The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

  “God”—she gives my arm a squeeze—“this is so exciting.” That last word rings to the ceiling. “Wait, $39.99 for a box of diapers? That sounds a little pricey, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know.” My stomach lurches like maybe it’s agreeing with her. “It is a pretty big box—192 diapers.”

  “How many do you think they’ll need? I think when Misty was born my mother was changing her a million times a day. I’ll just ask, and that way we can do a little math and be in the know.” She sends a quick text to her mom and instantly gets a reply. “Eight to twelve times?” Her voice pitches like she might be sick. “Somebody get me a bed and a burger.”

  We stare at the pallet full of diapers a good long while.

  I grunt into the tower of boxes, “Let’s say it’s ten diapers a day—a nice round number. That means one box will last about nineteen days.”

  “For one baby, Gage.” Tears roll down her cheeks before I can stop them. “We’ll need about five or six boxes each and every month. What’s the math?” She looks up at me in haste.

  I swallow hard, almost afraid to tell her. “Let’s try not to think about that right now.” I push the cart quickly past the diapers, the wipes, the formula, all of which I’m secretly adding up, and I’m pretty sure my own nausea is rivaling hers right about now. “Why don’t we hurry up and get the food for my mom, and I’ll buy you a hot dog?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” She leans her head on my shoulder and sighs. Her phone bleats, and she holds it up. It’s a text from Lizbeth. Don’t you worry about a thing. You are going to be a great mom!

  Skyla bucks as she buries her face in my chest a moment. “I can’t believe this. I’m actually going to be someone’s mom.” Her watery eyes fill with a touch of joy, and for a moment, my beautiful wife looks as if she’s won the lottery, and she has. We both have.

  I pull her in and hold her like that for a very long while as her tears warm over my chest. The urge to weep right along with her hits, and I fight it. Everything is changing. Soon, Skyla and I will have three very tiny beings crowding the space between us. We will never be alone. I’m betting we’ll wonder how we ever survived without them. I’m betting we’ll never want to be alone, again—mostly.

  * * *

  “Gage,” Skyla moans as we make our way past the guard shack at the Paragon Estates. Mom sent an entire spasm of texts letting me know she was home, and I could drop the food off so she can get right to the meal she’s set out to create. I believe the word she used to describe it was complicated.

  Lizbeth just speeds on with her nonstop speech about some wedding Demetri is hosting this fall. “You won’t believe the guest list. Oh, I’m sure the two of you will be invited.” She peppers it with a schoolgirl giggle.

  “Skyla”—I reach over and pick up her hand, limp as paper—“are you okay?”

  “I can’t,” she moans, and instantly, I know her stomach is about to empty its contents. I tried to talk her out of that third hot dog—then when she had the berry and chocolate vanilla shake, I suspected we might have to pull over. I speed to my parents’ driveway and help her to the porch while Lizbeth frees Misty from her car seat.

  Mom swings the door open wide with a smile. “Well, hello, you two! I have to say I’m really warming to the idea of having a grandchild!” Her voice is all sunshine and roses, but Skyla is to busy clawing at the wall, moaning incessantly, and I know—

  Skyla pukes a steady river into my mother’s prized bed of impatiens, their violet blooms suddenly covered with three regurgitated all beef hot dogs and one berry chocolate shake.

  “I’ll hose that off,” I assure her as Skyla retches to completion. “Let’s get you inside.”

  “Inside?” Mom panics. “Are you sure the fresh air won’t do her better?” she asks, trailing us into the living room. “I can bring a water dish out for you.”

  “She’s not a dog.” I help Skyla lie down on my mother’s pristine white sofa, and I really don’t give a shit if it’s a mistake. I just want my wife to feel better.

  “Here, honey.” Lizbeth plucks a water bottle from her purse, and Skyla knocks half of it back. Her red-glazed eyes drift to mine. “Marshall.” Her entire body writhes as she says it, so I don’t hesitate pulling out my phone and sending him a text.

  At my parents’. Get the hell over here. Skyla is really sick. She needs you.

  I stare at that last line for a second. I hate that last line, especially that it’s true.

  The doorbells rings, and I hear my mother welcoming the wily Sector himself. That was quick.

  “He’s here,” I whisper, bringing her hand to my face and meeting it with a kiss.

  “Thank you.” The words croak from her.

  “No funny stuff.” I give a stupid wink, but I mean it. Please do not let him dry hump you in my parents’ house in front of my eyes I want to say, but let out a dull chuckle instead.

  “Gage.” Her brows furrow as she gives my hand a squeeze.

  Shit. She heard.

  Sorry.

  “It’s okay.”

  Dudley slaps me over the shoulder and evicts me from my spot.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Messenger. I hear you’re not feeling well. Pity.” He takes up her hand, and she gives an audible sigh.

  There’s that. Marshall can do for her what I can’t. I head over to the foyer where Mom and Lizbeth are sounding off about something.

  “Gage.” Lizbeth pulls me in. “I’ll be right back. I’m heading to Demetri’s to drop off these supplies. Barron was kind enough of take your mother’s groceries from the minivan. Tell Skyla, morning sickness can happen around the clock!” She spins to leave, then backtracks, “Oh, if you have ginger ale and crackers, that would be excellent. She needs to keep hydrated. It’s so important for the baby. Amniotic fluid replenishes itself several times a day!” she sings as she heads back to the car with the baby in tow.

  Lizbeth is a ball of knowledge of all things prenatal. And somehow, Skyla and I ambled right into her territory.

  “She’s like a walking Wikipedia page,” I whisper, and my mother laughs a little too loud. “I mean that in a good way.” I give my mother a stern look. “And be nice to Skyla. She’s carrying your grandchild.” It was hard not to say children. I’m not very good at keeping secrets from my parents, but, the sad truth is, it feels as if my marriage to Skyla has done nothing but drive a wedge between us.

  “Did you have a chance to talk to your sister?” Mom’s face fills with worry as she changes the subject on a dime. “Her education is of the utmost importance. She can’t be serious about this quitting school business. That’s not an Oliver thing to do. Even Logan is taking courses at Host through the adult program, and he’s dead!”

  “Pursuing academics beyond the grave—he always was an overachiever.” No joke. That’s why I’ve always looked up to Logan, still do.

  I wince at what I’m about to say next. “Giselle isn’t exactly just an Oliver.” I hate to remind her of my sister’s Kragger roots, but I’m afraid they’re starting to show a bit—or at least influence. If I remember correctly, Emerson spent her last days as a Goth rebel who couldn’t care less about her scholastic standing.

  “Oh dear.” Now it’s Mom who looks as if she’s about to be sick.

  Skyla lets out a chipper laugh from the next room, and I head over without giving it a second thought.

  “You feeling better?”

  “God, yes.” She leans on Dudley as he helps her to her feet. “Let’s get out of here so I can go home and shower.” She looks to my mother. “I promise, we won’t be late for dinner. But if you don’t mind, could you set the table for one more?” Her eyes flit to Dudley.

  “Of course—I’d be glad to. Mr. Dudley is a welcome guest in our home anytime.” She gives a high-pitched giggle, reminiscent of the one Lizbeth gives in his presence, and now it’s me who’s nauseated at the effect this douche of a Sector seems to have on all the women in my life. He glares at me a momen
t as if he heard.

  “Is everything better?” Dad ambles inside from putting away the groceries.

  “Much. Thank you.” Skyla fans herself a moment.

  “Barron”—my mother turns to him—“why don’t we take the kids next door? The Walshes have already moved most of their belongings, and they’ve told me to feel free to bring them by anytime.”

  Skyla shudders as if the potential of moving next door had the power to bring back her nausea.

  “We really can’t afford it.” I pull her in, away from Dudley, and she happily melts against my chest.

  “Not to worry.” Mom ushers us all out the door. “It certainly costs nothing to look. At least this way you’ll know what you could be missing!” Now it’s her voice singing through the air. Slowly, my mother and Lizbeth Landon are morphing into one person. I’m not sure if I should be horrified or grateful.

  The Paragon fog skirts the street just as Logan’s truck pulls in, narrowly missing Dudley by inches. I give a brief wave as he jumps out.

  “Try harder next time.” I offer up a knuckle bump.

  “What’s going on?” He pulls Skyla into a brief hug. “Everything okay?”

  “It’s fine. Emma just wants to show us the house next door.” Her eyes enlarge, expressing her disdain in code.

  “Ah.” His head tips back. “Well, let’s do it. It can’t hurt to look.” He nods her over as we walk toward the Walsh’s home as a mob.

  Ellis and Giselle jog over from across the street.

  “What’s up?” Ellis stinks like ass, looks like he hasn’t showered in days, and then it hits me—he looks like he’s just got laid.

  “You keeping things chaste?” I say it low as my parents lead the pack toward the Walsh residence.

  “Always and forever, dude. You checking out the old haunted house?”

  “Haunted, huh?” Skyla folds her hand in mine. “And it’s a firm no on the purchase. Come on, let’s check this place out so we can head home, and I can throw myself in the shower.” She leans in and whispers, “If you’re good, I’ll throw you in, too.”

  “I heard that.” Giselle makes a face.

  I can’t help but frown at my baby sister. “And I heard some things about you and West. What’s going on?” I pull Giselle in. Her hair smells like weed, and I want to clobber Harrison for ever getting to know my sweet sister, let alone corrupting her.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” She steps on ahead with Ellis just as Lizbeth pulls up with Demetri.

  “Crap,” I whisper. “Let’s make this real quick.”

  It’s hard to tell where the woods next to my parents’ home end and the Walsh residence begins. It’s wild, wooly, and dark. Nothing but a tangle of dead roots swinging over the dilapidated rooftop, the gray house stands two stories, heavily shadowed from the already dim light Paragon has to offer.

  “Shit,” I hiss upon first sight. It’s fair to say I haven’t actually seen the house in years, if ever. It’s been shrouded in a cover of evergreens for as long as my memory serves. I certainly don’t recall this parched, scraggly looking—for lack of a better word, haunted house with a few of the windows missing.

  The wind howls through the vicinity, and the house offers a belated moan as if welcoming us, or telling us to stay the fuck away. It’s a toss up, but I’m starting to find credence in Ellis’s haunted house version of this reality. The fog brumes through the porch, and it looks as if the house is giving us a toothless grin with its crooked front door, its dilapidated balconies on the upper level. This place reeks architectural hazard far more than it ever does cozy new home, but to fulfill my mother’s latest desire, I’m willing to do a quick run-through—let’s hope nothing decides to give us a chase.

  “Wow,” Skyla marvels. “It’s like there’s a dark cloud over it—and, well—just it.”

  We head up the badly cracked tar driveway right after Dudley and Logan. All of the homes behind the gates had tar-covered driveways once upon a time, but one by one they ripped them out and installed stone driveways, stamp concrete, or interlocking bricks, anything but this pocked-up mess. But not the Walshes. They were steadfast in maintaining the home’s original architecture, and apparently aesthetics. I can predict the crap we’re about to see inside, and I certainly don’t need the gift of knowing to figure that out.

  “It’s a bit of a fixer-upper,” Mom chirps as she gives a brisk knock to the door, and a plume of dust radiates from her effort. “They’re not home,” she announces, pushing and kicking at the entry until the door simply falls off its hinges.

  Good God. Did she just use her Deorsum strength to break and enter? My mother is chock full of surprises these days. One thing is for sure—she’s gunning hard for this house.

  “I’ll admit, it needs a bit of a spit shine!” she announces a bit cheerier than necessary.

  “A spit shine?” Skyla quips just low enough for me to hear. “Try a bonfire.”

  “What’s everyone looking at?” Lizbeth and Demetri barrel up with their lovechild tucked between them.

  “Oh, it’s just a fixer.” Skyla shakes her head at her mother. “The neighbors have moved out. They’ll be putting the house on the market soon.”

  “This is perfect for the two of you!” Demetri beams.

  I catch Dad scoffing at the demon, and don’t know whether to laugh or to get ready to break up a fistfight.

  “You can see it’s quite spacious!” Mom shouts with joy, proudly accepting her role as tour guide to this neglected estate. “We should spread out. Divide and conquer. I’ll open the back so you can see what a large yard you’ll have. A great place to put up a swing set, and, perhaps, one day put in a swimming pool!”

  “She’s campaigning hard,” Skyla sighs, taking it all in. “But there’s no pool,” she whispers. “My nonexistent swimming regime is already in peril.”

  We take the full tour. The dusty living room opens to a spacious kitchen with its stuck-in-the-sixties cabinetry and appliances. The refrigerator is a small, boxy Norge, and Logan seems most amused by this.

  “The kitchen will need a few upgrades.” Logan taps the counter, and a plume of dust rises to the ceiling like a poltergeist.

  “Are you kidding?” Ellis barks out a laugh as he opens the decrepit fridge. “Skyla doesn’t cook—she can hardly make a sammich.”

  “I can make popcorn.” She gives a sly wink before hopping up on her tiptoes to offer a kiss.

  Upstairs there are four bedrooms, each one a moderate size. It’s not as large as my parents’ home, but it’s a palace compared to the eight-by-ten cell we share at the Landon Incarceration Facility.

  “You’ve got the right number of bedrooms.” Logan gives the wall a hard knock, and something collapses in the next room.

  Skyla gasps. “We’d better get out of here before the roof falls in and kills us, then we won’t need any rooms.” She’s quick to lead the way downstairs.

  Logan pulls me back. “I take it she’s not into this.”

  “Nope. We’re just humoring the folks. It sure would be nice to get our own place, though.”

  “Life at the Landon house isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, huh?”

  “Oh, it’s all that it’s cracked up to be. That’s the problem.”

  We head downstairs and find Skyla in the backyard musing at an entire section of downed and dying trees. There’s an Amazonian appeal, a jungle book look that I’m not too sure I can get used to. Just past a plethora of average evergreens stands a beast of a tree, a cross between an oak and a Jurassic-looking eucalyptus with a trunk the size of a double-car garage. Thick cable-like tendrils drip from its branches as if ten trees had melded together to form this one enormous botanical monstrosity.

  “Why, this place is practically sacred.” Lizbeth squeals with joy as she takes in the long, phallic extensions that drip to the ground. “And this is where we’ll plant the placenta! Feed the tree, Skyla. Feed the tree!”

  There’s a moment of silence that none
of us quite know what to do with.

  “It’s just begging for a tree house!” Dad shouts. And it saddens me a bit to see him get his hopes up.

  Logan nudges me and nods over to the center of the yard. Skyla and I head over to find a dark circle burned into the soil with something that resembles the letter A running through it.

  “Looks supernatural.” Skyla runs her shoe through the soot.

  Dudley looks back at the house while the rest of the party meanders back inside. Both my mother and Lizbeth are buzzing with excitement. You would think we just toured a model home.

  Skyla steps next to Dudley and shakes her head at the monstrosity. “Do me a favor, and make sure this never happens.”

  “The architecture doesn’t please you?” he muses.

  “It’s the neighbors. Neighbor to be exact,” she tries to a whisper, but Logan and I are just a few feet away.

  “Sorry, dude.” He taps his shoulder to mine.

  “I know how she feels.” I grind my heel into the ash, marking the soil. “What do you think this burnout in the soil means?”

  “Hell if I know.” He gives a brief wave to Skyla before taking off.

  Demetri comes my way, and we take a few steps into the mangled woods. “Are you interested in the place?”

  “No,” I flatline. No use in sugarcoating anything to Demetri. In that sense, he does feel like family, and, ironically, I know that I’ll have to sugarcoat my feelings about this monstrosity to my parents. “What do you want?”

  “Testy, are we? I take it your wife’s state of displeasure is more than unsettling for you. I’m sorry she’s been ill. I’m sure she’ll feel better soon. It seems the Sector is able to quell her. Would you like the capability? Vibratronics is an easy gift for me to impart. Even a near-human is capable of such a second rate magician’s trick.”

  “Vibratronics? Sounds robotic. Like something you might install on your hard drive. A cheap app they give away for free.” I think about it for a second. “Yeah, maybe.” Hell, it’s necessary as far as I see it.