by P T Winger
Ryan shrugged. “Maybe.” He forked a piece of potato into his mouth.
Alyssa patted her little brother on the shoulder. “I’ll flip him on his head for you.”
“There will be no talk of flipping anyone on his head,” Erin said with a pointed look at David. “I’ll take care of putting a stop to the bullying.”
Andrew seemed to be barely paying attention to the conversation. He ate with his head down, shoveling food into his mouth as if he couldn’t wait to leave the table.
Alyssa looked a little more upbeat than she had yesterday, but nothing like her normal cheerful self.
It seemed there was nothing she could do to help any of her children. Yes, they’d had their childhood issues and she let them learn from their mistakes, but it seemed suddenly that others were out to get them.
She’d failed them. Protecting her brood from bullying children and moronic adults was her job as a mom, and she’d failed.
CHAPTER THREE
Erin finished unloading the dishwasher from the previous day’s dinner and glanced at her kids sitting at the kitchen table. Usually they were animated on Friday mornings, happy the weekend was here, but this morning, three morose faces bent over cereal bowls and cell phones. David had already eaten and left, saying he had to get to work early. It seemed he couldn’t wait to leave.
“Why don’t we go roller skating tomorrow?” Erin asked. “I heard the skating rink is having a contest.” She looked at Andrew, who sometimes liked to go to the rink with his friends. “Apparently you start on one side and skate to the other side, pick up a ring, and race to the finish line.”
Andrew’s eyes were red. “No thanks.”
Erin sat at the table. “Are you going to tell me the details of what happened with the football coach?”
Ryan looked at his brother. “What do you mean? What happened?”
Andrew rose from his chair and took his bowl to the sink. “Nothing happened. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You need to tell me,” Erin said. “We can talk alone if you’d like.”
“I have to get to school.”
“You have to tell me what’s going on.” Erin raised her eyebrows and stared hard at him.
“You might as well tell her,” Alyssa said, and slurped cereal into her mouth. “She’ll find out anyway.”
Erin waited.
Andrew gave an exasperated huff. “Coach Dumcas said I wasn’t a team player.”
“Yes, you told me that. Why?”
“I just... I hid Mark’s shoes in the ceiling, up above one of those ceiling panels. That’s it.”
Ryan laughed. Erin shushed him and asked, “One of your teammates?”
“Yeah, Mark Stanton. It was a joke. I told him where they were as soon as he looked in his locker. We’re friends. He thought it was funny. He’s done the same thing to me. One time he hid my shirt in the girls’ locker room and I had to find a girl to go in and get it.”
“Okay,” Erin said. “So then what happened?”
Andrew started pacing around the kitchen on his gangly legs. “Then the coach walked in when Mark was standing on a stool getting his shoes from the ceiling. Coach got mad and put me off the team. He doesn’t like any joking around.”
“Clearly not,” Erin said. She was aware that her kids were about to be late for the bus, but since they were all here, she used the opportunity to teach them. “It’s always good to own up to your mistakes. I think you should talk to the coach, apologize to him and say it will never happen again. Then ask to be let back on the team.”
Andrew looked uncertain, but said, “Okay, I will.”
Alyssa stood and slung her book bag onto her shoulder. “You can tell me at lunch how it went. Coach Dumbass is a jerk.”
Ryan laughed again. “Coach Dumbass,” he repeated.
“It’s Dumcas,” Erin said. “Be respectable.” Even though the man didn’t deserve respect. He should stop coaching if he was going to be so unfair toward his players.
She glanced at the cat clock and waved her children toward the door. “Off you go. You’re about to miss the bus.”
They ran through the parlor and out the door, looking happier, at least, than they had when they came down to breakfast.
She remained at the front door until they boarded the bus, then spent some time straightening up the house. Soon she ended up back in the kitchen, where she poured another cup of coffee and examined the grocery list she’d been filling out all week. On Fridays she went to the grocery store, and she always looked through the newspaper ads to check for sales. She set her cup and the list on the table, and pulled out the circular from the middle of the newspaper.
A piece of yellowed paper slipped from the folds of the circular and landed on top of her grocery list. Old and wrinkled, with swirly penmanship, it looked it could be an ad for an antiques shop.
But it wasn’t an ad. Erin picked it up and stared, shaking her head. What the hell? No, it couldn’t be.
She’d torn this up, had felt the paper separating in her hands, had heard the soft slip of the pieces sliding down the inside of the trash can. Yet here it was, plain as day, solid and unharmed. The recipe for enemies.
Somehow it had gotten into the newspaper. It must be a copy.
Erin dropped it onto the table and peered into the trash can, then rummaged through the garbage. No yellowed torn pieces of paper stuck to the used coffee grounds and empty containers.
Clearly she hadn’t destroyed it; otherwise, what was it doing here on the table? She’d imagined tearing it into bits, that was all. There was no other explanation.
She sat shaking her head. No, she was sure she hadn’t imagined it.
Her mind replayed flashes of the television ad for schizophrenia she’d seen the other day. What were the symptoms? Hallucinations? Delusions?
She looked at the recipe, then at the trash can. “I am not hallucinating,” she said out loud.
Closing her eyes, she tried to mentally push the incident from her mind. She needed to move on from this or she’d go crazy. Whether she’d really torn up the recipe or not, somehow it had been made whole again and ended up back to the table.
She opened her eyes and again lifted the paper. Some of the letters seemed clearer than they had before. A part of her wasn’t surprised at this. It seemed that almost every time she looked, more letters emerged from the blots of ink.
Beside wax was written the word paraffin. Paraffin wax, just as she’d thought.
And – this was strange – lavender had been listed on the paper a couple of days ago, but the word had now disappeared off the page.
Yesterday she’d decided she’d had enough of this disturbing recipe. Trying to decipher the words was a waste of time and kept her from doing more important things. But today, it pulled her back to it. She wanted to study the recipe, absorb the words.
But no other new words revealed themselves. Disappointed, she studied the blots, determined to walk away within a few minutes. She couldn’t spend another whole day on this activity. The recipe had almost become an addiction she needed to fight.
Her thoughts turned to Andrew. She hoped he’d go right to the coach’s office this morning and apologize to him. That should be all it would take for Coach Dumcas to realize Andrew was just being playful with his teammate. The man worked in a high school, for goodness sake. He should know boys would be boys.
She shook her head and again focused on the paper, then gasped in delight. The word eye had appeared. Erin leaned closer and looked at the word beside it. It looked like newt. Eye newt? Was that an herb? Wait – eye of newt. Something about that term rang familiar. Yes! It was from Macbeth, the scene with the three witches.
Transfixed, she stared at the next blotch of ink to see if it would clear.
Her cell phone rang, jerking her upright. She realized she’d had her face inches from the paper.
She didn’t recognize the number and let it go to voicemail. Glad of the interruption tha
t had broken her reverie, she rubbed her eyes, then took a sip of her coffee. The liquid had cooled. With dismay she checked the time on her phone. More than two hours had passed since she sat at the table to go through the grocery circulars.
She stood, knowing she shouldn’t be spending any more time staring at the recipe. Yes, she wanted her children to succeed and be safe, but there were better ways to accomplish this than to follow a recipe intended for enemies.
She thought about the bully at Ryan’s school. Perhaps Jake simply needed more self-esteem so that he’d stop trying to get attention by picking on people. He was only a child, though. Ultimately it was his parents’ responsibility to raise him right, and they weren’t doing a very good job. Still, if he would only leave her little boy alone. A vision of Ryan’s tearful face and bloody scraped-up arm rose in her mind, and her protective instinct surged.
She glanced down at the recipe. The blot below eye newt had cleared as if by magic. Wormwood.
Understanding dawned, and she gave a soft, incredulous laugh. The words seemed to reveal themselves in reaction to her emotions.
So, perhaps she could spend the day being angry at others, and by this evening, the entire recipe would be revealed. But Erin didn’t want to go that route. It was better to take practical action and do what she could to help her children.
She decided she’d visit Ryan’s school today and make the principal aware that the bullying had extended outside of school. Then, she’d find out where Jake lived – it couldn’t be far, since the boy had pushed Ryan off his bicycle close to her house – and pay his parents a visit, if they were home. She’d talk to them about the situation and ask them to tell their boy to leave Ryan alone.
She’d handle things without entertaining thoughts that the recipe might do it for her.
Erin dumped her coffee into the sink and headed upstairs to shower and dress. On the way out an hour later, she grabbed the grocery list off the table and dropped it into her purse. She’d stop by the school first, and then the store.
The school was on the other side of town and involved several stoplights. At one light, a panhandler stood in the central reservation, holding a sign announcing he was homeless and hungry. Erin didn’t pretend she didn’t see him. She kept some cash handy for just this purpose. Reaching into her purse, she removed two dollars.
The light turned green and cars moved forward. She was two cars back when the light turned red again. She opened her window and held out the money. The man approached and stopped. His hand reached out, but instead of taking the money, he grabbed her wrist.
Erin gasped and tried to pull back, but the man held fast. “What are you doing?” she yelled. “Let go!”
Then she looked at his face. His head was turned, his gaze fixated on something over his right shoulder.
“Let go, damn it!” Erin screamed. Fright filled her. There were cars beside her, in front and behind her, yet no drivers got out to help. No one seemed to be paying attention at all.
The man dropped his sign and pointed to where he was looking. Helpless, Erin followed his gaze.
A store called Thelma’s Herbs sat on the corner. The words Elixirs, Herbs and Sundries were written in small caps under the store name.
A car honked behind her. Erin dragged her gaze from the store and looked around. The light was green and the cars in front of her had driven off. The panhandler no longer stood beside her. He was in his original spot near the first car in line, holding his sign with both hands, looking passively along the line of cars. Erin’s arm wasn’t sticking out. She hadn’t even opened her window.
She hit the gas, glancing at her purse on the passenger seat. There were the two dollars she’d removed, on the seat.
A familiar, sudden headache sent pulsing pain through her forehead. Stress started these, she knew. She gunned the engine, intent on getting to Ryan’s school quickly so she could complete her task and go on to the grocery store. After that, she’d return home and take a long, hot bath in her big clawfoot bathtub.
Traffic was stopping at the next red light up ahead. She needed to cross into the other lane now to make the next turn or else she’d be blocked by other vehicles. She glanced in the rearview mirror to gauge an opening.
A skeletal woman with black eyes sat in the back seat of her car.
Erin lurched in her seat and released an abrupt, shocked scream. Terror clenched her stomach as she swung her head to look behind her.
Wisps of frizzy hair stuck out from the top and sides of the woman’s bony head. A pink floral dress hung from shoulders so thin the dress threatened to fall off.
A powdery, floral smell filled the car’s interior.
Erin screamed again and turned back to the front. The car directly in front of her had stopped at the red light. Erin’s foot hit the brake pedal and the tires screeched. Her car stopped just inches from the one in front.
When she turned around again, she was alone. But the smell remained.
That pink floral dress had been Great-Grandma Clower’s favorite outfit to wear on outings.
“Oh, God,” Erin moaned. That did not just happen. She was losing her mind. She rolled down the windows and let the chilly air wash out the floral perfume.
The headache had worsened. She was breathing too hard and her heart pounded in her chest. Maybe pulling over and parking somewhere was a good idea until she could calm down. Looking around, she saw a pawn shop, a second-hand clothing store, and a bank, all with empty parking spaces.
But what about the herb store she’d just passed? They might sell chamomile supplements or something to calm her nerves.
When the light turned green, she drove up a block, made a U-turn, and drove back to the store.
The inside of the shop smelled like oranges. She could see no one, although she heard voices coming from the back. Erin wandered along the aisles, taking deep breaths, attempting to relax.
The shop held small bags of powders, seeds, dried leaves, and bottles of stuff labeled with things she’d never heard of – patchouli, ylang ylang, pennyroyal, eucalyptus... and wormwood oil. She picked up the small bottle. Increases sexual desire, the label read. Maybe she should get some for David.
She hadn’t brought the recipe with her, but she knew wormwood had revealed itself on the list. Why would a recipe for enemies include something that increased sexual desire? That seemed like it would be a good thing.
A bag of white waxy blocks caught her eye. Paraffin wax! She picked up a bag. Chocolate had been listed, but she could buy that at the grocery store.
Eye newt had also been revealed. Did the store carry eye of newt – and maybe toe of frog? She smiled at the line from Macbeth, noting her headache had disappeared. She looked for eye of newt for a few more minutes and couldn’t find it, so she carried the paraffin and wormwood to the counter.
A door behind the counter led to what appeared to be a back room. Within, Erin saw a wide blue rear end, as if someone were leaning over, perhaps stocking a low shelf. Music came from the room, and the rear end wriggled in time with the rhythm.
“Hello?” Erin called.
The wiggling stopped, and the person straightened and turned, revealing a woman with short bright pink hair. She wore a long silky electric-blue gown. Heavy gold jewelry adorned her neck and ears, and a jeweled ring or two circled each finger.
A younger woman followed her out. She had bright purple hair down to her waist. Her strange outfit consisted of a crimson velvet cape over black leather pants and a black shirt, and Erin saw glints of silver at her ears, nose, and eyebrows.
Erin, in her plain brown pants, tan shirt and no jewelry, felt like the boring shade in a box of colorful crayons. “I just want to buy this.”
“Of course!” the woman with pink hair said. Her nametag read Thelma. “I am so sorry we didn’t hear you come in.”
The other woman – who had no nametag – rang up the paraffin and wormwood. “Is this all you need?” When she spoke, her tongue revealed a silver
stud.
Erin opened her purse to remove her wallet. “Well, I left the recipe at home and it’s barely legible anyway, so...” She trailed off, staring into her purse. There the recipe lay, tucked in between her wallet and her phone. She pulled it out and gave a nervous laugh. “Strange. I don’t remember putting this in my purse. Oh, wait.” She laughed again, the sound too shrill in her own ears. “I must have grabbed this instead of my grocery list.”
The two women gazed at her politely. The one with purple hair said, “Will this be all?”
Erin wanted to run out of this strange store, away from these weirdly-dressed women. Why was she here, anyway? She’d just come in for something to calm her nerves, not to buy items listed on the recipe for enemies. This was crazy. She didn’t intend to hurt anyone.
The paraffin could be used for something else. David could use some wormwood; it might make him desire her. She gave the woman her credit card.
She’d put the recipe on the counter to remove her credit card. After making her purchase, She picked up the paper to put it back into her purse, and then, on a whim, showed it to the women. “Can you see any words on here?” Since Alyssa couldn’t see anything but ‘oak’, Erin didn’t expect the women to have any success.
But Thelma nodded her head. “I do. Some are a little smudged. May I?” She held out her hand.
Erin gave her the list, relieved that someone else could see what she saw. “I’m just curious. This is old and hard to read, but there are a couple of things on here that I’m not familiar with.” She pointed to a word. “Do you have ‘eye newt’?”
Thelma’s eyebrows rose. “A recipe for enemies. Interesting. Let’s see, there’s chocolate, paraffin... wormwood.” Thelma smirked. “Sounds yummy, but that wormwood oil you just bought can cause seizures. You might want to get the dried leaves instead, make it into a tea. Oak ash is just what it says, ash of burned oak. Eye of newt is a term for mustard seed.”
“Oh, that’s good to know. I read Macbeth in high school, but never knew what the term meant,” Erin said, relieved that someone else could read the words that had been revealing themselves. “The bottle of wormwood says it increases sexual desire.”