by A W Hartoin
Everyone else stood up and began clearing the dishes. As I finished Mom’s cake, I caught her looking at me with a curious expression, somewhere between worried and proud. When I went to follow everyone out of the kitchen, she stopped me with a gentle hand. “So you ready to tell me yet?”
“Tell you what? I went for a walk,” I said.
“Really? You’ve been spending a lot of time in the woods.”
“Not so much.”
“Did you see something?” Mom leaned toward me, hope lighting in her eyes. “Is something out there?”
“You’d know if there was, wouldn’t you? You always know everything.”
“I know when something’s up with you,” she said, pulling me in for a hug.
“Nothing’s up. God.” I shook off her hand and left the kitchen.
Aunt Calla cranked up Mary Mary in the living room, and the girls started dancing. Shasta danced for a little while and then she had to go. She took her cake and went, taking all the shine out of the room. I never got to ask her why she needed cake.
Luke and Caleb set up the Scrabble board and roped me into a game. Usually, I kill at Scrabble, but I got creamed. Mom was throwing off my game. She kept watching me, and I went to bed at ten o’clock to avoid her questioning looks.
I lay there, listening to the laughter coming from the living room and wondering how Mom knew something was wrong, if she hadn’t seen anything. I pictured her coming out of the garden with the cats. She’d shushed them. Who shushes cats?
The hoots of laughter from the living room got louder, but despite it I heard a faint scratching on my door. I got up and opened it, finding the cats sitting side-by-side on the threshold, swishing their tails and looking at me with big eyes.
“Are you coming in or what?” I asked.
They answered by stalking in and jumping on my bed. I got under the covers. Sydney and Slick arranged themselves on my chest in tight, little knots and began purring so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. Thoughts of Shasta in that white dress soon replaced my wonderings and I fell asleep with a smile on my face.
Chapter Fifteen
A LOW HUM woke me up at three o’clock in the morning. My yellowed lace curtains billowed in, casting strange shadows on the wall. They were mismatched with rents in them, giving the shadows large cavernous eyes that watched me all night long. When I was little, I would close the window no matter how stifling the night. I didn’t want those eyes moving. No way.
I didn’t mind the eyes anymore. I watched them from my bed and listened to the humming until recognition dawned on me. Beatrice. I slid out of bed, pushed back the curtain, and peeked over the sill. There she was, standing outside the screened-in porch, chewing, and looking straight at my window.
“Go away.” I made a shooing motion, but she kept chewing and stayed.
I felt around on the floor until I came up with a dirty tube sock. I rolled it into a ball and took aim.
“Go on now.” The sock bounced off the porch screen with a faint boink and Beatrice gave me a look I took for scorn.
Damn it. Now I had to pee.
I used the bathroom, shivering in the chill and cursing Beatrice. When I passed Mom’s room on the way back to bed, I heard her speaking in a plaintive, hushed tone.
“No, no. Please don’t. No. Leave them alone.”
I’d heard her talk like that before. Usually, Dad would calm her down, but he wasn’t coming to Camp until the next day, so I knocked on the door, my knuckles barely tapping the wood.
“No, no,” she said, again.
I pushed open the door. Mom sat in bed, her eyes closed, and her hands searching over the quilt.
“Mom. Mom. Wake up. You’re dreaming.”
She stopped her searching and her eyes opened to half mast.
“What? What happened?”
“You were dreaming.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Did I wake you up, honey?”
“No. I was going to the bathroom.”
She smiled and motioned me onto the bed. I sat on the edge and she rubbed my back in large circles. The light from her window slanted across the bed, making a zigzag pattern with no eyes across the double wedding ring quilt. Her curtains had fallen apart the summer before.
“Everything okay?” she asked. “Why are you awake?”
“I’m okay,” I replied, snuggling into her bony shoulder. It was a rare moment when I could snuggle Mom without fear of retribution. “What were you dreaming about?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“You dream it a lot. I hear you.”
“Really? I didn’t know that,” she said.
“You sound scared. Is it about that man? The one who died in the living room?”
“Not exactly.” She pulled away from me, cupped my cheek in her hand, and studied my face.
“Then what’s it about?” I asked.
“If you really want to know, it’s not about what happened. It’s about what didn’t happen.”
“What’s that mean?” I moved back into the crook of her arm and nestled my head on her shoulder.
“What happened was terrible, but it turned out all right. It might’ve been different,” she said.
“You mean, if he didn’t shoot off his own head, he might’ve gotten you or Aunt Calla?”
“No, I don’t think he ever had a chance of getting us. I mean, he might not have come here at all. I dream that he chose somebody else.”
“Who?”
“Marion. I dream he chose Marion Klaas and her sister Miranda.”
“Why them?”
“Because the police thought they figured out why Calla and I were chosen. The day before it happened, we went into town with Grandpa Lorne. He needed some supplies from the hardware store and we went along for the ride. Calla and I went to the library, the old drugstore and, at noon, we were waiting for Grandpa to pick us up at the Dairy Delight. I had a root beer float and Calla had a brownie sundae. I can’t believe I remember that, but I do. The police say that’s when Axelrod saw us. They found a receipt in his car from the gas station across the street. The attendant remembered him staying a long time, staring at the Dairy Delight. The receipt was time stamped for five minutes after noon.”
“What’s that got to do with Marion and her sister?”
“They were supposed to be with us, but their father had an accident. He fell off his tractor and broke his leg, so they couldn’t come.”
“But Mom, even if they were there, it doesn’t mean he’d have liked them better. He still might’ve picked you.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so. It’s probably hard for you to believe, but Marion and Miranda were really pretty.”
“You’re pretty, too.”
“You’re sweet, but Calla and I were so skinny. We had no figures at all. Marion and Miranda were curvy with their beautiful dark hair and long legs. They were something. A lot like Shasta, actually.”
“So it was lucky their dad broke his leg.”
“Yes, lucky.” Her tone was feathery soft, full of knowing, but also wonder.
We sat quietly, listening to the old house creak and groan, until I said, “Do you think maybe it was Ernest? He could’ve made Marion’s dad fall. I mean, farmers don’t usually fall off their tractors, do they?”
“Not usually, no.”
“So, do you think maybe he did it, so that man would pick you instead, so he could take care of him?”
“I don’t know why it happened the way it did. That’s why I still dream about it.”
“I think Ernest did it,” I said.
“Maybe he did. Maybe.” Mom sat up and stretched. “Well, I can’t sleep now. I might as well do some sketching.” She got up and kissed my forehead. “You can stay here, honey, if you want.”
I intended to go back to my own bed, but my body was so heavy all I succeeded in doing was rolling over.
Chapter Sixteen
MOM STILL HADN’T come back by the morning, but her patchouli scent ling
ered in the bed, lending me her comfort without her presence. The bed was a queen-size with a pillow top with six fluffy pillows and a thick quilt. I rolled from side to side, cocooning myself in the quilt and listening to the birds clamoring in the trees.
I didn’t consider getting up until I heard Ella and Luke arguing in the hall about when Dad and Uncle Manny would show up. Ella thought by nine o’clock and Luke said noon. They were both too early with their guesses in my opinion. My dad and uncle had to pick up Luke and Caleb’s car from the mechanic and then get supplies, like milk and butter, before they would even start picking up the rest of The Pack. Cole and Frank lived on opposite sides of town, and they still had to get Jewel, Sophie, and my sisters’ friend, Carrie. It was a lot of driving.
I slid out of bed and looked out the window for Beatrice. She wasn’t in the yard, and I hoped Mom remembered to put her in her pen. She’d never hunted me at night before, and I took it as a bad sign. I bet she was itching to let me have it. I’d stay well clear of her pen, in case she extended her range even farther. Eighteen feet was pretty far. Surely Beatrice couldn’t go much beyond that.
I went straight to the living room to look up llama spit and maybe Brazilian bikinis, if no one was looking. I’d ignore the emails from Melody. She sent me at least one a day and they made me feel guilty. I liked to handle guilt by ignoring it.
The computer’s cooling fan spun up, and the screen went through its series of checks. Behind me I heard the sizzle of a match striking. I turned and saw Mom standing at the mantel. She wore a short, tattered robe. Her wet hair was slicked back, making her eyes larger, her face more angular. She lit a fresh taper of incense in the trunk of Ernest’s elephant.
“What are you doing, Mom?”
“Just reminding Ernest we’re here.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Just seemed like a good idea.”
The smoke snaked toward the ceiling in an undulating, sensual way. The scent of lavender filled the room and I glanced at the portrait of Ernest in his white suit. His smile said no reminder was necessary. He was ever watchful.
Mom left for her porch. A few minutes later, I heard the clank of metal being dragged across the floor and the puff and hiss of her blowtorch being lit. I searched the Internet for llamas and came up with glowing reports of their gentle natures. None of the Web sites depicted a llama like Beatrice. They said llamas spit only when extremely aggravated and didn’t like to do it at all because of the taste it left in their mouths.
“Yeah, right,” I said under my breath.
Behind me, Luke yelled, “Puppy, get up!”
I turned. “I am up!”
Luke jumped, hit the door frame, and let out a shriek that sounded very much like April when Ella pulled her hair.
“Get a grip, dude. I didn’t scare you that much,” I said.
“I’m not scared, assmunch. My hair’s caught on the hinge.” Luke stood on his tiptoes and tugged at the back of his scalp.
“What happened?” asked Caleb as he, Ella, April and Aunt Calla came out of the kitchen. They began laughing as Luke fell off his tiptoes and shrieked again.
“It’s not funny!” he yelled, but it only made them laugh louder. Aunt Calla snorted into Caleb’s shoulder. Ella and April clasped onto each other’s necks and staggered around the room. I just sat and watched. I wasn’t surprised that Luke got his hair caught on a hinge. I was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier.
Mom came in with her leather apron on over her robe. She pulled off her huge protective gloves and flipped up her welder’s mask. “What on earth?”
Then she looked at Aunt Calla, who burst out in fresh peels of laughter.
“Oh, Christ,” Mom said. “Why is it always the hair?” She left, returning a few seconds later with a large pair of scissors.
“No! No way!” Luke shouted. “You’re not cutting off my hair!”
“Luke, be reasonable. It was bound to happen,” said Aunt Calla, as she wiped the tears off her cheeks.
“No, it wasn’t. It’s an accident.”
“It’s always an accident, honey. We’re lucky you haven’t lost a limb yet,” said Aunt Calla.
“I don’t care,” said Luke. “You’re not cutting off my hair. Just pull it out.”
“Out of your head?” asked Caleb between guffaws.
“No, asswipe. Out of the hinge.” Luke’s face got redder by the second.
“That’s enough,” said Aunt Calla. She brought a chair out of the kitchen, climbed on it, and started picking at the hinge.
“Nice, Luke,” said Caleb. “Too bad Sophie isn’t here yet.”
“Shut up,” said Luke.
That’s when we heard the crunching of tires on gravel and a hard hand on a horn.
“Oh my god. No way. It’s too sweet.” Caleb dashed across the living room to the front door.
“They’re here!” he yelled as more honking ensued.
“Get it out! Get it out!” Luke wiggled and pulled, dancing on his toes. His underwear twisted and slipped down past his hipbones. He snatched them back up and groaned.
“Stop moving, boy. You’re working the hairs deeper into the hinge,” said Aunt Calla.
Mom put the scissors on the dining table and took charge. “Puppy, you’re dressed, go delay them. Ella, get me a flathead screwdriver. April, you get Luke some shorts.”
“And a shirt,” said Luke.
“How are you going to get a shirt over your head?” I asked, wondering why Luke even cared about a shirt. Sophie had probably seen him naked.
“Ah, crap,” said Luke.
“Just go outside, Pup,” said Mom.
Caleb slapped the front door and howled with laughter.
Mom pointed at me. “Take Caleb with you. Now!”
I jumped up, grabbed Caleb, and pulled him out the door. By then, the cars had stopped in front of the house.
“Hey,” I yelled. “You’re early.”
Dad got out of his car, unfolding his limbs the way one would unfold a pocket knife. He leaned on the car door and watched me dragging Caleb across the lawn.
“I started at dawn,” Dad said, looking around. “What’s wrong, boys?”
Before I could reply, Luke’s girlfriend, Sophie, called out from the driver’s seat of Luke and Caleb’s car. “Mr. MacClarity, our doors are stuck.”
Through the windshield, I could see her face redden with irritation, so that it nearly matched her hair. Sophie was unpredictable; one of the things my dad liked most about her. That and she could drive a stick.
“Dad,” I whispered. “Tell her to stay in the car.”
Dad lowered his tone to match mine. “Why? No Sophies allowed?”
“Luke had an accident.”
With that, Caleb started laughing again and I punched his shoulder.
“All right, but I’ll expect a full account later.” Dad motioned to Frank and Cole, who’d gotten out of the car and were staring at Caleb as he beat on the hood.
“Stop that, idiot. Whatever it is, it can’t be that funny,” Dad said.
“Yes it can,” said Caleb. “Wait, I have to get the camera.”
Caleb dashed back into the house, leaving a trail of laughter behind him.
“Mr. MacClarity!” Sophie spun in her seat and began kicking the car door the way kangaroos box in cartoons, except she was funnier. Her hair whipped around in a frenzy and her shoes flipped out the window, scattering the chickens and ducks. She gave it all she had which wasn’t much. I loved to look at Sophie. Not in a creepy way. She was just so different, all soft and rounded. Mom said she belonged to the painter Botticelli. Her face was that perfect. But what made her awesome was the kicking and cursing. She made Mom look like an amateur.
I started toward the car, but Dad held me back. “Let’s see what happens.”
“They’ll wreck Luke and Caleb’s new car,” I said.
Dad raised an eyebrow. “New?”
“You know what I mean, Dad.
”
Luke and Caleb’s new car was only new in that it was new to them. It was a 1984 LTD, the size of a large bass boat. The car was their seventeenth birthday present. It would’ve been for their sixteen birthday, but they blew out the windows in the university chemistry lab and had to wait another year in penance. Then they only drove it for a week before a head gasket blew and the radiator sprung a hundred leaks. These tragedies did nothing to quell their love for the boat, which they picked out on their own, ignoring parental advice, a mechanic’s warning, and my laughter.
So the LTD went to the mechanic, and Luke and Caleb bagged groceries on the weekends to pay for a monumental amount of repairs. To everyone’s surprise, they didn’t seem to mind the setback. They worked extra shifts and visited their car like one would visit a sick kid, but there were certain things they wouldn’t pay for, like a new paint job and doors that opened. The LTD was a four-door, but the two front doors had severe rust problems and tended to seize up. The mechanic told them what to do to fix the problem. They bought the steel wool, wire brushes and lubricant necessary, but none of it was helping Sophie get out of her door.
She kept jackhammering her door, ignoring Jewel who was trying to get her attention. Finally, Jewel gave up and slid out her window, Dukes of Hazzard style.
“I was wondering how long that would take,” said Dad. “Everybody stay here and we’ll…uh…help Sophie get the door open.”
He made gathering motions with his arms and we all went to the driver’s side of the LTD. Caleb came out of the house and took Jewel’s hand. His face was mottled and a camera swung from his other hand.
“Why can’t she just climb out the window?” Jewel asked.
Dad rubbed his chin. “Because we have to get this door open sooner or later. We might as well do it now.”
Sophie stopped kicking and attempted to smooth her Medusa locks. “Where’s Luke?”
Caleb snorted and I jabbed him in the ribs. “He’s coming. He had to do something for Aunt Calla.”
Just then, Luke sauntered out of the house. “Hey, what’s going on? Where’s Dad?”
“Manny’s stuck at a tournament,” said Dad. “And Sophie’s stuck in your car.”