! I’m so glad to see you. You can sit there.” She pointed at her desk chair as she sat down on the bed.
 

“You’re a pro with those sticks.” Babs nodded at the crutches. Claire really did sound happy to see her, but there was a new frailty about her that shocked Babs. She was thinner and that wasn’t usual in a pregnancy. “How are you, darling? Have a cookie.”

“I’ve been better.” She set the cookies on the bed without opening them.

Claire looked her in the eye then, and Babs saw more than the ashen complexion and dark circles under her eyes - she looked haunted, and she’d been crying. It was impossible to hide, but she was trying her best, so Babs decided not to ask what was wrong.

“I saw your mother leave and thought maybe we could have a chat.” Babs smiled.

“You’re a mind reader. I was thinking the same thing. But it’s so hard to do with Mother around.”

“That’s true. That’s why I waited until she left before I came over.”

Claire’s smile was small but real. “She’d never let you come up here if she knew.”

“I know. Typical hoarder. They don’t like people seeing how they really live.”

Claire’s eyes went wide. “
You know?
”
 

“Of course. I’ve been friends with Pris since our school years. She couldn’t even keep her desk neat in school, it was always packed with so much stuff.”

Claire laughed. “Seriously?”

“Yes. And you should have seen her room when she was a girl.” She paused. “I hope you don’t mind me talking about your mother like this.”

“Are you kidding? I love it!” Claire’s smile broadened. “I’ve missed you so much, Aunt Babs.” The smile fell. “But I never missed my mother. Not once.”

Babs stood and gave Claire a gentle hug and a kiss on the forehead, then sat back down. “Thank you. We need to talk about something.”