Mother (49 page)

Only silence from Mother until, “Did Babs come over again?”

Claire shook her head. “No. And even if she had, I’m certain she wouldn’t have touched your precious pets.” Her voice shook.

“You don’t need to be so angry, Claire.”

Claire laughed. “Angry? Me?
Why
should
I
be angry?”

“Well, you sound very angry, dear. And that’s not good for the baby.”

Claire’s eyes bored into her mother’s. “You’re lying.” Her voice choked. “You’re lying. I know it.”

Mother gasped. “I most certainly am
not
, Claire. Why would I bring my dogs into-”

The thread that held Claire’s self-control snapped. There was a flash of white, then the world went red. Her entire body blazed with fury and her own voice was distant and foreign in her ears. “Because you’re a liar, and that’s what liars do! They lie!” She pounded her fist on the desk, barely missing her computer, feeling no pain.

The hard glint in Mother’s gaze sparked back. “Now, you listen to me, young lady.” Her voice shook with controlled rage. “I will
not
be called names in my own home. If you think you can just waltz into my bedroom, move things around, and then accuse
me
of lying to you, you’ve got another think coming. I did
not
do any such thing and I will
not
be accused or insulted.”

Claire could see the truth of Mother’s words, could hear the conviction in the woman’s voice.
I’m losing my mind.
“Then who, Mother?
Who
would do this?” Tears spilled and her face collapsed. “Why is this happening to me? Why!”

Mother rushed to Claire and hugged her to her bosom, nauseating her with Opium. “It’s okay, dear. It’s all going to be okay. Trust your mother.”

The touch reignited the flames and Claire jerked away, shrugging out of her embrace. “Don’t
touch
me!”

Mother stepped back, her hands worrying the hair necklace. “Honey, please calm down. You aren’t supp-”

“Shut up and get out!” Claire slammed her fist on the desk. “Get out, get out, get out!”

Startled, hands shaking, Mother retreated. “I think we’d better call your doct-”

“No!” Claire grabbed the first thing her hands found - a notepad - and hurled it. It struck the wall. “You’re lying! You’re
lying
to me!”

Mother’s face went white and she let out a strangled sob and left, shutting the door hard behind her.

Shrieking, Claire grabbed her glass of milk and chucked it at the door. Milk and glass exploded. “You’re lying!” Claire screamed into the empty room. “You’re lying!”

She looked down at her broken leg, wishing she could get up and run - away from this house, away from this town - but she couldn’t. Her face was wet with tears, her hands quaked out of control, and her heart was a desperate prisoner, beating against her ribs.
 

Claire wrapped her arms around herself, hunched into a tight ball and rocked, weeping, barely aware of her wails pealing through the house. She considered calling Aunt Babs, but couldn’t bear the thought of being seen like this.
I’m losing my mind.
 

In his room, Fred Martin raised his head and listened to the tormented cries of his only daughter. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her and tell her everything would be okay. But he couldn’t, so he prayed to a god he’d long ago forsaken.
If you won’t help me, at least help my daughter.

Then he heard the key in the door. Priscilla had come to call at long last. She bustled in without a word, uncovered him and pulled him sideways on the bed.

When she had him where she wanted him, she spoke. “I’m sure you heard Carlene’s little tantrum, Frederick.” Priscilla powdered his bottom then snapped the fresh diaper’s tapes around his waist. “I want you to know you don’t need to worry. Pregnant ladies can get emotional sometimes.”

He stared past his wife, unable to ignore the humiliation he felt as she finishing changing him. The anger. He wasn’t incontinent and could handle a portable urinal himself - years ago he’d even wheeled himself into the bathroom and onto the toilet. Then she began locking the door because she hadn’t liked him going down the hall or looking in on the kids. She claimed she was afraid he’d roll down the stairs, but that was utter nonsense.
 

She just wanted to keep him out of her hair. So she gave him the urinal and helped him with a bedpan. That had been humiliating and he’d complained, but that was about the time speaking became more difficult. She brought Dr. Hopper over, but he only said something about deterioration of the muscles in his face. Fred knew this was a lie, because it always improved … for a time. Then the medications became stronger: Prissy got a prescription from Hopper that had to be injected and he could barely move his mouth. She said it would help him. It didn’t. It helped
her
.

Finally, it had come down to adult diapers, the biggest humiliation of all. Prissy had things to do, she said, and the diapers were just a precaution in case she wasn’t home to help him; but he knew better. Her visits had become rarer and, lately, so rare that he usually ended up wetting himself - the urinal had disappeared to a high shelf in the bathroom. When he’d asked for it back, she’d just smiled and told him this was better. Now, she sometimes didn’t check on him for twelve hours or more, leaving him to starve, leaving him to shit himself.
 

“All done, Frederick. You’re nice and clean.” She glanced at the unplugged TV then back at him. “Let’s put you in your chair for a while.”

Thank heaven
. He was so sick of lying in bed that he wanted to scream. She’d begun keeping him there for days at a time and he hated it. He had bedsores.
 

She lifted him and slid him into his chair. “Would you like me to open the drapes and the slider so you can get some fresh air?

He nodded, grateful. He wanted to ask her to plug in the TV, but couldn’t. He couldn’t even ask for a pen and paper.
She wouldn’t give them to me anyway.
 

“I’ll bring you your dinner in just a couple of hours,” Prissy said as she wheeled him to the sliding glass door, opened the screen, then pushed him onto the narrow balcony. Chilly winter breezes caught in his hair and made goose bumps rise on his thin arms. “There we are. Fresh air. It’s good for you. I’m making you a special treat tonight - mashed potatoes and pureed chicken and peas. Mmm.” She went inside and he thought she was fetching his sweater, but instead, she pulled the screen door closed behind her, and left.

Frederick shivered, crossed his arms for warmth, and stared at the empty apartment over the garage.
This can’t go on much longer.

Babs Vandercooth couldn’t stop thinking about Claire. Talking with Father Andy had been a good thing, and she knew she would not change her decision to oppose Priscilla Martin in the Auxiliary election. She felt good about that. Standing up to Prissy had made her feel even better. A weight had been lifted, and looking back, it felt like she’d willingly spent her entire life as Priscilla’s indentured servant. Now it was over. Self-confidence coursed through her.
Never again.

She might have danced for joy except for her concern for Claire. That weight would not lift. She’d already gone out several times to look today, and each time, Prissy’s BMW was in the driveway. She had phoned twice but Claire hadn’t picked up. Now, she looked again as she pretended to check her mailbox.
The car’s still there.
It was already past four and Prissy rarely ran errands this late, so Babs hoped she’d at least get a chance to check on Claire in the morning. She promised herself she’d call again later.

“Babs!”
 

Aida Portendorfer waved at her - she had just come out to survey her huge snapdragon garden.

Babs waved back then crossed the street. “How are you today, Aida?”

“Just fine.” They exchanged pleasantries, then Aida mentioned the spring potluck and the huge batch of chili she was making. She glanced at the clear blue sky. “I hope Saturday is as beautiful as today.”
 

“I hope so, too.”

“And you, Babs, what are you going to serve up at the potluck this year?”

“Carl has volunteered to grill hot dogs.”
 

“That’s wonderful! They’ll be the hit of the sac. Would you like a quart or two of chili to put on them?”

“If you have any to spare, that would be lovely.” Babs smiled. “Prissy is
not
pleased about the hot dogs.”

Aida’s eyes lit up. “Why not? They’re perfect.”

“She wants Carl to make hamburgers, like Burke Collins always did.”
 

Face darkening, Aida said, “That’s very thoughtless of her. It’s bad enough all of us will think of that poor family every time we glance at their house. Hot dogs are more appropriate.”

Babs nodded. “We think so.”
 

Aida studied her. “Good for you.”

“What?”

“Good for you. May I be frank?”

“Please.”

“I would have expected Priscilla to have talked you into hamburgers.”

“She tried but I was so irritated with her this morning that I stood my ground.” Babs smiled. “And I’m ridiculously proud of myself for it. Guess what else I did,” she added, trusting that Aida would be on the phone spreading the word before dark.
 

“What?”

“I’ve already spoken with Father Andy and gotten his blessing to run for president of the Ladies’ Auxiliary. I’ll officially announce it at next week’s meeting.”

Aida grinned, then she threw her arms around Babs and crushed her in a long, warm hug. “I can’t tell you how happy I am you’re doing this. It’s what we need. I’m so happy you’ve found the strength to stand up to Prissy. Except for Geneva-Marie, none of us have.” She frowned. “And look what happened to her.”

Bab shivered and pulled her sweater closed. “Poor Geneva-Marie.”

“Amen. I keep her in my prayers.” Aida paused. “Does Prissy know you’re running for president?”

“She’s the first one I told. It just popped out of my mouth, before I even realized I was serious.”

“How did that happen?”

Aida liked details, and Babs was perversely pleased to provide them. “She figured out that I’d been up to see Claire and she wasn’t happy. You know how she is about people wandering around in her house.”

Aida laughed. “I think she must have a lot of bodies hidden up there.”

“No doubt. And a lot of junk. You know she hoards, right?” Saying that made Babs almost giddy.
Everyone’s going to know now. Take that, Prissy.

“Really? I’ve wondered, I must admit. Once I offered to help her carry some supplies to her basement and she reacted oddly. She actually guarded the door when she said no.”

“Oh, it’s not just the basement. It’s almost all those rooms upstairs. There are only a few that aren’t stuffed to the gills with junk.” Babs spoke, knowing Hell was coming to call in the form of Prissy, and didn’t care at all. “There’s a reason she never opens that garage of hers, too.”

“There is?” Aida’s eyes widened.

“Stuffed to the ceiling.”

“I’m surprised. She seems so organized.”

“I suppose she is, in her way. Take a peek in her trash cans some morning. You won’t believe how organized they are. Or how empty.” Babs could see Aida filing all the information away.
No secrets are safe on Morning Glory Circle,
Babs reminded herself. And for the first time, she was glad.
 

“About Claire,” Aida said. “Pris wouldn’t let you visit her again?”

“No. And I’m very concerned. Prissy has never been sensitive to her daughter’s needs. She’s never really had any understanding of them.”

“As far as I can tell, she lacks emotional intelligence,” Aida said.

“I agree. There’s a reason Claire was always at my house when she was a girl - Prissy didn’t want her bothering her brother. She told me Claire was too boisterous and daring for her very sensitive son to bear.”

“I remember,” Aida said. “Excuse my French, but that was a crock of shit.”

“It still is. I’m calling Jason tonight. I want them to come stay with Carl and me until they can move into their own place.” Instantly, she regretted saying so - that was one thing she didn’t want getting back to Prissy. “Aida, please don’t repeat that. If Prissy finds out, I’m afraid of how she’ll treat Claire. ”

Aida smiled. “I understand. I won’t repeat anything you’ve told me.”

“Oh, please, repeat anything you want - but that one thing.”
 

Colorado Rocky Mountain Low

Claire couldn’t concentrate on her work and had finally stretched out on the bed and tried to read an Agatha Christie novel. It wasn’t working, because she couldn’t believe her own behavior. She’d never thrown anything harder than a pillow in anger, and that only once - when her college roommate decided to have sex on the couch in their apartment while Claire studied for finals. She hadn’t even thrown a pillow at Jason - she just didn’t get that angry. Now she stared at the drying milk and the shards of glass on the carpet in front of her door.
I did that. I can’t believe I did that.
She’d yelled and screamed and cried - all the things she hated most. There was no point to that kind of behavior yet she’d indulged in it. Pregnancy hormones, frustration, boredom, and the fear that she was losing her mind had all contributed - but that was still no excuse for throwing a fit.

And she couldn’t even clean up her own mess; the broom and dustpan were downstairs and there was no way she could get them on crutches. She couldn’t even get down on her knees to pick up the glass. And Mother knew it. She hadn’t come back. Claire had heard her upstairs a couple of times, and she’d smelled the fumes from Tim’s room again, but Mother never showed. She wondered if the milk and glass would still be there for Jason to see when he returned tomorrow.
 

“Claire?” Mother’s voice came from the other side of the door.

Speak of the devil.
“I’m awake.”

“May I come in?”

Claire considered saying no, then said, “Yes, Mother.”