Mother Dear

by Nova Lee Maier

  Emma’s face fell. “Don’t be stupid, Mom.”

  “You started it. We’ll talk about it again when you’re twenty.”

  Emma pushed her laptop away. “What about Sara? She’s getting one tomorrow.”

  Helen froze. Despite the four-year gap between them, her girls were close.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” continued Emma. “She’s going to Antwerp tomorrow with Jackie, and they’re going to get matching tattoos.”

  “Oh, even better.” Helen took her cell phone out of her bag and dialed Sara’s number.

  “You’ve got a tattoo yourself, you know.”

  “I’m forty. Your sister is seventeen.”

  The number you have called cannot be reached . . .

  Helen tried one more time, against her better judgment. Irritated, she hung up and sent Sara a text, then sent another to Jackie just in case:

  Could you tell Sara to call me tonight? Thanks, Helen

  Helen rubbed the top of her nose and closed her eyes. She’d been looking forward to this evening. A bubble bath and a nice glass of wine. Peace and quiet. It would have been even better to spend the evening with Werner, but he generally worked late on Fridays, or went back to the Horn of Plenty, his restaurant, after dinner.

  Thom looked at the cold oven. “Hey, Mom? What’s for dinner? It’s almost five o’clock.”

  5

  “I’ll see you tonight.” Brian clapped him on the shoulder and then squinted out through the grimy window of the shed.

  Brian did look pretty thuggish, thought Ralf. But his girlfriends were always hot. His latest conquest, Naomi, was one of the prettiest girls Ralf knew. Kindhearted. Big dark eyes. Smooth, golden-brown hair. She was so beautiful, he felt bashful whenever she was around. It was embarrassing. That was why he pretended to have no interest in her whatsoever.

  “They aren’t back yet,” said Ralf. “My father doesn’t come home until five thirty, and my mother gets in even later.” He opened the door and stepped into the backyard—“the plaza,” as Ralf’s father called it. That was a more accurate description, anyway, for the big square of bare pavement enclosed by a fence.

  “What was all that bullshit about being grounded?”

  Ralf shook his head. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

  Brian gave him a probing look. “Are you sure? I need to know I can count on you, remember? I can’t do this thing alone.”

  “Relax. It’ll be fine. I’ll pick you up at seven fifteen.”

  6

  “Can you drive us to tennis, Mom? It’s raining.”

  Helen looked outside. The smooth paving slabs and trimmed boxwoods shone wet, but the surface of the pool was calm and even. “It’s stopped now.”

  “I bet it’ll start again soon, though.”

  Thom watched his sister tackle the subject from behind his laptop.

  “Mom?” she continued. “My hair will get frizzy if I go out in that.”

  Helen regarded Emma in silence. Her daughters had inherited her hair texture, and she knew how much effort it took to keep her blonde fuzz under control. A few drops of rain were enough to undo hours of work. She opened her mouth to agree, but Werner got there before her.

  “That’s enough nonsense, Em. You can both bike there. Your mother isn’t a taxi driver.”

  “News to me,” muttered Helen.

  Werner sat down at the table and turned toward Emma. “There’s such a thing as rain gear, you know. That’s what we used to wear to school or the gym. Man, the places I used to bike.”

  “Used to, yeah,” grumbled Emma.

  “The rain was just as wet back then as it is now.”

  Helen looked inquisitively at her husband. He didn’t stand up for her like this very often. Back when the kids were still small, he had been a good and active father, but now that they had begun to develop minds of their own—and opinions that didn’t always coincide with his—he had increasingly left the parenting to her. Perhaps it also had to do with his work. Managing four busy restaurants was more than a full-time job. Renovations, PR and advertising, hiring and firing—he had a lot more on his plate than he used to, and he was less playful and lighthearted as a result.

  But aren’t we all?

  Helen’s work as a recovery room nurse hadn’t gotten any easier either. Protocols were constantly changing, and by the time you’d grown accustomed to one state of affairs, you’d already find yourself having to adapt once again. Everything had intensified over the last few years, including at home. The children had seemed to transform overnight from cute, chattering little imps into inexhaustibly belligerent guerilla fighters.

  She rubbed her fingers over her tattoo and told herself that she loved her job, and that it was her own decision to work full-time. Things were going well with Werner’s restaurants. The children were healthy. So was she. They lived in a dream location inside a dream house.

  Count.

  Your.

  Blessings.

  7

  “It’s time,” said Brian. The sticker on the brim of his cap gleamed in the moonlight filtering through the windshield of the Volkswagen Polo.

  Ralf looked straight ahead and said nothing. They had watched the sun go down from their position in a sandy recess on the old railroad embankment. From up here, they had a good view of the house, but the undergrowth concealed Ralf’s matte-black car well.

  Brian knew what he was doing.

  Ralf’s bony fingers squeezed his energy drink. The can popped. “OK.”

  Brian bent forward next to him. He had casually rolled up a twenty-euro note and now made sniffing noises.

  Ralf couldn’t watch. He focused on the dashboard clock—7:40. He absolutely loathed the stuff Brian was snorting. It did something to his character. At first, Brian had just done it on the weekend, every now and then. Lately, he was taking that shit at every opportunity. He must be getting addicted. Maybe he already was.

  “And what if the police come? What should we tell them?”

  Brian lifted his head and rubbed his nose. “The police won’t come.”

  Ralf said nothing. Squeezed the can again.

  Pop.

  “You scared, bro?”

  “Of course not.” Ralf hated the tremor in his voice, the incessant trembling of his body, his rapid breathing. The more he tried to conceal his fear, the more it forced its way to the surface.

  It was at times like these that the differences between them became painfully clear. Brian was capable of anything. And he got away with it too—except last time, when he lost his license for drunk driving. He’d even spent three months behind bars. Some guys in prison had taught him a thing or two.

  “Here, have some of this, you pussy.” Brian pushed the fold of paper toward him. His eyes gleamed—two dark hollows under the shadow of his cap.

  Ralf looked straight ahead, sullenly. “I don’t need that crap.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “I have to drive, remember?”

  “Sure.” Brian stuffed the package into his bag and opened the glove compartment. A pale light shone through the car. He pulled out a pistol and shut the door quickly.

  Ralf recognized the gun. Dull metal, covered in scratches. It looked deceptively real, and felt it too. But it wasn’t. Instead of lethal bullets, the grip contained a gas cartridge. It was just a BB gun. It wouldn’t kill anybody.

  Ralf watched Brian weigh the gun in his hand and shuddered. Fake gun or not, this was different from everything they had done before. What if they were going too far?

  8

  Helen stood by the kitchen island with her gym bag over her shoulder and looked at Werner. He was sitting at the kitchen table, absorbed in the newspaper, a frown line between his eyebrows. His soft, red, curly hair gleamed under the kitchen lights. Unlike other men, Werner had grown better looking over the years. More attractive, mature, and just as fit as when they first met almost twenty years ago.

  She toyed briefly with the idea of not going to the
gym. Thom and Emma were at tennis, so she and Werner would have the house to themselves for the next few hours. That didn’t happen very often. But she hated letting Arianne down. Besides, there was a good chance Werner would be called back to work soon, this being Friday. She had long since given up getting annoyed about it.

  Helen picked up her phone from the kitchen island and looked at the screen. No reply to her messages.

  “Werner? Emma said Sara’s planning to get a tattoo tomorrow.”

  “Out of the question.”

  “My thoughts exactly. But she’s staying with Jackie, and I haven’t been able to get ahold of either of them.”

  He looked up from the paper. “I absolutely won’t have it.” It sounded like an accusation, and his look gave the same impression.

  “What can I do about it?”

  He pointed to her arm. “If it weren’t for that impulsive decision of yours, then she wouldn’t have come up with the idea in the first place. I’ve never heard her mention tattoos before.”

  Resistance welled up in her. “Werner, I’m an adult. It’s different.”

  “Bullshit. You should be setting an example.”

  She tried to remain calm. Looked down at her glass. “What about you, then? With all your beer? Are you setting an example?”

  Werner shook his head and folded up his newspaper. “I don’t want an argument, Helen. Go to the gym. I’ll give her a call.”

  “But if—”

  “We can always head over to Jackie’s later if need be.”

  We . . .

  Later?

  He stood up from the table and walked over to her. With his long fingers, he tucked a strand of unruly blonde hair behind her ear. Planted a kiss on her forehead. “Make sure you’re back on time.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a surprise.” He raised an eyebrow. “However, I can tell you that it might have something to do with your favorite actor, his latest project, and a reservation for two.”

  She grinned. “That doesn’t tell me very much.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise, then, would it?” He looked down at her with amusement.

  “And the kids?”

  “Those two won’t do anything crazy, and they can get ahold of us whenever they want. And after that surprise”—he kissed her cheek, her ear—“I have another surprise lined up for you. A very big one . . .” He pulled her hips toward him. His mouth formed a smile, but his eyes didn’t join in.

  It confused her a little.

  “Do you remember when we first met?” he whispered. “You were still living with your mother, and I was in that room in Rotterdam. I used to live on macaroni with ketchup, and I didn’t have a penny to take you out to dinner.”

  She nodded. She could remember it all very well, but it felt like scenes from the life of a different couple.

  “When we decided to move in together, we had nothing. But we felt rich, because we only needed each other.” He rubbed her shoulders. “Guess what the good news is?”

  “Tell me.”

  “We still have each other. Lately, I haven’t appreciated just how special that is.” He kissed her tenderly on the lips.

  Her fingers stroked the rough fabric of his polo shirt. She breathed in Werner’s scent as if discovering it for the first time. How long had it been since they had last stood so close together, actually made contact with each other? Their conversations were always about the children. School. Work. The house.

  “I miss it sometimes.” Her voice was emotional.

  “What?”

  “Us.”

  He held her chin and kissed her on the lips again, then on her nose.

  “Should I call Arianne to cancel?”

  He let her go. “Of course not. Go and work that beautiful body of yours into a sweat. I’ll see you later.”

  “But . . .”

  “I’ll take care of Sara.”

  “Are you sure—”

  “It’ll be OK. You get going.”

  9

  Ralf looked at his friend, who was replacing his cap with a balaclava. All you could see were those glittering brown eyes and part of his mouth.

  Ralf had already pulled his own balaclava over his head. It was itchy and smelled new. He followed Brian’s gaze toward the house. The yard behind it was dark, with just a pale glow emanating from the swimming pool.

  They had seen two children bike away. Shortly afterward, their mother had left the house and driven off in her Fiat.

  “What if there are more people inside?”

  “There aren’t,” said Brian. “Just the dude. And the dough.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “You leave the thinking to me.”

  Ralf’s phone began to buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out like it was on fire. Mom showed on the screen. He dismissed the call and put the phone on silent. “She figured out I’m not there. That’ll be yet another drama.”

  “Stay at my place tonight. We’ll have something to celebrate soon, anyway. I’ll call up a few girls and—”

  “What about Naomi?”

  “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

  Ralf tried to run his hand through his hair, but his trembling fingers dug into his balaclava. He had to restrain himself from pulling the thing off his head. It seemed to be getting tighter and tighter. Suffocating him.

  Brian jabbed Ralf in his side. “Come on. The only thing you have to do is keep an eye on everything from outside.”

  “How can you be so sure the guy will do what you say?”

  Brian extended his arm. The barrel of the gun pointed toward Ralf. “I’ll aim at his head.”

  “Yeah, but that thing is fake. What if he shoots back?”

  “Are you kidding?” Brian turned the gun over in his hand. The metal gleamed in the moonlight. Brian was breathing really fast, Ralf noticed. Those goddamn drugs. His friend was gone, and now he had to put up with a coked-up prick who was convinced of his own genius and invincibility.

  Ralf drank the last drops of his energy drink and threw the can into a box on the back seat. He hated getting his car dirty. The Polo meant everything to him. His freedom. That car took him everywhere—Germany, Amsterdam, wherever. But it cost him a fortune in gas—not to mention tax, insurance, maintenance . . .

  Freedom was expensive.

  That was why he was sitting here.

  “OK, listen, dude.” Brian grabbed Ralf by the coat, his hands balled into fists. He held his face close to Ralf’s. “Look at me.” He shook him gently. “The people who live in that house are up to their necks in cash, and soon it’ll be ours. OK? Fuck ’em. Say it with me.”

  “Fuck ’em . . .”

  “Exactly.” Brian patted him on the cheek. “Look at it this way: we’re just making a withdrawal.”

  10

  Helen grasped the handles of the machine and pushed them forward. Four, five. Her trainer had told her that she needed to keep breathing while she did this exercise, but it was impossible, so she held her breath and got through her reps as quickly as possible. Nine, ten. Done. Her arms dropped against her body.

  The gym was busier than usual tonight, and there were lines for some of the machines. A dance class was underway next to the fitness area, with a group of twentysomethings being encouraged by a loud instructor. Their soundtrack matched the music playing from the line of TVs that hung over the cardio equipment.

  Helen stood up. Enough for today. Arianne was on a cross-trainer on the other side of the room. Her face was red from exertion.

  “Are you going already?”

  Helen nodded. “Then there’ll still be something left of my evening. I won’t be at the gym next week, remember—that’s when Thom’s having his party.”

  “Do you need any help with that?”

  Thom wanted to celebrate his sixteenth birthday in the garage with forty friends and classmates. One of them was Arianne’s son; the boys had known each other since elementary school.

>   “Thom wants to arrange everything himself. I don’t think I’ll be allowed anywhere near the garage. But you’re very welcome to come over for a drink in the kitchen.”

  “The old folks’ club,” laughed Arianne.

  “I’m afraid that’s how the boys see it, yes.”

  “Do you know what you’ll do for drinks yet?”

  “We’ll get some beer in, and some tinto de verano.”

  “Tinto de what?” Arianne’s movements were growing slower. Sweat glistened on her cleavage.

  “Werner’s idea. You fill a glass with ice, then pour in one part red wine and three parts Sprite. Everybody likes it, and it isn’t so strong.”

  Arianne grinned. “No doubt they’ll bring the harder stuff from home.”

  Helen thought back to Sara’s sweet sixteen; the following morning, there had been empty whiskey and vodka bottles strewn across the yard. Not one of them had been bought by Helen. But Thom wasn’t such a partier; nor were his friends.

  Arianne got down from the machine and dabbed her face dry. “You know, Helen . . . I was talking to Jeroen yesterday. He agrees it’s a shame we’ve seen so little of each other recently. Do you remember when the four of us used to spend entire weekends on the road?”

  Helen smiled sadly. “Those were the days. But Werner was still a regular employee back then. And the children are older now.”

  “So you don’t have to hold their hands all day anymore.”

  “No, but now there are other things.” Helen’s thoughts wandered off to when the children were still small. Sitting on the sofa together watching Teletubbies, feeding them yogurt, going on adventures in their own yard . . . Now they could hop on their scooters or get on a train and be exposed to all the dangers she’d protected them from before. Alcohol. Bad company. Crime. Drugs. Sex. Violence. Every generation made the same mistakes, but with new victims each time. She could only hope it wasn’t her children who ended up as cautionary tales. On top of that, she had to choose her words carefully these days to avoid alienating them. Their conversations were more inhibited, with deep emotions on both sides. “Parenting is less time-consuming than it used to be, but it takes a lot more energy,” she finally said. “I’m often too exhausted to leave the house in the evening.”