by P T Winger
A hand touched her shoulder. Startled, she cried out and leaped to her feet. The magnifying glass clattered onto the table.
“Geez, Mom!” came a voice from behind her.
She spun around to see Ryan on the floor, legs splayed out, his hands behind him.
She gasped. “Oh my gosh, are you all right?” And then, “What on earth are you doing back here?”
Ryan looked up at her and frowned in confusion. “I live here. I kept talking to you but you wouldn’t answer.”
Her throat ached with dryness. “Did you miss the bus? I can drive you, but I need to get dressed and be at my group meeting in about thirty minutes. Run out and get in the car. I’ll be out in a jiffy.” When he didn’t move she added, “Go! You’ll be late and you’ll make me late.” She rushed from the kitchen, leaving Ryan on the floor gaping at her.
In her bedroom she tossed her robe onto the bed. Her body felt sweaty, like she needed another shower. It would have to wait. How long had Ryan stood at the end of the driveway before deciding he’d missed the bus? He’d be so late for school. Andrew rode to school with one of his friends who could drive, but Alyssa chose to ride the bus with her friends. She should have made sure Ryan got on. Alyssa was in her own angst-ridden world, however, and not getting on the cheerleading squad only added to her preoccupation, so she probably hadn’t even been aware that her little brother hadn’t boarded.
Erin pulled on her clothes, then turned on the bathroom faucet and drank water. She was so parched!
She ran a brush through her hair. Strange that it had dried during the time she’d returned to the kitchen to clean up.
As she sat on the bed to pull on her socks, she glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was 3:30 p.m. The normal time for Ryan to get home from school.
She sat with one sock on, staring at the clock. What had happened? She’d cleaned up the kitchen. Then the recipe had caught her eye, and she wanted to spend a moment trying to see the ingredients.
The sound of a toilet flushing had her dashing to the hallway. She watched as Alyssa opened the bathroom door and came out. “Hi Mom,” she said, and headed to her room.
Disoriented, Erin went back down to the kitchen. Ryan stood peeling a banana. “Did you and Alyssa just come home from school?” she asked.
He looked at her. “Yes. Mom, you’re acting weird.”
Her attention again riveted on the recipe sitting on the table. She’d been trying to read the words. The magnifying glass was beside the paper.
Ryan said something else, and his voice came to her as if from far away.
Had she really been sitting there all day? “Yes,” she murmured. She had spent hours and hours staring at the recipe.
How the hell had that happened? She approached the recipe and looked down at it, frowning.
The front door slammed, and her mind snapped to attention. Who was that?
Ryan was no longer in the kitchen. Erin strode through the parlor to the door and opened it to see him jumping on his bicycle. “Where are you going?”
Ryan’s face scrunched up in bewilderment. “I’m going to Shaun’s. I just asked you if I could go and you said yes.”
“No, I didn’t. Don’t you have homework to do?”
“I told you I didn’t have homework.” He stood straddling the bike with one foot on the ground and the other on the pedal, ready to take off. “Are you getting sick or something?”
Erin’s face did feel hot. Something was definitely wrong. She put a hand on her forehead. “Maybe I am getting sick.” She tried to smile. “Have fun and be careful. Be home by six-thirty.”
“Yup,” Ryan said, then added, “You know you’re only wearing one sock.” He wheeled out of the driveway. She watched him glance in both directions for cars, then pump the pedals to accelerate. Shaun’s house was just up the street, so she waited until he swung into his friend’s driveway before she went into the house.
In the kitchen she picked up the recipe once more and held it to the light. More of the letters seemed to be showing, either darkening from their former near-invisibility or their smudges clearing.
There was lavender, and cinnamon. She’d been right. A satisfied humph escaped her.
The word that began with O now read oak something.
Or maybe that wasn’t it at all. Sighing in frustration, she took the paper and the magnifying glass to the window and pressed the recipe against the cool glass. She held the magnifier a couple of inches from it. Yes, it was oak, and the rest of the word was... ask? Ass?
Footsteps thumped down the stairs. It must be Alyssa. A flash of terror flared within Erin. How much time had passed? She looked at the cat clock. 4:30. Only an hour.
That wasn’t so bad.
Alyssa came into the kitchen, her expression morose. “Got any pretzels?”
“Sure, check the pantry.” An idea surfaced. “Hey, maybe you can help me with something. I need your sharp vision.”
“Sure.” Alyssa stopped and peered at her. “Mom, your face is all red. What happened?”
“I don’t know. I think I may be coming down with something.” She smiled at her daughter, if for no other reason than to erase the concern from the girl’s face. “I’ll be fine.”
Alyssa shrugged. “Okay. What do you need help with?” She pointed to Erin’s hand. “Something you need me to read?”
Erin handed Alyssa the paper. “There’s a word on here that I can’t make out. It seems to say ‘oak’ something. Can you figure it out?”
Alyssa took the paper and looked where Erin pointed. “Wow this paper looks ancient. Where did you get it?”
“It’s an old recipe. Your great-great-grandmother gave it to me when I was a child.”
“Really?” Alyssa studied the paper. “The ink is really faded. I can’t read anything on it.” She cocked her head. “Wait, I think I see ‘oak’. Maybe.”
Puzzled, Erin looked at the paper and pointed. “You don’t see the word ‘wax’ on there? Or ‘chocolate’?”
“Nope. I think I see letters, but they’re washed out. I do see ‘oak’, unless it’s actually ‘oats’.” She handed the paper back to Erin. “What’s the recipe for?”
“I’m not sure,” Erin said carefully. Why couldn’t her daughter see the words that had already revealed themselves to Erin? “The words aren’t legible anymore. But it could be for cookies.”
Alyssa’s green eyes met Erin’s. “Cool! Candy from an ancient recipe. If we could read the words, we could make some.”
Great-Grandma Clower’s raspy words filled Erin’s head. Only for your enemies. “No, we can’t.” At Alyssa’s fallen face, she added, “Not from this, anyway. But I’ll bake a batch of cookies. I promise.”
“Chocolate chip cookies, I hope,” Alyssa said. “Since I didn’t make cheerleading, I can eat whatever I want now.”
Erin put a hand on her daughter’s arm. “How did today go?”
“Fine.” Alyssa pulled away and opened the refrigerator door to gaze inside.
“Did anyone talk with you about the judging? Maybe tell you about your scores?
“The PE coach told me I was pretty close to making it but that Stacie had a slightly higher score, which I knew already.”
“I’m so sorry, honey,” Erin began, but Alyssa cut her off.
“Can we just forget about it?” She pulled out a jug of milk. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Okay,” Erin said. She’d caught the hurt in Alyssa’s eyes. If only she could do something to make her daughter feel better.
Alyssa headed for the den with a handful of pretzels and a glass of milk. Erin held the paper and tried not to look at it. She wanted so badly to study the recipe. Something drew her to the paper, some fixation. Every time she looked, she saw that more letters had emerged.
Maybe just one more time. She closed her eyes, held the paper in front of her face, and opened them.
Most of the ingredients still remained illegible. But yes, sh
e could see oak ash now.
She scoffed as impatience won over curiosity. Really, this wasn’t a healthy activity especially as it seemed she was imagining words on the paper. If her sharp-eyed daughter couldn’t see chocolate, wax, and maybe lavender, then Erin had a problem with her eyes. In addition, she’d wasted the day, missing her meeting trying to read the words to something she was never going to make anyway.
A recipe for enemies. How morbid. Even if all the words were legible, just the thought of making something that might hurt people made her feel sick.
She approached the trash can and held the recipe over it. Keeping her gaze straight ahead to avoid the compulsion to look at the paper, she tore it into small bits and let them fall from her fingers into the trash.
There. Done. Now she could focus on her tasks – namely, getting dinner going.
As she cut up raw potatoes, she mentally reviewed her lost time. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep at the table, or had passed out. There was no way could she have stared at the list all day without being cognizant of anything else. She’d missed her book club meeting as well as her intended trip to the grocery store to buy milk and butter.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked for messages. There were two, as well as a missed call. The text and call were from Laura, who ran the book club, wondering where Erin was and letting her know that next week’s meeting would be at one o’clock instead of ten.
The other text was from Alyssa. Love you mom, it said. Thanks for trying to make me feel better.
Erin smiled at the words. She loved her daughter so, so much.
A harsh slam resounded through the house. Someone had opened the front door so hard it hit the wall.
Frowning, Erin left the kitchen. Andrew stood in the doorway.
“Easy, champ,” she said. “Why are you home early? No football practice today?”
Andrew’s jaw clenched. “No.” He headed toward the stairs.
Erin followed him. “What’s wrong?”
“Got kicked off the team,” His voice tightened. “Coach said I wasn’t a team player.”
Alyssa appeared at the door to the den, glass of milk in hand. “What happened?”
Andrew stomped up the stairs. “Fuck football. Fuck school.”
“Andrew Samson!” Erin bellowed, hands going to her hips.
He ignored her, racing up the last few stairs and rounding the corner at the top. She heard his bedroom door slam.
She faced her daughter. “I can’t believe this. What is going on?”
“I don’t know,” Alyssa said. She drained her milk and headed to the kitchen.
Erin stood for a moment looking up the stairs, then followed Alyssa. “You haven’t heard anything at school about this happening?”
Alyssa rinsed out her glass and put it in the dishwasher. “Mom, I don’t hear much about Andrew except when my friends tell me he’s hot, which grosses me out.”
Erin folded her arms. “I’ll ask him later. Maybe I’ll call the coach in the morning.”
“I’ll see if he wants to talk.” Alyssa left the kitchen, and Erin heard her light footsteps ascending the stairs.
What had happened? Football was Andrew’s passion.
Irritation welled within her. First it was Alyssa not making the cheerleading squad, and now Andrew had been kicked off the football team. Erin couldn’t imagine why. He was a good student, and he was polite, his outburst of profanity a few minutes ago notwithstanding. His teachers had only good things to say about him, something Erin attributed to the good job she’d done raising him.
And he was a fine football player. He started in almost every game and had helped his team have a winning season the year before.
Exhaling through pursed lips, she looked out the kitchen window, her gaze falling on the old tire swing swaying gently in the cool September breeze, hanging from an oak tree that had to be at least a hundred years old. Ryan had been delighted by the swing when they’d moved in, but hadn’t played on it for weeks.
At the thought of Ryan she glanced at the time – 5:30 already. He should be home pretty soon. She turned on the oven to preheat it, then removed a plate of thawed pork chops from the refrigerator and set it on the counter.
A few minutes later, she heard the squeak of the front door as it opened. “Mom,” came Ryan’s sobbing cry.
Erin shot to the door to see her youngest holding his arm, his face wet with tears.
“Oh my God!” She was by his side in an instant and knelt in front of him. Blood ran down his scraped arm. “What happened? Did you fall off your bike?”
“He pushed me off.”
“Who did?”
“Jake.”
“Jake?” Erin’s jaw clenched. “The boy who’s been bothering you?”
Ryan sobbed. “Yes. He was riding his bike down the street when I was coming home. He rammed my bike and knocked me over.”
“Why?” Erin asked, bewildered. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.” Ryan touched his arm. “It hurts.”
She straightened and ran outside to catch Jake if she could. Molten anger made her chest hurt, and she breathed in short pants. She swung her head rapidly, looking up and down the street, but the boy seemed to have left the area. Oh, if she’d caught him… Her mouth moved in silent words as she imagined giving him a talking to he’d never forget.
After a moment she came back inside and tried to appear calm for her son’s sake. “Let’s clean that up and get you a bandage.”
Ryan was sitting on a chair in the kitchen with Erin applying ointment to the scrape, when she heard the crunch of gravel and then a car door open and close. Surprised, she glanced at the cat clock. Was it David?
Her husband entered the kitchen a moment later, his steps relaxed, his expression pleasant. Usually he looked preoccupied and weary.
“What are you doing home so early?” she asked. “I thought you were working on your project.”
David spoke smoothly and methodically, as if he’d memorized his lines. “Jessica had to go home early today because her daughter is sick. Jeffrey had a doctor’s appointment. We’ll try to work on the project tomorrow.” He glanced at Ryan’s arm. “What the hell happened to you? Did you fall down?”
“That little brat pushed him off his bike,” Erin said, her voice tight. “The same boy who’s been bullying him at school.”
Ryan lowered his head. “He won’t leave me alone.”
David ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’ll be all right.”
Erin stared at David, eyes wide with fury. “He’ll be all right? That’s all you’ve got to say?” Her anger was fueled by more than his words. She knew why David was home early. Jessica mustn’t have been in the mood to fool around.
“I got pushed around some when I was young,” David said. His green eyes met Erin’s, and then he turned to Ryan. “I was small for my age, too. You just gotta learn to fight back, son. It teaches you to be a man.”
“Okay, Dad,” Ryan said. “Whatever you say.”
David smiled and left the kitchen. “Dad knows best,” he called over his shoulder.
Like hell he did. “Stay here,” she said to Ryan.
She stalked David into the den and watched him plop into his recliner. “He’s being bullied, David. Bullied! Don’t you understand that?”
“Sure I do,” David said, giving Erin a cool, almost calculating, look. “The boy needs to learn to fight. That’s the only way to deal with those little shits.”
“No, it is not the only way.” Erin thrust her index finger at David. “You need to call the school and talk to the principal. I’ve already called them twice and nothing is being done. I will not have my son beaten up on a daily basis.”
David shrugged. “I’ll call them, but if you already did and nothing is being done, then it probably won’t do any good.” He reached down to his right and pulled the lever to prop up his feet on the recliner. “I’m going to watch the news before dinner.”
She returned to the kitchen and applied a bandage to Ryan’s arm. “Fighting this boy isn’t going to help the problem, you know,” she said. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”
“No, Dad’s right. I need to fight back.” He looked at the floor. “Actually I have, but it doesn’t do any good. He’s bigger than me and he always wins.”
Erin wanted to cry. How could she protect her children from the bullies and unfairness of the world? How could she make her husband be more responsible as a father?
She didn’t know Jake’s parents, and she didn’t know where he lived. But she knew his last name, and she’d be able to tell the principal exactly what the little monster had done to her son. Of course, the school could do nothing about incidents outside the school grounds, but Ryan was being harassed both in and out of school by this kid.
“Listen,” she said, eying the raw pork chops and potatoes on the counter, “I’ve got to cook dinner. You can stay in here with me or go watch TV with Dad in the den.”
“I’ll go up to my room,” Ryan said, getting up from the chair. “Dad watches boring shows.”
Erin set about preparing dinner, leaving the kids to their activities instead of calling them down to help. They’d had a rough day.
So had she. After putting the food into the oven, she carried plates and utensils through the butler’s pantry to the dining room to set the table.
At 6:30, her family was seated around the table. The food was passed around and everyone set to eating. Pork chop and potato night was always a success, but tonight the children seemed lost in their own worlds.
Alyssa finally asked Ryan about his arm.
“A boy pushed me off my bicycle.” He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, but his bottom lip trembled.
“And you should have gotten up and punched his lights out,” David said.
Ryan shook his head. “He would have beaten me up. He’s bigger than most of the other kids.”
Erin glared at David. Would he not let up? “Trying to punch someone’s lights out can only make things worse.”
“We’ll put you in judo class,” David said. “Then you can flip him onto his head. He’ll never bother you again.”