Wolfhowl Mountain

by Dian Cronan

  “Then?” I ask hopefully. I’m silently praying Letta found the connection between Emily Lenore and Beckan, that she found the birth and adoption records for Emily’s son.

  “That’s it,” Letta says disappointedly. “The trail goes cold after that. I prefer to think she lived a long and happy life somewhere, but I doubt it.”

  “Me too,” I say, knowing she didn’t.

  “Oh, and here’s one more juicy tidbit I was saving for last,” Letta says. She hands me another birth certificate.

  I read the name on the certificate and then look back at Letta, confused. “This is Adam O’Sullivan’s birth certificate.”

  Letta nods, but says nothing more, so I look back at the certificate. His birth date jumps out – Christmas. Laura O’Suillivan, presumably Enit’s daughter, is listed as his mother. It’s the name of his father that nearly makes my heart stop: Derry O’Dwyre. I look back at Letta.

  “I know, right?” Letta exclaims. “I found it by accident. I’m not even sure why Mr. Quinn had it in his office and I don’t think it even means much for our purposes, but it’s interesting right? I mean, there’ve been rumors here and there that the O’Dwyre’s weren’t so happily married, but to have it confirmed…” Letta pauses when she sees my grave expression and her smile fades. “Anyway, I’m sure it means nothing, but I had to show you.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I say breathlessly.

  “What?” Letta says, sitting up straighter. “What do you mean? Which part?”

  “Remember when you asked me what Beckan and I had been doing?”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “Well, it turns out he knows quite a bit more about the history of the house than we thought.”

  “How much?”

  “A lot. And I think it’s going to change your view about Adam’s birth certificate.” I then spill everything Beckan told me about his family. When I’m finished I add, “But he told me in total confidence and swore me to secrecy, so you can’t tell anyone what I told you. Not even Shane and Patty. Okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Letta replies dismissively, her eyes unfocused, like she’s daydreaming. “Wow. I don’t know what it all means, but wow.”

  “I know.”

  “Alright…” Letta says, shaking her head as she shuffles all of her papers together and hands them to me. “Put these with that file of yours until we can figure out what it all means. I’ve been thinking all day about how this could help us – help you, but I’m drawing a blank.”

  “That’s it?” I ask. I’d expected more of a reaction.

  “For now,” Letta says. “It’s getting late and we both have homework. I’m going to spend the rest of the evening letting all this information marinate and trying to finish that math work. I suggest you do the same. Maybe if we’re lucky, one of us will have an epiphany by morning.”

  I snort as the faint sound of a telephone ringing floats up from downstairs. As I get up, tucking the papers under an arm, I say, “You won’t tell anyone what I said right?”

  “Of course not,” Letta says. “We’re friends aren’t we?”

  “Yeah,” I smile, relieved. “We’re friends.”

  “I won’t tell anyone what you said,” Letta promises as she makes for the hallway, adding quietly, “and you won’t tell anyone I stole those papers from the historical society.”

  “Right,” I say, and then, “Wait, what?”

  “Nothing.” Letta leaves her room and I have no choice but to follow.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Strangers in the Same House

  When we get downstairs, Mr. Bauer is coming down the hall from a cozy kitchen, a cordless phone in his hand.

  “Hi Rose,” he says with a smile and a crinkling of his crow’s-feet. “Nice to see you again.” He’s short like Letta, and his hair is the same sleek black, but that’s where the similarities end. His eyes are blue and too close together, perched atop his beak-like nose. He would’ve looked like a seedy little homeless man were it not for his warm smile and genuine nature.

  “Hi, Mr. Bauer,” I say, and then remembering my manners add, “Thanks again for fixing my canopy.”

  “I was happy to do it,” he replies, always glad to be complimented on his work, and hands me the phone. “Your mother wishes to speak with you.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I say, accepting the phone cheerfully, the exact opposite of how I’m actually feeling. I don’t know what time it is, but it’s dark out. If Mother’s calling, it’s because she’s home and Liam and I are not.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say lightly, taking a few steps into a room opposite the stairs. It’s a nice formal living room at the front of the house, the kind no one ever uses unless there’s a baby shower or something. More floral print wallpaper abounds, but it’s busier and more colorful than Letta’s wallpaper. The room is full of mismatched patterned chairs and an old fashioned up-against-the-wall piano. Cozy. The piano looks as though it’s weathered many years and many moves, and I wonder who tickles the ivories in Letta’s family. Or maybe this piano is like the baby grand we left behind in Texas: decoration, conversational piece, a heavy as heck waste of money and space.

  “Rose!” Mother snaps in a tinny voice. “Where are you? Is Liam with you? I just got home and the house was totally dark! I was so worried!”

  “Really?” I’m taken off guard. Usually when I’m not where I’m supposed to be, Mother’s go-to emotion is anger at being defied, not worry about what might’ve happened. “I’m sorry, Mom. I came over to get Liam and Letta and I got to talking. I didn’t realize what time it was.”

  “Well you two get your butts home right now, do you hear me?” Mother’s voice is strained, agitated. Now that she knows we’re safe, she’s switched over to the anger I’d expected.

  “Yes, Mother, of course,” I say obediently, which is starting to become more comfortable than I like. “I’ll get Liam together, and we’ll be on our way up the hill in a few minutes.”

  “You’re going to walk,” Mother says incredulously. “Rose, it’s pitch dark out there and there’re no street lights. Not to mention the storm!”

  “What storm?”

  “Oh, it’s coming,” Mother says quietly, her voice a menacing whisper. “The storm is coming alright… Well stop wasting your time talking to me! Get my son and bring him home right now!”

  Click.

  I stand motionless for a few seconds, staring at the phone in my hand as dread seeps back into my bones.

  “Is everything alright?” Letta asks, still standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Yeah, I guess… maybe.” Mr. Bauer has disappeared and I hope he didn’t stay to hear my end of the conversation. “Anyway, Mother wants us home right away.”

  “I wouldn’t waste any time myself,” Letta says. “The storm clouds are gathering. It’s going to be a good one tonight.”

  Fortunately, Liam’s voice is suddenly filling the air as he comes down the hall, Mrs. Bauer following him with his backpack.

  “Hello, Rose, dear,” she says. “I heard that was your mother calling. Sorry to keep Liam so late, but we were having such fun, weren’t we?”

  Liam smiles at Mrs. Bauer as she hands him a chocolate chip cookie.

  “Hi, Rosie,” he mumbles, mouth already filled with cookie crumbs. Innocent and cherub-like, chewing something sugary, just the way he’s supposed to be, and it makes my heart ache.

  “Liam,” I say in a sisterly tone.

  Liam turns to Mrs. Bauer. “Thank you, Mrs. Bauer. I had fun!”‘

  “I’m glad.” She grabs both of our jackets from the coat rack and hands them to me, trading them for the cordless phone. I put on my coat on and then help Liam into his.

  “Thanks so much for watching Liam,” I say.

  “Of course!” Mrs. Bauer replies. “Anytime. But you two need to get on up the hill before the rain comes. It’s going to be a strong one tonight. I can feel it in my bones.” All the time she’s speaking, she’s
herding us toward the door. “Now you get home safe and we’ll see you tomorrow.” I barely have enough time to say goodbye before we’re on the porch with the door closing in our faces.

  “Well, come on kiddo,” I say, taking Liam’s hand and leading him down the stairs of Letta’s porch. “We need to hurry up or we’re going to get wet!”

  Together, we brace ourselves against the increasing wind and make our way down Letta’s long driveway. By the time we reach the bottom of the hill, both of our faces are red and our lips are chapped. Looking down to check on him, I notice Liam’s frowning. I’d hoped to enjoy this walk with him, but it’s too difficult to hear each other over the wind, especially with our chins pressed down into the tops of our zippers, and huffing heavily as we try to beat the rain.

  I keep my eyes on the menacing sky as we hurry up the hill, my thighs burning before we’re even halfway up. The moon is already high in the sky, and the storm clouds are gathering, curiously, directly above my house. The deep plum colored clouds are riddled with white caps, as if I’m seeing the reflection of a rough sea in the sky. Bursts of silent lightning begin illuminating our way as the clouds block the moon. It’s so strange – the storm clouds are not only gathering above my house, but also seem to be circling it, thick galaxy-like spirals flowing out over town.

  When the house finally comes into view, Liam’s practically running, yanking on my arm.

  “Come on, Rosie!” He shouts. “We won’t be safe out here! Hurry!”

  I start to trot with Liam as the first raindrops fall. They’re large and heavy, exploding on the driveway like overfilled water balloons. They fall closer together and with more force. In a sudden gust of wind, we’re thrown through the front door, into the golden light of the foyer.

  I turn and latch the doors closed, double and triple checking the deadbolt’s engaged – there’ll be no open doors tonight – listening to the sound of lashing wind and rain beating against them, begging to be let in. When I turn around, I’m met with the Mother’s angry jade eyes.

  “Liam,” she says sharply, “did you have dinner at the Bauer’s?”

  “Yeah,” Liam replies.

  “Yes,” Mother hisses through tight lips.

  “Yes,” Liam corrects himself, his eyes sinking to his shoes.

  “Then I want you upstairs and in the bath right away,” she snaps.

  “But, Mom –”

  “Don’t argue with me, Liam,” Mother says, hands on her hips. “Upstairs. Now.”

  Liam shrugs off his coat and leaves it on the floor next to his backpack before he stomps toward the stairs on the right. “I don’t have to listen to you!” He shouts, though it’s clear he’s going to.

  I’m startled by Liam’s response to Mother. Only moments ago at the Bauer’s he’d been a perfect angel, my normal little brother, and now his little devil horns are popping out. He’s lipped me plenty in his short five years, but Mother? That’s crusin’ for a bruisin’.

  But something else startles me even more – Mother doesn’t even turn around to look at Liam, doesn’t scold him or demand an apology. Instead, she aims her anger directly at me.

  “Where the hell have you been all afternoon, Rose,” Mother snaps. “Chatting to Letta since school got out? I don’t believe your lies for one second young lady! You know, I called you a few times from the hospital, to check up on you, but you didn’t answer. Just like old times, isn’t it? Need I remind you, that you are suspended? You shouldn’t be out gallivanting around town! You’re being punished! Now, where the hell have you been?”

  I take my time responding, in part because I’m shocked I’m the one in trouble here, but also because I don’t want my own temper to get me into more trouble. I stoop over and pick up Liam’s jacket and backpack, placing them on the coat rack. I hang my own jacket next to Liam’s before turning around to look at Mother.

  She stands akimbo, still dressed in her nurse’s outfit, a pale pink pant set with dark brown Dansko clogs. Her hair’s pulled into a bun of fire at the base of her neck, but several long strands have come loose, making her look crazed and tired. Her anger has her huffing like an angry bull, and I can smell the alcohol on her breath.

  “Answer me right now, Rose,” Mother says, practically spitting my name.

  “Mom, I’m really sorry we were late getting home,” I say as calmly as I can. If Mother’s been drinking, it won’t take much to push her over the edge. “Beckan came over to do some work around the house. When he was finished, we went up to a nearby park.”

  “For what?” Mother sneers.

  “Just to talk, Mom,” I say, keeping my tone even while swatting away a surge of anger. “We talked for maybe an hour. Then he dropped me at Letta’s. What I told you on the phone was the truth. Letta and I got to talking and I lost track of time. And Liam was having a nice time with Mrs. Bauer. The move’s been tough on him, and I wanted to let him enjoy himself for once. It isn’t like he’s made any friends here.”

  “What are you trying to say, Rose,” Mother shouts. “Are you telling me I’m a bad mother? Are you saying She’s a better mother than me? Are you saying Liam doesn’t enjoy his time with me? Is that it?” With each word, she advances on me, coming closer and closer, until I’m practically in the coats and my eyes burn from the alcohol on her breath.

  “What? No! Mom, I –” I stutter as I see a familiar flash of ire behind Mother’s bright green eyes, something I haven’t seen since Texas, something hateful. I lower my voice even further, cowering away from her pointing finger, returning to memories of my childhood, memories of the pain from when Mother was this angry. “Of course that’s not what I’m saying, Mom! Liam loves you. You’re his mother. We all know you’re doing the best you can.”

  “And what exactly were you and Letta talking about that was so important?”

  I carefully reach out and take hold of Mother’s jabbing finger, pushing it out of my face. I put my other hand on her shoulder and gently push her back so I can escape the plush arms of our winter coats.

  “Mom, please,” I say, stepping away from the coat rack, my arms up and palms open in a gesture of surrender. “Please don’t yell. I wasn’t at school today, so Letta and I didn’t get a chance to talk until I went to get Liam. I swear I’m telling you the truth.” Mostly. I’m not about to rat out Letta for skipping school. “I hung out with Beckan, I went to Letta’s, and then I came home. I swear.”

  “Ugh!” Mother rolls her eyes. “You and that Beckan are spending too much time together. His bad manners are starting to rub off on you.”

  Bad manners? Until today Mother’s practically thrown herself at him. Why the change? “Mom, I –”

  “And I don’t like not knowing where you are,” Mother says. “You have all this free time now that you aren’t in cheerleading or dance, and you’re just painting the town red, aren’t you? I had no idea what was going on when I got home tonight! Honestly, Rose, what’s happened to you? Where’s your sense of responsibility? Where’s your sense of family?”

  My hands tighten into fists as my calm determination unravels. I’ve been more responsible than ever since arriving in Port Braseham. It’s Mother who’s losing sight of her duty to our family, falling back into familiar patterns of alcohol abuse and chasing married men.

  “You’re just like your father,” Mother continues acidly, flailing her arms as she talks. “Off going wherever you want and doing whatever you want, never mind letting anyone else know what’s going on, least of all your family. Selfish, both of you.”

  I hear the snap, the last straw in my brain finally giving. And then I say something I shouldn’t, desperately trying to keep it inside while simultaneously spitting it out.

  “Well maybe, just maybe, Mother, I could keep you privy to all my movements, all my whims of fancy, if I had a proper cell phone from which to call you and keep you up to date on all my idle time wasting while I’m busy ignoring just how much you’ve had to drink!”

  The release of ange
r accompanying my ugly words doesn’t dull the immediate regret. But Mother has shoved me over the edge of my carefully built wall, so I’ve turned around and yanked her right over the brink with me.

  Mother lunges at me, gathering the collar of my shirt in her talons and screaming. “You rotten, rotten brat! You ungrateful, disrespectful little bitch!” She smacks me so hard I fall against the coat rack again, knocking it over.

  Mother throws me to the floor, falling on top of me and swiping my clothes and face with her nails, doing everything she can to rip my shirt or tear out tufts of my hair, all the while screaming shrilly.

  I’m surprised by the strength Mother’s rage gives her; I’m barely fighting her off. She uses my hair as a vise, lifting my head off of the floor and then slamming it against the wood. I throw a hand up, pushing Mother’s chin away from me, hoping she’ll let go. Struggling for an advantage, I manage to get on top of her, and pry her fingers from my hair. I shove myself backward, my feet finding the floor again. I catch my breath, backing away from Mother.

  Mother stays on the floor, glaring at me, huffing through strands of hair that have fallen into her eyes in the melee. Staring into her eyes, I soften. I tell myself this isn’t really my mother looking up at me. This isn’t the woman I know. This is a broken woman being controlled by the presence of this house.

  “Mom –” I begin, but she interrupts me.

  “You should have died with him,” Mother whispers menacingly. “He should have taken you too.”

  “Mom,” My heart breaks and the tears come. “How… how can you say that?”

  Mother responds by spitting at my feet. “I hate you.”

  Keeping a careful eye on Mother, I back away and go upstairs, never turning my back on this crazy puppet, terrified she’ll leap at me again and tear out my throat. Mother stays on the floor, but her enraged eyes follow me until I’m out of sight.

  I lock myself in my room. Touching my cheek, my hand comes away wet; one of Mother’s nails struck home. I cry, uncontrollable and ugly, like so much rain.