by Eve Langlais
He grinned. “Think of it as a welcome home present.”
Where was my daughter? I couldn’t believe she was dating this guy. His creep meter was off the charts. Maybe he was gaslighting me. Perhaps I had my attacker at the door. Maybe, he’d killed Winnie’s boyfriend and was pretending to take his place.
“Winnie’s just getting changed,” I said. “She’ll be out in a second.”
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” I was pretty sure I didn’t imagine the taunting dare in his expression. He obviously sensed I didn’t want him in my house.
How could I be sure he was Winnie’s boyfriend? My intuition screamed he was bad news.
“What are your intentions in regard to my daughter?” I asked, even as I knew Winnie would hate it. I couldn’t help myself. A man this old and creepy had no business screwing with my kid.
“I’d say my intentions are obvious. Banging the fuck out of your slutty daughter. I wonder, does the apple fall far from the tree?” He leered as he eyed me. “Been a while since I’ve had a mother-daughter threesome.
I inhaled sharply. “Excuse me?”
“A threesome. With you and that slut of a daughter you pushed out. Admit it, you’ve thought of it.”
“You’re disgusting,” I hissed. I prepared to close the door in his face, so that was of course when Winnie chose to emerge.
“Mother! Why haven’t you let Jude in?”
The urge to whirl and repeat what he’d said was strong. So strong, but then I saw his face. Pretending to be aggrieved.
“I don’t think your mother cares for me. I should probably leave,” he said, turning to go.
“Don’t be silly. My mother is fine with you coming over. Aren’t you?” she said with a glare at me.
Invite him in? Nope. Still couldn’t do it. But Winnie wouldn’t like that answer. If I mentioned the fact the cat didn’t care for him, would she listen? Because I knew she wouldn’t listen to me. I still couldn’t believe he’d said something so vile. What if Winnie thought I was a liar?
Winnie brushed past me. “I’m sorry, honey. Come in.”
No. I didn’t say it, but I thought it, and I would have sworn the house listened because, despite Wendy tugging at his hand, not one bit of that disgusting man crossed that threshold, and the knuckles that brushed that invisible line turned quite white.
The chill seeping from the outside deepened, and I could see my breath. Which kind of only reinforced my sense of dread.
“Your mother must invite me,” Jude insisted, his black-eyed gaze fixing me. Like staring into a bottomless abyss.
“Don’t be silly. You’re welcome. Tell him, Mom.”
I couldn’t do it. But Winnie eyeballed me waiting for a reply. I had to say something.
Anything.
“I don’t want him in my house.” I said it.
Winnie froze. Turned to look at me.
“He’s not a nice man,” I hastened to say.
“How would you know? He just got here. You haven’t even given him a chance,” Winnie snapped.
I had to explain, make her understand. “You didn’t hear what he said.”
“What I said?” He played the victim. “That when it came to beauty, I could see the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.”
“What about after that? Tell her the rest. Tell her the disgusting thing you said to me.”
Winnie crossed her arms over her chest. “Seriously, mom? Are you getting your panties in a twist because he cursed? Because I remember how you and Dad used to get so upset when I said fuck. Or shit. Even ass, for fuck’s sake.”
I managed to not wince. But I wanted to as each word hit me.
“You never warned me your mother was a prude,” he stated.
“I’m not, but what he said. It was more than vulgar; it was sexual.”
“Are you really going to claim my boyfriend hit on you?” she exclaimed, as if it were ridiculous.
I should just tell her what he suggested. Surely, she’d believe me.
She turned away and held up her hands. “I’m sorry. I do not know what is wrong with her. I think the divorce made her a little crazy.”
“I am not crazy.” Was I? Had a misunderstood him?
I saw Winnie at the door, apologetic, and Jude appearing harmless. Could it be my mind playing tricks again?
Perhaps I should invite him in and give him a chance.
My cat let out a strident meow. The kind that raised all the hairs on the body. I looked away from Jude and Winnie to see Grisou racing around the living room, and I might have thought his movements odd and jerky if I didn’t notice him leaping from symbol to symbol etched on the floor. Round and round. He pounced the bisected circles so fast I got dizzy and closed my eyes.
The air felt as if it vibrated, and I knew I wasn’t alone in feeling it, as Wendy muttered, “What the ever-loving fuck is happening?”
I didn’t know, but it ended with a crash that startled me enough my lids flashed open. My cat sat calmly amidst a pile of dirt and a quickly shriveling plant, licking a paw.
“No more catnip for you,” Winnie exclaimed.
Whereas I vowed to get more because, lo and behold, the cold air was gone. But even better, so was Jude. A glance showed a puzzled Winnie looking out the empty doorway. “Where did he go?”
“Your boyfriend left? For real?” A peek over her shoulder showed no strange car parked. No creepy guy on my step or in the yard. I kept my elation to myself.
Poor Winnie’s lips turned down. “I don’t understand. Why would he have left like that? Without saying goodbye.”
I didn’t care. Good riddance.
Now if only I had a plan to handle him if he ever came back.
7
I dreamed of the lake monster again that night, the three heads rising from the deep in a nimbus of green light. A sickly color with a tinge of yellow.
As before, I froze, terrified by the mighty beast. I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable result, but this time, instead of eating me, those heads lay on the bank and closed their eyes, the nostrils huffing loudly. Its posture defeated.
I almost felt sorry for it. Rather than run, I approached the head in the middle and held out a hand, hesitating over the scaly skin.
Just a dream
I placed it on the moist flesh and found it softer than expected, but cold. The beast trembled. I stroked it lightly, and it slitted its eyes to watch me, still breathing noisily, a chilly huff of air. I ran my hand from the top of its head down to the neck and paused at a hard ridge. A closer inspection showed a ring of scarred flesh around its neck. A glance at the other two heads showed the same marks. As if someone had put collars on it.
“Did someone keep you locked up?” I asked. Stupid, really. As if a monster could answer me.
A flurry of images suddenly bombarded me, and I reeled from the beast, staggering on the beach as I caught rapid-fire glimpses. The inside of the mill by the dock I’d seen during my visit. Underwater, the waving fronds of plants bending at the passage of something big. A tumble of rocks, some of them pushed aside. Suddenly illuminated by a bright light, so bright I blinked, and when I opened my eyes…
I woke up.
Beep. Beep. My alarm gave off its strident cry, and it almost went flying. I didn’t want to get up. My bed was so comfy and warm. I’d really much rather stay in it, and yet I’d set the alarm for a reason. I had a plan for today, concocted the night before because I couldn’t stop thinking of that pottery wheel and Darryl’s suggestion.
After Jude’s abrupt departure, I ate delicious spaghetti sauce with cheese, no pasta, while listening to Winnie whine about how inconsiderate her new boyfriend was. Since I couldn’t exactly say good riddance, I’d changed the subject.
“Darryl brought me a present today.”
Winnie paused to eye me. “If it involved his sausage, I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Ew! No.” I blushed. “He gave me a pottery wheel.”
&nb
sp; “Oh.” She frowned. “And that is a good thing?”
“Maybe. He suggested I use the lake’s mud to make things. Bowls, vases, stuff.”
“To feed into the hype that might arise once it’s discovered the mud has healing properties.” Winnie’s gaze brightened. “Didn’t I already tell you to do that?”
“Maybe.” At my age, I couldn’t always remember stuff. “Do you really think it would be popular?” For a second I brightened. Then one key fact poked my bubble. “I don’t know how.”
“Let’s find out.” Which led to an evening of articles and videos, all explaining how to do it. Everyone had their own trick or technique.
By the time I went to bed, my mind whirled with all the information. It daunted me. It excited me. While I’d never been artistically inclined, I wanted to try.
Which was why I got up early the next morning. If I wanted to use the lake’s mud as a base for my pottery, I’d better do it soon before ice covered it over. It almost physically hurt to roll out of my comfy bed. Seriously, my mattress beckoned. My warm nest of blankets promised some excellent snuggling.
Responsible business owners didn’t loll about in bed. I bundled up into some ugly but warm gear before heading down to the lake armed with a bucket, shovel, gloves, and the knowledge I’d gleaned from the internet. Which was a dangerous thing. It led to me making that buffalo crack dip, which was low carb and delicious with celery. It also had me online shopping overseas stores, not to buy but to gape at the really, and I mean really, weird shit you could find. Panties you could plug in to warm your girly parts. A unicorn bridle, because you know, everyone keeps one in their backyard.
In my case the internet got me out of a perfectly nice bed to tromp down to the lake. The wind coming off the choppy surface bit my skin. Nipped me and reminded that winter was coming. I’ll be honest, this far into December, I was kind of surprised it held off. Not that I would complain. Canadian winters were long and dreary affairs, especially for those who didn’t like the cold. Like me.
The days were short, with the sun rising well after seven a.m. and setting before five. Closer to four, actually, until we hit the winter solstice. At slightly past eight, dawn had only just crested, and yet it remained gloomy with the cloud cover overhead.
The ominous waves, agitated by the frigid wind, threatened with their dark crests and white peaks. The water splashed against the shore and sprayed, a few droplets striking my skin like cold, wet bullets. Definitely not swimming temperature. Once the surface froze over, I’d see ice huts as the fishermen dragged out their colorful shacks and set up spots on the surface.
Or would they? The land around the lake belonged to the mill. I was the only one with legal access. Maybe I’d be a brat and let them through my property and see what happened to them on the lake. A company, even a person, couldn’t actually own a lake. The lake belonged to the province. Even the shore where I dug technically belonged to them. If someone caught me, I could be in trouble for changing the landscape without permission.
Ask me if I cared. If the mill could have secret mining machines and plans to sell the mud around the country—probably even the world—then I could darned well have a bucket of it.
It didn’t take too long to dig up some of the soft stuff from under the grainy layer that had pebbles running through it. I shoved my spade at the harder clay hiding underneath, scooping it in big moist chunks into my bucket. I filled it to the brim before carrying it back to the house two-handed because it was bloody heavy. It thunked when I heaved it into the trunk of my car.
Since I managed to get mud all over me, I showered quickly, mostly to warm myself up, then got dressed. I eschewed my heavy rubber galoshes, sloppy with lake mud, and chose slip-on boots, the kind with fake suede on the outside and even faker wool batting on the inside. I’d found them on sale for under twenty dollars at the grocery store. Winnie assured me they were trendy. I thought they made my feet look huge, but they were darned comfortable. Like wearing slippers, but I could actually wear them in public.
As I put on my coat, Grisou let out an impatient yowl. He’d parked his furry butt in front of the door.
“What’s wrong, Grisou?” A stupid question. I knew what was wrong. I’d been leaving him alone for hours on end. Poor guy was lonely, and I frankly didn’t see that changing in the near future. I had to work. Maybe I should get him a friend. But that would involve finding a cat, and I didn’t have time to do that today.
“You know what, how about you come with me?” Why not? The shop was mine. I could have my cat there with me if I wanted. Besides, he’d be a good deterrent to any mice that might try and move back in. “I wonder if there’s a box or something I can use to bring you.”
No surprise, I found just what I needed under the stairs, a pet cage with a carry handle, which Grisou wasn’t all that crazy about. He didn’t so much fight me as toss me the dirtiest look as I put him in the carrier.
I sat him on the back seat and then drove to the shop. As I passed the front of it, I couldn’t help but grimace at the lack of a name on my marquee. I really needed to decide on something. And Darryl had a point. If just antiques didn’t cut it and I had to add more goods, then a more generic name would be best, but it needed to be something clever. Or meaningful, at least to me.
I never realized how difficult it would be to figure it out.
While I parked around back, I chose to enter through the front. The thrill I got each time I entered hadn’t yet faded. This store was mine. I finally controlled my destiny to a certain extent. Whether I failed or not rested solely on me.
The thought terrified.
Grisou shifted in his cage, showing impatience. I set the carrier down so I could deal with unlocking the store. The moment the door swung open with its jingle of bells, the latch holding the cage closed slipped and Grisou escaped into the store.
My heart stuttered but didn’t stop. At least my pet went the right way. I’d hate to chase him down the sidewalk. I already had a reputation as a witch. I didn’t need one as the crazy cat lady, too.
As I entered, I took a deep breath. This was my second favorite thing about coming in the front. The smell of hope, a combination of wood cleaner and polish, the lingering aroma of paint, and a hint of dust. Glancing around, I took note of all the treasures now displayed.
Which reminded me, I needed to run prices by Darryl still. I’d forgotten to drop off the list. I’d have to swing it by the gas station.
Later. I couldn’t stop thinking about that bucket in my car. I wanted to try the pottery wheel. Maybe while I was working the river mud into something usable, I’d be inspired by a name for my store.
It took me a good portion of the day to figure out how to make my clump usable. I finally got something resembling the videos I’d watched and was excited to start shaping it.
Once more, the online gurus who claimed it was so easy and proceeded to make it look simple had lied. I didn’t even come close with my first few attempts at getting something that resembled anything but a blob. It took a bit of practice to figure out how to get the wheel spinning using my foot. My hands were stiff against the malleable clay, too stiff. I needed to relax.
I took a break and went out to the front. Organized more things. Even put up some shelves. Of the three I managed, one was perfectly straight. The other two had character.
Before I attempted anything else that required more than just a hammer and a screwdriver, I decided to give the wheel another shot. It was on my gazillionth attempt that I finally got the hang of it. The big ball of mud was set in the center of the wheel, and I punched the bulky middle down. My hands cupped the result as the wheel began to spin, faster and faster, my fingers only lightly skimming it. To my wondering eyes, a bowl took shape, the sides of it rising, taking its hint from the pressure I applied. I had this. I was making something. I was—
Splat.
—staring in disbelief as my kitten, who was large enough to be called a cat now, pounced and sq
uished it flat.
He spun around a few times before jumping off at my yodeled, “Bad kitty!”
How repentant did he feel? Not one bit. He sat down and began to groom himself.
Whereas I stared mournfully at my squashed masterpiece. The good news was I could reuse the clay, and even better, I could do this. It would just take some practice.
I stood from my stool and stretched. More things cracked and popped than I liked. A few of them rather alarmingly. I didn’t fall to pieces, but I remained a bit stiff and really should move.
Wandering to the front, I realized just how late it had gotten. Night had fallen while I worked—or was that played—with my mud. That was enough for one day.
I removed my apron and cleaned up before collecting my cat, who sulked as I put him back into the carrier. We exited the shop at the rear, the alley only dimly lit by one bulb. My car was the only one parked. The other storefronts flanking mine had been bought by Airgeadsféar but not yet revived.
I doubted that would last long. Soon I’d have competition, meaning I really had to get my business off the ground and establish a clientele. And what did I do most of the day?
Made mud pies.
I didn’t regret one minute of it. That would come later with the guilt and anxiety. Then I’d start eyeing the cupboards, wondering what I had to eat.
Knowing it was coming meant I could control it. I would not give in to my anxious self. Or eat everything. And if I did start shoving things into my face, please let it be low carb. I could handle a day with a few more than usual, but if I started eating real sugar or gluten… I wouldn’t be going anywhere tomorrow.
I set the cage on the ground as I fumbled for my keys.
“Grrrr.” My cat growled, standing with his hackles raised.
I cast a glance over my shoulder. I saw nothing, just a dumpster with its lid closed.
“Are the mice out tonight, Grisou?” I hoped it wasn’t rats. They could get rather large and scary in the city. Not that I’d ever actually seen one. Didn’t matter, the fear was real. I also had no interest in running into any raccoons. Wily buggers had the ability to get into any garbage can and, if confronted, could get scary.